Chapter 30: Final Battle/Striker’s death. Floyd
Chapter 30: Final Battle/Striker’s death.
Floyd the Trollagon looked over the battlefield, his heart racing as the sounds of clashing weapons and roars of fury filled the air. He knew this was it – the final battle that would decide the fate of their world.
He roars, his voice echoing through the canyon, “Brothers and sisters, today we fight for our home!” The dragons, lions, and hedgehogs responded with a fierce cry of determination, their eyes reflecting the fiery passion of the setting sun. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of iron and magic. The ancient transformation cursed flower stood tall and ominous, its petals fluttering in the breeze, almost taunting them with its power.
He blasts Striker with a burst of plasma from his mouth, the heat so intense it created a wall of fire that Striker struggled to dodge. The ground cracks beneath the Dragon’s feet as he lands heavily, his scales smoking from the near miss. Branch, seeing an opening, saw a crack in the ground, a fissure created by the power of Floyd’s attack. He falls but Floyd catches him with ease, their bond as brothers unbroken.
“I gotcha, Branch.” Floyd said, his grip firm and comforting. Branch nodded his thanks, his eyes never leaving Striker. “Floyd, look out!” Branch shouted as Striker lunged towards them, his teeth bared in anger.
Branch snarls as he used his troll powers to blocked Striker just as he was about to punch them.
“Whoa wait, what the?!” Striker roared, recoiling from the sudden block. His eyes narrowed on the new, unexpected opponent. Floyd stepped forward, his body brimming with energy. The transformation had changed him, making him larger and more powerful than ever before. The dragon’s scales shimmered in the fading light, a stark contrast to the fiery hue of his eyes. “YOU COME AT ME, AND MY BROTHER! DON’T FORGET, YOU’RE IN MY HOUSE, STRIKER!” Floyd’s voice thundered through the canyon, the very earth seeming to tremble in response.
The dragon’s body writhed in pain as Floyd’s fists met with his flesh, each blow sending a shockwave of power rippling through the air. The purple fire that surrounded Floyd’s hands burned Striker’s scales, leaving smoldering marks in its wake. The dragon’s eyes grew wide with fear as he realized the extent of Floyd’s newfound strength. He had never seen such a display from a creature of his own kind, let alone one transformed by a mere plant. He was back to gremlin troll. Before Branch puts his hand on Floyd’s shoulder, getting his attention.
“Whoa, whoa, Floyd. He’s had enough.” Branch’s voice was firm but gentle, a stark contrast to the ferocity of the battle. Floyd paused, his chest heaving with exertion, and looked down at Striker, who lay beaten and broken on the ground before them. The dragon’s eyes were glazed over, his breathing shallow. The once-mighty creature looked so small and vulnerable now, a pitiful shadow of his former self.
“Alright. How’s mercy taste, you little snake?” Floyd sneered, his purple fire dying down as he loomed over Striker.
Striker coughed, a trickle of blood escaping his lips. “No… You don’t get to end this! I’m Striker!” he wheezed, his voice a mere shadow of its former boom. “I’m just a gremlin Troll! And just some ugly clown or something! I started everything on Earth! All of trollkind came from these crazy nuts! I’m the master of the trolls! You all should be listening to me, you ungrateful, disgusting, awful losers-!”
Just as Striker finished his spiteful words, a small knife was thrown with deadly precision, slicing through the air and embedding itself deep into his side. He shrieked in pain, the sound piercing the air like a banshee’s wail. The gang looked around in shock, trying to pinpoint the source of the attack. “Woa-hoah!” Hanna exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth in surprise.
“Hey, y-ya got somethin’ stickin’ outta your… your thing there,” Floyd pointed, his voice trembling slightly as he took in the sight of the knife.
Striker collapses face first to the ground, revealing Clay on his back, his eyes wide with horror and desperation. His trembling hand still clutched the handle of the knife, a dagger that had once been a cherished keepsake from his mother. “Clay?” Branch asked, his voice laced with confusion and concern.
Clay looked down at Striker, his eyes a whirlwind of emotions. “Die! Die! Die! Perish, monster!” he screamed, pulling the knife out and stabbing Striker again and again. Each thrust brought forth a geyser of blood, painting the once pristine sand red.
“AAAAH! This is my Mr. Clay!” Viva screeched happily, grabbing Poppy’s face. The chaos of the battle had brought out the worst in Clay, but it was clear to all that his intentions were pure. He was fighting for his friends, for his family, and for the world he had come to love.
“Guilty! Hahahaha!” Clay yelled and laughed maniacally, his eyes wild with rage and grief.
Nova, who had been watching from afar, her heart pounding in her chest, could not believe what she was seeing. The love of her life, the one she had followed and supported, was being killed by her own allies. “NOOO!” she screamed, her voice raw with despair. She dashed towards Striker’s body, pushing through the shocked and bewildered crowd of fighters. Clay skips off, a crazed look in his eyes, leaving Striker’s lifeless form behind.
As Nova reached him, she fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “No, no, no, no, Striker…” she whispered, her voice a broken record of despair. She cradled his head in her arms, his blood staining her fur. “Look at me, look at me, I’m right here. Don’t go, stay with me, Striker… please.” Her eyes searched his, willing him to stay with her, to find the strength to fight. He gave her a small, weak smile, one that was filled with love and regret.
Striker’s breath grew shallow, his life force draining from him with each passing second. His eyes glazed over, and his body went limp in her arms. “STRIKER!” Nova’s scream of anguish echoed through the canyon, a sound so heart-wrenching it seemed to shake the very foundation of the ancient world around them. The others approached cautiously, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on their hearts.
“It’s over.” Branch’s voice was cold, his gaze never leaving Striker’s lifeless form. The rage that had fueled him throughout the battle had dissipated, leaving only a deep, aching sadness. “Take your little friends and GO HOME! Please.” He didn’t look at Nova, couldn’t bear to see the pain in her eyes.
Nova felt a numbness spread through her as she stared down at Striker’s lifeless form, her grip tightening around his leather bracelet. The weight of his body in her arms was a grim reminder of what had just transpired. She knew that she had to act fast, to salvage what was left of their plan. “Retreat! All Gremlin Trolls turn back!” she ordered, her voice cracking with grief.
The surviving Gremlin Trolls looked at her, their eyes filled with confusion and fear. They had never seen their leader fall, never thought the day would come when they would have to retreat without his command. But they knew better than to question her now. With heavy hearts, they turned and sprinted back towards the glowing portal to Great Gremlin, their footsteps echoing in the vast canyon. The portal loomed ahead, a gateway to safety, but for Nova, it was a prison, a cage that would separate her from Striker forever. It close with a deafening boom, leaving only a shimmering afterimage in the air. Floyd stepped forward, his body still vibrating with the power of the transformation.
“Sooo, *sighs* Who wants Hot Dogs?” Floyd asked, his voice a strange mix of exhaustion and forced cheerfulness. She raised her hand, and the group stared at her, their expressions a blend of confusion and shock. They had never seen Floyd act this way after such a gruesome battle.
The dust settled on the battlefield, leaving behind a scene of carnage and utter bewilderment. Floyd, still radiating an otherworldly purple glow, surveyed the wreckage with a confused frown. “Uh, guys?” he asked, scratching his head. “Does anyone have a spare pair of pants? I think I might have accidentally… well, let’s just say I had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction.”
Branch, with a sigh that could rival the wind whistling through the canyon, nudged Floyd’s shoulder. “Dude, I think you’ve just obliterated Striker with your power-up.”
Floyd blinked, the realization dawning on him. “Oh. Right. Well, I guess that’s one way to win a battle.” He paused, then added with a shrug, “Although, it’s a bit anticlimactic, isn’t it? No epic final showdown, no dramatic last words… just… vaporized.”
Poppy, ever the optimist, chirped, “Well, at least Striker’s finally out of the picture! We won!”
“Yeah, won,” Branch muttered, eyeing the scattered remnants of Striker’s once-formidable body. “Except, you know, the part where we kind of destroyed the entire landscape in the process. And maybe the part where we have to explain to everyone what exactly happened to Clay.”
“Oh, right,” Poppy gasped, suddenly remembering. “Clay! Where’s Clay?”
Their eyes landed on Clay, standing amidst the wreckage, holding a tiny, charred, and completely unusable pocketknife. He was mumbling something about “justice” and “vengeance,” all while throwing dramatic, yet slightly off-key, operatic gestures in the air.
“He’s… um, channeling his inner Shakespeare,” Floyd said, trying to sound reassuring.
Branch raised an eyebrow. “More like channeling his inner… well, let’s just say he needs a good dose of reality therapy.”
Nova, however, was not amused. She had been staring at the spot where Striker had been, her face a mask of devastation. Then, she whipped around, her eyes flashing with anger. “Where is that blasted portal? I need to go home! Right now!”
Floyd, realizing the seriousness of the situation, threw his arm around Nova’s shoulder. “Hey, Nova, it’s alright. It’s not your fault. I mean, Striker was… well, he was a bit of a jerk. He totally started all this, right?”
Nova glared at Floyd, her gaze sharp enough to pierce a dragon’s hide. “I’m going home, Floyd. And when I get there, I’m going to find the most ridiculously large, fluffy stuffed animal I can possibly find, and I’m going to hug it until my arms fall off. Because that’s exactly what I need right now. A hug. Not your ridiculous attempts at humor.”
As Nova stormed off, leaving a trail of purple smoke in her wake, the rest of the gang watched in stunned silence. “Well, that went well,” Floyd said, looking at Branch for reassurance.
Branch simply sighed. “This is going to be a long night. And who knows what kind of chaos we’ll find when we get home. I mean, you know, besides the giant, fluffy stuffed animal incident.”
“Hey, I might be a bit crazy,” Floyd said, “But I’m not stupid. I know that Nova’s upset. I’ll just… hang back a bit and let her cool down, okay?”
“Yeah, probably a good idea,” Branch muttered, glancing at the now-silent battlefield. “Maybe we should all just try to get some sleep. We’ll figure this mess out in the morning.”
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the ravaged battlefield, the gang headed towards their homes, each carrying their own burdens and grappling with the aftermath of a battle that was both epic and utterly ridiculous. It was a victory, yes, but it was a victory laced with a strange, almost bittersweet, sense of humor. And who knew, maybe that was the only thing that could save them all from complete despair.
