Santa Helena: The Blessing of the Curse - Chapter 6

Santa Helena: the Blessing of the Curse

Chapter 6: The ‘Second’ Battle of Nu’uanau


Similie Steiner’s Account


The air was so unusually chilly that I thanked God that Matty Mack convinced me to take my warm black trench coat, which was similar to Satoko’s. We Avalanchers, walking briskly but quietly on the wide old trail encapsulated by a dense forest of withered trees, used our Arithmagics to see our way through the darkness that almost defied light’s penetration; the tall old trees snuffed out the silver light of the third-quarter moon as we heard music-box music in the distance—utterly unnerving, I must say! Had it not been for Metaphor’s absence, I would never be in such a bloody place as this—like a rat and a cobweb! A neutral odor filled our frigid lungs, even after we spotted a detestable object that swiftly passed through the dense woods and onto the road!

Ugly was too kind an adjective for this horrifying being—at least for me. The phosphorescent, ghastly, white, gigantic blob monster suggested vast malice with its eyes. Since it passed the woods with such unnatural silence, grace, and velocity, we Crimson Avalanchers assumed the blob to be a ghost blob, and, supposedly, White Arithmagics are effective on ghastly objects—not Red Arithmagics.

Swiftly moving towards us, the huge ghost blob slammed the road, emitting a wide shock wave of gravel! My fair lady Satoko imbued gravitational Arithmagics with Lunar Sun so she could cut the wave into two by a crashing dynamic blow before the wave could hit us. Charging Solar Moon with exorcist powers, Mack released some short-ranged, blade-thin holy parabolas while I unleashed an octuple-helix of silver fire. Though the ghost blob had a high pain threshold, we eventually disposed of this hideous creature as it ran through trees and shrubs, not touching them at all! I was appalled by this ghastly madness, but it’ll get much worse later. At Satoko’s behest, we fearfully tagged along behind her, continuing down the eerie, god-forsaken road.

Mack just so happened to be looking back to me. A look of horror was on his face as he shouted, “Sim, behind thee!” I instantly squatted and I felt something kick my bottom, causing me to roll forward. When I got up and turned around, I saw quite unfamiliar creatures, “lizard women,” as Matty calls them; these green-skinned, women-like beings with scaly armor, lizard-like tails, and glowing eyes rushed after me. Their long, blade-like fins which extended from their elbows almost sunk deep into my skin, if it were not for my shotgun and the heroines’ R. Arithmagics. More came out of the woods to strike, but I shot them down before they get near. The skirmish ended rather swiftly, and we Crimson Avalanchers thought it best to stay off the road and in the woods, which weren’t much safer! Mack then took out an ebook (from Chapter 3) from one of his three yellow pouches on his waist; we made sure that we were “equipped” with W. Arithmagics. Mack coincidentally had Red, White, and Blue Arithmagics! Now, supposedly, we were ready for any kind of threat.


Monica J-Walker’s Account


I suddenly felt the urge to defecate; so, I “dismissed” myself from the rest of the gang. Before I could even pull down my pants, I heard something moving behind me; I mysteriously no longer had the urge to defecate as I strode back to the gang.

Mack: “Wow, I wish I could pee that quick!”

I: “I didn’t; I lost the urge—”

Toko: “Somethin’ freaked you out, huh?”

I: “Yeah, frankly; I heard somethin’ over there.”

Through Arithmagics, we scanned the area where I heard the noise, and a pale, bloodless human sprung up from the ground!

Sim: “Ahhhhh! My jolly goodness! It’s—it’s a zombie! Let’s shoot the bloodless fiend!”

Mack (holding Sim’s shotgun away from the zombie): “Oh, not yet; let’s see if we can get some info about Metaphor.” Mack then walked toward with much confidence, saying, “Excuse me, ma’am, my friend here (pointing to me) didn’t mean to defecate on your property—”

Zombie (now standing straight): “Aaarrr?”

Satoko (whispering to Mack): “Matty, I don’t think she knows English—”

I: “But, the ghosts do!”

Matty Mack: “Ma’am, we just wanted to know if you’ve seen anyone who looks similar to my white friend here (pointing to you know who).”

The zombie spoke in some unintelligible lingo that sounded like “Bllaaaah blaaaahhh blah; rarrr rrarrr ra?”

Sim: “Matty, I didn’t understand a word she uttered!”

Mack (listening intently): “Shhhh!”

Zombie girl: “Blah blah rarrah?”

Mack: “Yeah, white like him; no tan whatsoever!”

Zombie: “Ratatatatatat.”

Mack: “That’s right, a tan trench coat—similar to theirs (pointing to Sim and Toko honey).”

Zomb: “Duh duh rah blah blaah.”

Mack: “Why, he’s this fellow’s brother; we have to find him before your cousins make fried rice out of him!”

Zomb: “Che che ra!!!”

Mack: “Sorry; didn’t mean to offend your kin, but that’s the common stereotype around here; ever watched a zombie movie?”

Zomb: “Nene rane.”

Mack: “See, I told you! Gotta be careful around your zombie brethren. Anyways, you know what happened to our poor fellow?”

Zomb: “Neggah urrar eutarra blah.”

Mack: “Kidnapped by ghosts!? You makin’ this up, woman? No? Hmn, I see. Well, thank you for your time, ma’am—”

Suddenly, a pack of lizard women dropped from the trees and almost minced us to the afterlife, but the zombie woman knew drunken boxing!—the martial arts of the ghouls! She made our fight much easier. Needless to say, we warded them off in about one minute.

Zomb: “Hubbub dada dud bubbah blah—blah.”

Mack: “Oh, he went to the northeast, eh? Oh, OK; well—what was that?—neutral from what? Hey, come back here!”

Zomb (sleepily digging into the ground): “Blaaah blaaaah blaaah, negga rarrra.”

Mack: “Well, uh, have a nice nap, too!”

Satoko (looking at Mack): “Matthew, summarize that damned conversation!!”

Mack: “She said Metaphor got kidnapped by some ghost warriors, if there’s such a thing. He was taken that way (pointing to his northeast, which could have been southwest for all we knew). She said she didn’t want to help us too much since she is neutral.”

All (except Mack, obviously): “Neutral from what!????????????????”

Mack: “I dunno; I guess we’ll find out….” And, sure enough, we found out in no time!


Mateo Dinero’s Account


We strode to the northeast (it could’ve been the southeast for all we could tell; we couldn’t afford a GPS device; I didn’t pay for that service on my cell phone), and suddenly, we were ambushed by ancient Hawaiian warriors with ancient muskets, spears, and pistol-daggers! Some chief with a great spear walked toward us and said--with no accent whatsoever, "Are you spies of Kalanikupule???!"

After we Avalanchers glanced at each other in bewilderment, I said, "We--we don't know who the hell that guy is! We're--uh, neutral, just like that zombie lady back there (pointing backwards with my left thumb); we're just innocent travelers looking for a 'long-lost' friend. Have you seen any white guys lately?"

"Yes," said the chief-looking guy, "He was taken captive by Kalanikupule's men."

I: "Are you--uh, King Kamehameha by chance?"

Mr. Chief: "No, I am a subordinate of the great King Kamehameha, the one who will unify all the Hawaiian Islands!"

We Crimson Avalanchers fought hard to keep ourselves from laughing; I mean, Hawaii was unified more than a millennia ago! It's sad that these ghosts warriors didn't keep up with current events; they're fighting an already-won war!!!

I then improvised, "Well then, Mr. Chief of Kamehameha, since we seem to have a common enemy, perhaps we could join forces??"

"Hmph," Chief scoffed, "be my guest, but I won't be responsible for your deaths."

Satoko: "We're fine warriors, and we'll prove it! Just tell us where to go, and we won't let you down!"

Chief (pointing to his north, which could be south for all we know): "Hmn, I like that warrior spirit! We must move forward to the Nu'uanau Mountain Ridge and take out those cannons that have been shelling us earlier!" Mr. Chief then gave us (except Similie) a musket and a bag of bullets and gun powder. I tossed Sim Solar Moon since I'm not so highly proficient with gigantic swords. (Don't get me wrong; I'm not bad with those weapons, but I need a weapon that I'm very good with, since we're fighting a war! It might do me more harm than good, but it may work wonders on Sim, who doesn't have special preferences for any weapon in general.)

I was surprised that we living folk could wield ghost-weapons; how come we couldn't wield them in the past? There must be some kind of spiritual laws governing this phenomenon, if we could call it that...Or, perhaps, they were zombie-weapons....

Suddenly, all of us felt--um, how should I say this?--vulnerable; not because we were going to face cannons but because...

Monica: "That felt as if someone issued the Hollywood Barrier!" Even the ghost/zombie soldiers agreed. Who know how long this invisible barrier's going to last...!


Metaphor Steiner's Account


"Let go of me, you rotten slime!" I screamed as some men in some Hawaiian warrior costumes carried me to a tent. Out of the ten came a chief, I suppose. I had a feeling I wasn't going to last much longer...

Many thoughts were running through my mind: "Who'll take care of Similie? Bleh, that slugepot needs to take care of himself for once--or, perhaps more than once. Wh-what will happen to me? What did I do? Are these guys the security police or forest rangers of some sinister kind? Will I live to see tomorrow? Do I wantto live to see tomorrow? I suppose I'd be better off dead than alive at this point. I'm sure that good-for-nothing Similie and his CIA gang won't be able to rescue me in time. But, will I be able to see Satoko again? Just one last look..."

My thoughts fled me as the supposed chief walked toward me and asked, "Do you know where Kamehameha's army is? How many men and cannons does he have?! Is he heading for the mountain ridge?!?"

Unfamiliar with Hawaiian history, culture, and current events, I plainly uttered: "I do not know this 'Kamehameha' fellow of whom you speak; are you referring to Goku from Dragonball Z?"

The supposed chief smacked my cheek so hard I thought my face was going to fall off! "Don't feign ignorance with me, Englishman! For Kalanikupule's army to triumph, we need information, and you SHALL give it to me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I: "I have no good knowledge of this place, and I don't have much time to keep up with the Dragonball Z episodes! I'm just a humble man doing business here for a while--"

Supposed chief: "Ah, so you're a weapon merchant! Giver us some of your muskets and cannons--then, I'll consider your meager life!"

I: "I do not sell such fiendish old-fashion bullet pipes that must be tediously reloaded after one shot! My company does not sell war items; so, you have no use for me; would you please let me go now? I have to urinate."

Supposed chief: "Yes, we'll let you go; you may urinate--in HELL! Kill him!"

I had to improvise, "No no no, wait! Some of the natives told me a legend: There is a Z-shaped ball blessed by some ancient Chinese dragon who flew over here while eating fried rice long ago; the dragon noticed that these people [the native Hawaiians] didn't eat rice (I know not if that's true or not); so, she blessed this island with a Z-shaped ball that grants so much power--too much power for one Englishman!"

Supposed chief: "Where do we find this--'dragonball'?"

I: "Um, I believe it's somewhere--" I pointed to the mountain ridge. My would-be executioner put his broadsword back, and the chief said to some of the nearby soldiers, "Well, let's find this 'dragonball'! Don't tell Kalanikupule about this; that ball is mine, all mine!--you hear me, Englishman!?"

"Yes, sire!" was all I said...


Matthew Dollar's Account


We CIA folks charged our hands, weapons, and shoes with White Arithmagics as we encountered the first wave of enemies, which comprised ghost, Kirby ghosts, zombies, skeletons, werewolves, and even lizard women! As we hid/peeked behind old withered trees, our "bullet pipes" sneered at each other at irregular intervals. Using the bag of bullets, paper, and gun powder Mr. Chief gave me, I watched other ghost comrades reloading their muskets and figured out how to reload mine--such a time-consuming task, if you ask me: stuff the paper, gun powder, and bullet into the barrel and force them down even more with a thin metal stick. In the meantime, comrades/enemies all around us were screaming bloody murder in the utmost agony; sadly, Monica and Satoko were saving their spirit energy for the foes and comforted the wounded allies with "Shut up!!! Shut the heck up! I'm trying to aim with this doggone excuse for a rifle!" Thus, Sim and I tried to be the "angels of the battlefield" by touching/shooting their wounds with our glowing, blue hands and bullets--while feisty pellets sneered past us from almost all sides!

(The effects of the Hollywood Barrier prohibited far-ranged Arithmagics, except Arithmagic gun spells the range of non-gun Arithmagics was only about twenty-four inches in this H-Barrier; Pele forgot to mention that in the last chapter!)




The next thing I knew was a dozen blown-away comrades and some fallen trees. "The cannons!" someone cried, "be careful and fear not!"

Still, vile pellets zipped by us, nearly killing me on one occasion, if it weren't for Monica; eventually, I grew tired of this tedious reloading and decided to get closer so I can knife the blasted fiends with the pistol-dagger I got from a fallen werewolf comrade. I yelled at Similie--the wielder of my post-modern God-blessed eight-barreled shotgun: "Similie, cover me! I'm gonna 'flank' them!"

"With what? You haven't reloaded yet!!"

"With THIS!"

"You can't shoot anyone that that blasted, bloody knife, Matty; have gone mad (crazy)!?!"

"No, while the enemies are reloading, I can knife their god-forsaken hinds!"

"All right; you be careful!"

Some soldiers then asked me, "Are you sure about this--madness?"

I: "Heck, I'm sure; you lads should come along; I'm gonna need some manpower to pull this off! Satoko, Monica, are you with me?"

Monica: "Hell no! I'll stay behind with the others!"

Satoko: "All right, my brave lads, move your Hawaiian legs like a doggone sinner running out of hell!!! Sim, we need you to come follow us so you can help clear a path with us!"

As soon as foes tried to gun us "brave lads" as we got closer and hid behind more trees and shrubs when necessary, Sim and Monica blew the blasted fiends out of our way, folks around us creaming with shouts that cannot be uttered by living fellows. I then encountered a reloading werewolf and...

"Ack!!!!" I took him "home" as my other "brave lads" took out the other nearby fiends; Sim fired at more foes in the distance with my shotgun with a moderate spreading ability.

On my second encounter, I wasn't so lucky. The humanoid ghost dropped his musket, grabbed my wrist, and kicked me to the ground; I thought he was going to bayonet my butt, but his bloody head then rolled passed me; I got up, only to hear Satoko, standing beside the head corpse (if we could use that term), scream: "Well, get up already; ain't got time for that crap!" The third and fifth encounters went rather smoothly, until some of my men got killed.

Satoko (hiding behind the same tree as I): "Similie, what going on?!?"

Not-too-distant voice: "I'm reloading; take cover--"


Some cannonballs ripped through some trees where some of my "brave lads" were hiding. I healed the handfull of allies that survived the blast, though they were missing some limbs; Mr. Chief permitted them to leave the battlefield...

Sim (less distant than before): "I'm ready; let's move!"

Holding my musket barrel (to use the musket's butt as a club) as if I were wielding a crescent-moon spear, I (and some "brave lads")--while bullets cussed past the field back and forth at irregular intervals--sneaked around some bushes and caught some reloading fiends off-guard; a zombie, spotting us in horror, tried to unsheathe the longsword on this side, but I put my foot on the hilt, so he couldn't draw that blade, and clubbed his head:

WWWWFFFFFFFFFHHHHH!!! (The sound you make by swinging a golf club.)

One foe would've bayoneted me if a ghost comrade's broadsword didn't burrow through the foe's waist! Before a lizard woman could take a good aim at Toko, I swiftly bent down to take a fallen enemy's longsword and threw it at her! The fiend didn't fire the musket but dropped it (out of pain and because she now lacked a left forearm) to get her spear; Toko gave her a swift trip to the afterlife... We picked up the loaded rifle and moved on.

Needless to say, Similie and his "brave lads" were having an easier time (with my semi-automatic shotgun--ahem!), though they still had to hide/crawl like the rest of us. "Stay the doggone hell down! What's wrong with you soldiers?!! Wanna get shot? Then, use your common sense!" Toko scolded her comrades, who weren't familiar with post-modern warfare tactics.

Moving like POWs (prisoners of war) crawling out of hell at a snail's pace, we finally unloaded our musket shells on an unsuspecting group of reloading zombies and lizard women. Once we came to the spot where the group died, another small band ambushed us! I lost some good men, and a humanoid ghost was about to bayonet my heart! I hopped back miss it and then lunged forward to rifle-butt his face, yet he still managed to get up; so, outraged, I bent down (evading my opponent's rifle-butt stroke), grabbed a "dead" man's (if we can use that term) hatchet and cut him clean through through the ankles, making her fall; Toko spared no mercy on that fool...

Another fiend would've pierced my lung had Satoko not kick me out of the way to fend off his attacks! After throwing that hatchet at somebody (I believe 'twas a foe, but I'm not quite sure...), I grabbed a loaded pistol-dagger from a fallen lizard woman comrade and shot Toko's attacker, yet Satoko didn't even thank me but yelled, "Move on; let's go, suckas!!!"

My last unfortunate encounter was when I was facing another mixed group of fiends (mostly lizard women, though). Not reloading their rifles, they seemed to be waiting for us; ergo, Similie peeked from his willow tree and started shooting, leaving a pond of dead folks for any scavengers that had the guts to fetch food during this heated battle! 'Twas a trap!--a bloody, doggone hell of a fiendish trap! Dropping down from nearby tree branches, some lizard women pummeled us in no time!--rendering some of us eternally unconscious and some others heavily wounded! Due to the dynamic impact of a bloody lizard wench's shield and hammer, Sim dropped his shotgun! I thought all hell was going to break loose when a lizard wench picked up that shotgun and shot me square in the abdomen; I flew back to the ground, but I felt no abdominal pain; it must've been the work of Similie...Anyways, I got back up and threw my pistol-daggers at that wench while others tackled her. A fellow Kirby-looking ghost blew away many fiends with that eight-barreled shotgun, but she didn't even bother to get the fiend that tackled me from behind, pummeling me as if I killed his wife (if he had one). Flat on my stomach with a musket in my hands, I managed to thrust my backwards, luckily getting my attacker in the neck. A lizard women then took me to the ground again (man, I was unlucky! Why didn't anyone help me?!!); this time, I was flat on my back, blocking her every strike. I managed to impale her thrice--four times--five times--six times!--but, she was still on me, stamping my flat chest with her heavy hammer as if I were some kind of envelope to mailed to her grandmother! Looking around pathetically, I got the female Kirby ghost's attention, "Ma'am, I could use some help here!" She took out that feisty resilient lizard wench and resumed her pellet-onslaught. (She couldn't get enough of that shotgun, until it ran out of ammo, when she was forced to hand it back to Sim since she didn't know how to reload it...)

Picking up "dead" men's rifles, pistol-daggers, and muskets, we continued this "flanking process" a few times more until we got the enemies on the run. Meanwhile, the rifle-sneers and cannon-roars where dying out as we pushed the enemy from the valley to the cliffs; things really started to get nasty then; 'twas hand-to-hand time, and the H-Barrier was still in effect. Time to be that small-weapon genius my Crimson Brethren claimed me to be in Chapter 4...!


Metaphor Steiner's Account


"Englishman! Have you found it yet?!" the supposed chief uttered with the utmost impatience.

I: "Not yet, sire; I'm sure it's somewhere around this cliff."

Messenger: "Sir, I have news--"

Supposed chief: "What is it now!???"

Messenger: "Kalanikupule has been severely wounded; he retreated and put you in charge--"

Supposed chief: "Good! Now, help us find a Z-shaped ball!"

The messenger glanced at me as if he were to say, "Has he gone mad?"

"Hurry, Englishman; the enemy is here! Once we find that ball, Oahu will be mine--all mine--hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

"Yes, sire" was all I said...


Mateo Dinero's Account


A charging spearman lunged at me, but I caught his spear with my right arm, trimmed his neck with my left hand's pistol dagger, and tripped to lifeless corpse just to look intimidating; the next charging foes didn't seem impressed (perhaps I killed an amateur?). As soon as my left crescent kick deflected a foe's sword-thrust, my right pistol-dagger (let's just call it a knife) sank deep into his belly; I then used the swordsman as a shield against a bayonet attack, threw my right knife at the musketeer's mouth (my aim wasn't that great; I was just lucky), and took the swordsman's short sword. Swaying my knife and sword diagonally left and right in rapid succession, I parried every strike from a spearman until he pushed me to a tree by a heavy fan kick!

I: "Where the hell did you learn those kung fu moves!??"

Spearman: "From HELL!" (I assume he meant that litterally.)

My right crescent kick caught his pierce attack, but he let go of his spear and attempted to use my balls as a punching bag for his rapid-fire wing chun punches, yet I was one step ahead, I knife-swiped his wrists and mowed off his head.

I must admit Similie, who wasn't very far from Monica and me, fared fairly well with Solar Moon, though he--and sometimes I--had to heal his wounds from time to time.

I: "Simile, are you OK? Need help?"

Sim: "No, thank you; I can handle them--for the time being, at least..."

After I threw my short sword at one of Sim's foes to make his life a bit smoother, another spearman almost lanced me, if didn't move a bit to the side, attempting to knife his neck; unpredictably, my foe let go of his spear, halted my stab attempt, and kicked me to the ground. He was going to slice through my mid-section, but an ally Kirby ghost cut him on the side, yet this spearman then tried to fend off my Kirby friend. Though I intended to aim for the heart, my hurled knife struck one of his balls (I believe it was the left one; I forget exactly which one got hit, but we can ask Satoko later...); my ally took him "home" after that and helped me up while I took the foe's spear.

"Thank you, sire," I told the Kirby ghost.

"You're welcome, my lad; let us move on with haste!"

I heard approaching footsteps behind me as I parried a swordswoman's (lizard woman, if you really want to get racial) seven slashes, four roundhouses, and a low swing (these attacks weren't consecutive but mixed-up) before I had a chance to kick her away and leave my spear in her flat chestplate so I could wing-chun the heavy-set zombie (who know some drunken boxing) behind me. The zombie beat me back with his iron (or what I assumed to be iron) gauntlets/greeves, but I managed to take him down (by our handy-dandy scissor take down), pull the spear out of the swordswench, and stick it into the zombie's liver--if he still had one, yet the once-man-whore had enough strength to keep fighting! While he and I traded/evaded third-rate kung fu kicks/punches, Monica's serrated Rabid Vine made my duel much smoother, and I pushed the spear deeper into his liver! Monica and I let him pray to his gods one last time in his dying moments, but Satoko's Lunar Sun cut his prayer short!

I: "Satoko! I can't believe you can't even spare enough decency to let the poor foe finish his prayer!"

Satoko (angrily but carelessly): "So what?! He's goin' to hell anyways!"

I: "But, respect and honor still have their place on the battlefield."

Toko honey: "Not while I'm on it!"

Monica: "Whatever! Let's go!"

I (talking to the "dead" zombie while pulling the spear out of him): "Sorry 'bout that, mate; she's usually sweet, but she does have a temper of a tempest! I hope you'll understand; women get feisty on the battlefield."

Monica: "Who'er you talking to? Let's go, Matthew!"

I (still chatting with the corpse): "See what I mean? Don't worry; you'll get used to it in Hades...!"

I somersaulted over a humanoid ghost's low broadsword swing and flung my long spear at the heart of the zombie carrying two short swords, which I took from him; turning back to the broadswordghost, I--Matthew Dollar ("Mateo Dinero," in case you haven't figured it out by now), the supposed short-weapon genius--deflected his incoming curtails (with my left sword) and issued a consecutive left and right stroke to this neck (with my right sword), just to be safe.

My next opponent (a greyish-green, Kirby-looking ghost with two broadswords) wasn't going to make my night any easier. As soon as I averted her pierce attack, the K-ghost halted my right slash with her left! Before I could knee-strike her, she swiftly leaped back to refocus. Every time I lashed out with a combo (or part of a combo) attack, she would dance out of the way or cancel my attack(s) with the same attack(s), and I instinctively did the same to her! This frustrating "stalemate tango" continued for half an hour (it felt like an hour, but 'twas actually 10.81 seconds--according to Monica's count), until the K-ghost started getting tricky:

As we counterpoised each other's strikes, the K-ghost started to shuffle in a semi-circle around me; once she sought the opportunity, she ducked dow to trip me, but I cart-wheeled backwards, barely missing her strike. Unfortunately, as soon as I was on my feet, she leaped forward with a heavy dash; I got quite a big cut across my torso and got thrown back to a tree.

I: "Where the hell did you learn that?!?"

Kirby ghost: "From my grandparents' house in hell!"

I managed to put on a smile despite the pain: "Well, before you go back there, you can learn a trick or two from me."

K-ghost: "We'll see about that."

We sword-tangoed once more, but this time, the K-ghost was going all out; she did just about every trick in the book! (She even tried to pull down my pants on one occasion!) Though I tried to parry or dance away from her attacks, I was still getting whooped! She was quick and skilled--I'll give her that, but I still had one trick in my pouch.

"Sinbad!!!!! My medical insurance ain't gonna be enough for my wounds if you don't get outta that thing!" Out of the smoke came my genie; I then put the sword-dildo back in my pocket.

K-ghost (amazed as hell): "Where the heck did you get that?"

I: "From a sea-faring damsel on a forlorn junk!"

I was quite amazed that Sinbad's high-tech double-helix photon blades weren't affected by the mystical barrier that deactivated mine...

Anyways, the K-ghost still put up a remarkable fight as she dodged, blocked, somersaulted, and even countered our attacks! But, eventually, the two of her broadswords and feet couldn't withstand the combos from our four swords and feet. We [Sinbad and I] let the bloody Kirby ghost pray to whomever the hell she needed to pray to before she bled peacefully...

More bayonets and blades breezed past me while I tried to dodge/block every attack from my next three attackers; I felt a few searing stings here and there, but the cuts weren't fatal enough to waste SE (spirit energy) for, at least not yet...My PE (physical energy) waning slowly due to my genie Sinbad, I rolled out of range or the musketeer's broad swing and cut him on the side! Then, I helped Sinbad take out the swordszombie. A blazing wound was tattooed across my back by some good-for-nothing spearman, and before I healed myself via B. Arithmagics, I threw my short swords at him, slowing him down considerably enough for Monica to finish him with ease; afterwards, I picked up a musket.

(Please keep in mind that our SE is draining since we have to charge our weapons with W. Arith. to defeat ghosts!)

The last opponent I'll tell you about was a tall, skinny, muscular guy, much like me--with the skin tone to match! Anyways, his smile seemed to boast in his smooth, long sword--six feet long, to be exact! (No, it's not as wide or long as Satoko's eight-foot-long Stellar Cross [Solar Moon + Lunar Sun]!) I told Sinbad to mess with some other nearby fighters; I wanted to humble this longswordfreak!

He charged at me with a variety of swift slashes, which I did my best to avoid or parry. Due to his reckless combo, his longsword got caught in a tree trunk, and he couldn't pull it out in time to fend off my rifle-butt strike to his cheek, and he tumbled to the ground; I was about to sink my bayonet into his sternum, be he put his hands up, shrieking like a frightened homeless man. I pittied him; so, I ordered him to pull out that longsword for "Round 2":

The longswordfreak's uppercut, two left/right/diagonal curtails, spinning trip-slashes, another uppercut, and forcefull down-stoke almost gave me a free ticket to heaven's gate, but instead, they just aggravated my heartburn, since I tap-danced frantically away from each hit!--looking for an opening--which wasn't much of an opening: you see, the longswordfreak figured that he couldn't lift up his sword in time to fend my lunge attack after his heavy down-stroke (the same one mentioned in the first sentence of this paragraph); thus, he rolled to left, and my bayonet sank deep into a bloody tree trunk! I couldn't pull the doggone thing out! There I was for the next ten seconds or so--, bobbing/weaving, flipping, shuffling, somersaulting, and using almost all the tricks in the "Book of Zumba"!--like an amateur gymnast wannabe who performs for a few dollars just to support his meager life!--until I sought the chance to deliver the following rotary combo (all the following moves are spin-attacks, in other words): a jumping back, a roundhouse, a low trip-kick (which missed), and uppercut (also missed), two backhand strikes, another uppercut, and a fan kick, followed by an slower, stronger fan kick! Sadly, the freak blocked or evaded most of my spin attacks, but my last kick took him to the ground, yet he rolled back up in no time, ready to mince me with a vengeance, like a psychotic antagonist in a horror movie!--such as this (kidding).

Rushing to my aid with a horrified look came Sinbad, but I made a stopping gesture with my hand, implying, "Don't worry, brotha! I can handle him; this fool has nothin' on me!" My genie resumed slaying whomever the hell he was slaying...

Sometime during the longswordfreak's rain of curtails, as I somersaulted over a war hammer, I retrieved the war hammer, landing back on my feet. I leaped backwards--far enough from his reach--and threw the heavy huge hammer at him, who fell flat on his back; I drop-kicked the longsword out of his hand and fetched the hammer beside him; I held the hammer up high and stared into his fear-filled eyes. I didn't want to kill a ghost I don't have to kill; he used to be human, after all; I just wanted Metaphor back, not a blood-bath! So, I didn't squash his skull into mash potatoes; instead, I let him live and run off the battlefield...

Now, the enemy army was quite nigh the cliff! We then could see Metaphor and some chief-looking guy in the distance.

I: "Similie."

Sim: "Yes?"

I: "Wanna be a hero?"

Sim: "Um, uh--Matty, what madness are you implying!?"

I: "I want you to be to take out that chief over there! Looks as if he's forcing Met to hard labor! This is your chance to be a hero!"

Sim: "Aren't you going to help me!?"

I: "Uh, only when you really need it; ye gotta make a good impression in front of Metaphor. I hope you had the chance to observe Satoko's katana techniques; you're gonna need 'em!"


Metaphor Steiner's Account


Amongst all the swashbuckling, I came across a smooth, rounded, Z-shaped rock and exclaimed to the chief in fake excitement, "Look, I've found it! Here it is!" The chief snatched it from me and held it to the evening sky, yelling, "Hahahahahahahahah--bwahahahahahahahahaha!!! Look in despair, all you foes! I have the blessing of the Chinese fried rice dragon; all the power of heave and Earth has been given unto me! Now, bow down to your new master! I said BOW DOWN, all of you mortals! What?!? Why do you not fear me!? Do you fancy me mad? I am evil incarnate; EVIL, I say!!! So, worship me before I unleash my satanic judgment upon all of you grasshoppers!"

Mack: "That fiend has gone mad! Similie, finish him while we deal with the others!"

The supposed chief then said to me, "H-how do we unleash its power? TELL ME, you vile, corrupted Englishman!"

I: "I--I do not know! Perhaps you are too evil to wield its power--"

Supposed chief: "Then, wield it for me!!! We're going to die!!"

Confused and terrified, a good minority of his men fled him and jumped of the cliff, but others stood their ground.

Supposed chief: "Find out how to unleash its power while I take care of this foolhardy Englishman (Similie)."

I: "Similie, you fool! Stop playing the hero; you can't defeat him by yourself! Call for help!"

My foolish brother: "NO, I'm a hero! Santa Helena said so herself!"

I: "Santa who?!?"

My foolish brother: "Just sit back! I'll handle this fiendish madman and send him back to the asylums of hell!"

I: "Don't die on me, Similie; you're the only brother I have!"

"Yes, sire" was all he said...


Similie Steiner's Account


Suddenly, I felt that the Hollywood Barrier had been lifted, while the supposed chief (let's call him "S.C" for the author's tiring hands) walked triumphantly toward me with a heavy, long, spike mace--like a proud jaguar without life insurance. With the H-Barrier gone, could now use gravitational Arithmagics to make Solar Moon much lighter for me, consuming much spirit energy. S.C. and I tried to intimidate each other through name-calling seemed to affect me more that it affected S.C., but I had to remain strong focused--Metaphor's watching!

Using both ends of the mace to strike, S.C. glided at me with a variety of rotary swings, up/downwards thrusts/slashes, kicks sweep-attacks, and some weird-looking quanta, but I managed to block or evade each hit, hover backwards like kung fu stunt actresses, and emitted a trail of impaling icicle stalagmites by stomping the ground; by some color-less air ripples, S.C. shattered my approaching stampede of spikes! I, quite appalled by my shattered stalagmite, hurled myself at him with a series of diagonal slashes and spin-slashes, but, as soon as my last strike landed on his guarding mace, S.C. kicked me away and launched an Antarctic tunnel, making Solar Moon fly out of my hand!

Solar Moon was quit far from me now, but there were many fallen comrades' and foes' weapons on the ground, like a graveyard armory! I healed myself swiftly and retrieved two pistol-daggers from a fallen ghost acquaintance so I could try some of Mack Matty's exquisite knife-fighting techniques on the unruly fiend before me. After cart-wheeling over his low swings, ducking under his high ones, and rolling past his diagonal ones, I swiftly concluded that the daggers were not the right weapons for me--at least not at this time. Therefore, I kept a good distance away from him and threw both daggers at him; though I tried to aim for the throat, the daggers found themselves lodged in one of his poor balls (I believe it was the right one, but perhaps Monica can tell us which one got hit); I felt quite sorry for him as he howled in unspeakable misery, but I, retrieving a nearby pike, had no time for sympathy. As soon as he healed his wounds, I spiraled after him in a sparkling, starry helix (W. Arithmagics), yet S.C. leaped over me, his shadowy parabola hitting me in the back!

"Ow," I thought as I rubbed my back with B. Arithmagics, "You'll pay for that, you filthy maggot!"

Still in mid-air, S.C. unleashed a barrage of weird-looking quanta; ergo, I rolled/tap-danced out of the was while I summoned a few quick thunderbolts from the charcoal-grey clouds. S.C. then managed to avert/dodge my multiple snowballs, pierces, and slashes (I wasn't a fast kicker like Matty Mack); then, I tried a broad--very broad--swing which he ducked under! Before he could do any harm, I let go of my spear, knee-kicked his forehead (he staggered back), and wing-chun punched his chest, neck, and face like wasp fighting a rhinoceros! (My punches were so unprofessional that they seemed ineffective, but I'm sure Matty would praise me from trying.) After he rolled away from me, S.C.'s face implied, "Whoa, what the bloody hell was that!? I'd better be more careful with this despicable urchin!"

Oh, but, his last mistake was yet to come:

Using gravity's power, I gave "life" to my fallen spear and let it thrust and sweep on it's own accord; S.C. counterpoised every attack from the spear; so, I made the spear soar from under his legs to hit his buttocks, making him stagger towards me. Infuriated, S.C. mace-danced with the spear and eventually beat the "life" out the poor battered spear.

"Right where I want you, you bloody oaf!" I thought. Now, S.C. was between me and that golden razor-sharp Solar Moon; consuming an irreletively high amount of SE (spirit energy), I made gravity toss nearby weapons at him (I charged them with W. Arithmagics, of course); he, in mid-air, frantically swiped them away as I made Solar Moon soar to his neck from behind.

I: "Take that, you blasted man-wench!"

S.C.: "How--how could I lose to the likes of you--you filthy evil swine!--uhhhhh...."

By this time, most of S.C.'s men were disposed of, and the remaining ones fought valiantly until pushed off the cliff. Mack Matty kept two pistol-daggers for souvenirs...

After the battle, I was expecting 100% praise from my brother, but I had to settle with this: "Similie, you fool! You almost got killed! But, thanks for saving my life from that wretched madman."

I: "Ah, that's what brothers are for; 'twas about time that I repaid thee for the times you save my life!" We both laughed. My CIA friends ran toward us.

Lady Satoko: "Oh, Metaphor, are you all right?"

Met: "Yes, thank you; Similie just saved my life!"

Satoko glanced at me angrily, implying, "That freak? You gotta be kidding me! I could've done better if Mack told me you were here! Damn him!" I then put my hands on my hips as if I were to say, "Hey! Heroes deserve more respect than that! How come he gets Satoko!??? He didn't do anything!"

Lady Satoko: "Are you cold, Metaphor?"

Met: "Well, yes, a little--"

While she put her trench coat on Met, my dear Satoko hugged him and kissed him on the cheek!!!! I couldn't believe my eyes! I plucked my eyes out, wiped them on my trench coat, and put them back into their sockets, yet they deceived me not: my Satoko was hugging Metaphor! INCONCEIVABLE, I say! Intolerable to the highest degree, if I may add! What kind of flirt is Metaphor!!!!???? Yet, the look on Mack's and Monica's faces implied, "Aw, isn't that cute?!!! Similie might've gotten the same treatment if he got kidnapped." Maybe next time, I should be the victim.....

I handed Solar Moon back to my lady Satoko, and she snatched it and wiped the hilt with her shirt! I looked at her as if I were to say, "Hey! I don't have the flu!"

Mr. Chief: "Thank you so much for helping us! I do not know if we could have made it without your excellent fighting skills."

Mack: "Oh, 'twas a pleasure; I look forward to--"

Suddenly, the ghost army disappeared, and that music-box music resumed its eerie "chant" from a distance!

Met: "Did you see that, or have I gone mad!?"

Monica: "These things happen all the time, Metaphor; it's hard to get used to."

Met then had a disgusted look on his face: "My golly! I've been kidnapped by--ghosts???? I thought this madness happens only in ghost stories!!!"

Lady Satoko (looking at you--the reader[s]): "We are in a ghost story, right!?!"


Metaphor Steiner's Account


Whooosh, whooosh, whoooosh!

As my acquaintances walked forward, I stopped and looked back, and--my jolly goodness!--there was an orange, long, dragon with golden hair! She even had a carton of freshly-cooked fried rice in her hand! Dropping from the starry evening sky, she kicked the Z-shaped ball toward me as if she were to say, "Keep if for a souvenir; you'll never know what kind of power it holds until you unleash it!"

I: "Hey, please wait, ma'am; would you be so kind to tell me how to unleash its power?!"

The Chinese dragon shot back up to the sky; the wink of her blazing eye implied, "You'll figure it out one day; in due time, my lad, in due time." Without a sound, she flew away!

Monica: "Metaphor, what's the hold up? Are you emotionally attached to the forest?"

I: "Did you see that dragon? She kicked this thing at me and flew away!"

CIA folks: "No, I wasn't looking in that direction, but I swear I smelt some fried rice!" (Remember, they all said the previous sentence in their own way; I just recorded Mack's quote.)


Mateo Dinero's Account


Met told us about the "legend" that he made up to delay his death. 'Twas strange that this legend seemingly became true; does Metaphor have secret "narrating powers"? Perhaps this was a true legend? Too much madness in one day takes a toll on psyche. We dropped the subject and followed the music-box music.

To our slight surprise, the once-whore from before was in her blue robe and wizard-like sleeping cap and was winding up her music box.

Zombie: "Ratatatatatat?" ("Won the battle?")

I: "Yes, we had a great time; you should've joined us!"

Zombie: "Neggah buh buh dahdah." ("I would've if I knew which one was the winning side.")

I: "Haha, I know how you feel, sista!"

Zomb: "Blah rah rah; har lo lah?" (“It's 11:50; would you like to sleep over in my 'house'?")

I: "Ma'am, I would love to, but we really have to get back. Sweet dreams!"

Zomb: "Blah, blah, blah..." ("It's been 45 years since I had a dream! Oh, well, maybe I'll sleep better now since those armies are gone; I had enough of their cannons...”)

Now, do you remember at the end of Chapter 5 when I told my dad to wait until midnight before leaving? Well, at 11:59, my parents were about to leave, but I shouted, "Hey, it's not 12:01 yet! What's wrong with your clock!?" We [Sim, Monica, and I] drove with my parents, but Satoko and Metaphor drove in the Enterprise rental car..............................

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Novel / Novella
writing Highsmyth
"The mountain only seems so high from the valley; if you're at the end of your rope, tie a knot on it and hang on!" --John Hagee.

Action-adventure writers of the world, UNITE!
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Ghost wars rarely get better than this, honeys!
A Word from the Writer
If you like funny acrobatic martial arts imbued with a touch of funky magic and a funny/unique plot in a futuristic world, this is your story, loves! If you see any type-errors (besides the big fonts), let me know! And, by God, comment!!!! I want to know that hell you loathe/love 'bout this forlorn thing...! Meow...