Best Fighting Scene

[TheMonotonePuppet]

Premise: You have two people: one is a tall, thin man who is a maniacal priest of sorts with and another is a short child with ghoulish features and a endlessly regenerating, undead body and martial arts expertise.

Task: Write the best fighting scene you can with solely physical moves (no magic or anything like that. Just physical speed, strength, dexterity, and her healing)

 

[TASTYLEADPAINT]

Child uses *gun*.

ITS SUPER EFFECTIVE

*FIN*

 

[TheMonotonePuppet]

Child uses *gun*.

ITS SUPER EFFECTIVE

*FIN*

Aaaarrrgghh!!! No guns or any form of related artillery! Just one's body, and in a crowded, urban environment to move around (with no weapons of any form to use).
Really though, I would prefer that no loopholes are purposefully found and to follow the intent of the prompt, rather than solely to the letter.

 

[Deleted member 84247]

Premise: You have two people: one is a tall, thin man who is a maniacal priest of sorts with and another is a short child with ghoulish features and a endlessly regenerating, undead body and martial arts expertise.

Task: Write the best fighting scene you can with solely physical moves (no magic or anything like that. Just physical speed, strength, dexterity, and her healing)

I feel like this is too easy for the child.

Violent acts of prejudice had spread throughout the holy church. The city of Dooran's church prevented a number of creatures from even attending mass; however, among all of the races the undead were the most vilified. Even now an aged thin priest towered over a poor ghoulish child as he berated her for even existing. "Your kind has no place in our beautiful city! You stain the grounds with your muck!"

The child had enough. Everyday she was forced to endure, but today would be the last! She steeled herself as she kicked him right in the shin. The priest yelped a pitiful scream, before falling on his face. The onlookers stood in silence; meanwhile, the fallen priest yelled out. "I think I broke my hip!"

The End: To lazy to write more.

 

[Syringe]

The Bloodletting Priest had found its match.

Following the stars, guided by a mangled voice in his head, he arrived at fog-enveloped burial grounds of the many families he had condemned. Standing amongst the nameless twigs and wilted chrysanthemums was a female child, lurching over an uncovered body. She bleed her arms onto the flowers as though to water them.

The sight of blood caused his grin to stretch beyond his ears, his hands eager to bleed the child of her blood. He possessed no instruments. No weapons or tools. He was a man that believed technology and the tools of the developed world were a heretical taint. That doctors could not truly cure the soul - could never bestow salvation - quite like bloodletting could.

Neither shared a word. When both locked gazes upon one another, the child began their vengeful assault.

What should have been the tiny patters of a child were abnormally heavy, like their shouldered wrath had become tangible. The Priest thought nothing of said child, and reached out a deranged hand like that of a broken branch to claim his prize. However, despite his reach, the child sidestepped his arm, dragging blackened nails along his forearm, peeling flesh and cloth made of human skin as she aimed for his throat.

Her speed caught him by surprise. In an effort to minimise the damage, he threw his head forward and smashed it into her skull. In the split second that her world turned black, the man thrust his hand into her stomach, clawing out chunks of flesh. Having previously being a surgeon, the Bloodletting Priest understood where major blood vessels hid. Blood showered them both as the child grappled along his body, fighting like a clawed monkey on the shoulders of a giant.

Her wound would surely kill her sooner or later. The Priest, in spite of his skeletal appearance, possessed nightmarish resilience. His sense of self preservation was castrated along with his sense of pain. As the child tore off cloth from the man, the scars of distant battles emerged along his flesh, carved with fresh lacerations.

No. They were not of distant battles. They were but reminders of victims that had failed to resist his holy mission, conveyed to him by the voice that begged to cleanse this little one of her blood. Of the Original Sin that plagued man ever since the sweet puss of the forbidden apple was slurped. However, as both accumulated wounds, the pool of their foul blood grew became a shallow lake.

The lacerations amassed by the child were seemingly repaired as if by a miracle bestowed upon by a Deity. Wounds violently sealed as steam burst through lacerations. The Priest only murmured, struggling to take hold of the child as he realized his hands as become pink, wilted and blistered by the regenerative steam.

He was shocked.

How could the impurities be drained if the blood could never end? The Bloodletting Priest believed that if one could survive the procedure, then they'd be absolved of all sin. But the nature of man meant that his skewed version of salvation would result in inevitable death. Yet this child did not perish. No wound could ever draw enough blood to kill her. And so, as the child attempted one last slash at the man's neck, he clasped onto her head with both hands.

And he crushed it like a ripe pomegranate.

Her lifeless body fell into the pool of their concoction of crimson fluids. The damage he had taken would end him if no action was taken. However, he did not immediately move. Rather, he observed the body, and his previously slipping smile returned as he offered a prayer, and was praised by the deranged voice of his mission's success.

He lived for its acknowledgement, for none in his life ever acknowledged him.

As he turned his back to return to his broken chapel, he unexpectedly collapsed.

Turning back, he realized that his Achilles heels had been severed, and standing behind him, now on his back was the child whose head was enveloped with burning steam. His attempts to swat her away were futile, for she went in for the kill, digging her hands and nails into the base of his spine. Through the tiny cranny in the base of the cranium, she shoved her hand and ravaged grey matter like an animal scraping out food from the bottom of a barrel.

As an Undead, brains were the greatest source of nutrition. It was the only way she could ever grow hers back. However, with no method to chomp it, she carved a hole directly into her stomach and allowed the digestive fluids to do their work. Over the course of hours her head slowly returned, and by then, the fog had disappeared, revealing a night sky devoid of stars and its moon.

Yet like a wolf, she reeled her head up to the sky as though a moon did exist, and she sung a lullaby in the dead of night.

One handed down by her mother who now slept beneath the unamed tombstones.

One about how their world used to be filled with so many stars that shone upon their bleak world of madness.

 

[melchi]

Child uses *gun*.

ITS SUPER EFFECTIVE

*FIN*

Perfection.

 

[ThrillingHuman]

I suck at fighting scenes, especially when it comes to physical fights, but here I go:

The Child crawled out of the debris of the underground ruins.
His left leg was bent in the wrong direction and was in the process of regeneration - which involved very disturbing crunching sounds and an unholy amound of pain. The Child was silent and did not let the pain show on his ghoulish tiny face.
His yellowish murky eyes covered the space around him in a quick sweep and he saw the Priest lying down, half-crushed beneath a flat stone wall. Blood was pooling around the thin emaciated figure and most people who'd seen it would conclude the terror of a man dead.
Child knew better. Child saw the crushed Priest and saw an opportunity.
He didn't wait for his leg to heal and ran towards the thin figure like a mad hyena hungry for the meat.
He jumped at the man and began tearing at his body with his ghoulish knife-like claws.
*Squick, squick, swish*
Meat and blood as well as pieces of intrnal organs were flying to the air as the Child was clawing away at the immobile anarexic body.
Child was trying to tear the large intestine out from beneath the piece of flat wall when said wall flew at him with the speed of a rabbid horse and sent him flying with it.
The priest, now free from the burden, stood up.
He was a hellish sight, with his abdomen all but gone, intestines and bits of gore spewing out of it like a slow and visceral waterfall.
But his gait was firm and he was smiling his trademark disgusting smile from ear to ear.
He lazily traces over the tear in his abdomen and brought a terribly thin and pale finger to his mouth.
His pale and serpentine tongue traced over the blackish crimson goo on his finger and hid behind his razor sharp teeth.
His black eyes narrowed deep inside his eye sockets and his awful smile grew wider.
He walked towards the piece of wall that had imprisoned him earlier in a slow but confident manner.
He put his thin fingers on it and they sunk into the pale yellow stone. He put another hand beneath the wall and, with ease that completely didn't suit his stature, raised it over his head.
The Child was completely crushed underneath the tonnes of stone. He was practically liquified, his bones were thoughroughly crushed, his brain was a puddle and there was no organ in him that stayed internal.
It seemed completely absurd to see his unholy powers work to stitch him back together. The priest made a sound like a baboon in heat as he brought down his unwieldly weapon, turning the Child's power's progress back to zero again.
He raised it and brought it down again.
And again.
And again.
The ground was shaking beneath his feet but the puddle - the grotesque crimson stain - kept wriggling.
The Priest made a sound that sonded like an angry snarl of a dog and began beating bdown with the wall even harder, until it could take no more and broke apart into smaller pieces.
The priest then in a frenzy began throwing the pieces away and grabbed the ugly goo with his hands and began stuffing his mouth with it until there was nothing left.
He then fell down as his chest bulged and something tore through it - that something being a gelationous tiny ghoul-shaped mass of crimson, the Child.
The Child stood and regenerated in front of his adversary. The Priest could regenerate, but his powers were far weaker and slower than Child's.
Considering how the Priest's front has been opened like a can of sardines, the Child allowed himself a few agonizing minutes of quiet and piece in this endless battle without a hope for a victory, a defeat or an end.

 

[TheMonotonePuppet]

The Bloodletting Priest had found its match.

Following the stars, guided by a mangled voice in his head, he arrived at fog-enveloped burial grounds of the many families he had condemned. Standing amongst the nameless twigs and wilted chrysanthemums was a female child, lurching over an uncovered body. She bleed her arms onto the flowers as though to water them.

The sight of blood caused his grin to stretch beyond his ears, his hands eager to bleed the child of her blood. He possessed no instruments. No weapons or tools. He was a man that believed technology and the tools of the developed world were a heretical taint. That doctors could not truly cure the soul - could never bestow salvation - quite like bloodletting could.

Neither shared a word. When both locked gazes upon one another, the child began their vengeful assault.

What should have been the tiny patters of a child were abnormally heavy, like their shouldered wrath had become tangible. The Priest thought nothing of said child, and reached out a deranged hand like that of a broken branch to claim his prize. However, despite his reach, the child sidestepped his arm, dragging blackened nails along his forearm, peeling flesh and cloth made of human skin as she aimed for his throat.

Her speed caught him by surprise. In an effort to minimise the damage, he threw his head forward and smashed it into her skull. In the split second that her world turned black, the man thrust his hand into her stomach, clawing out chunks of flesh. Having previously being a surgeon, the Bloodletting Priest understood where major blood vessels hid. Blood showered them both as the child grappled along his body, fighting like a clawed monkey on the shoulders of a giant.

Her wound would surely kill her sooner or later. The Priest, in spite of his skeletal appearance, possessed nightmarish resilience. His sense of self preservation was castrated along with his sense of pain. As the child tore off cloth from the man, the scars of distant battles emerged along his flesh, carved with fresh lacerations.

No. They were not of distant battles. They were but reminders of victims that had failed to resist his holy mission, conveyed to him by the voice that begged to cleanse this little one of her blood. Of the Original Sin that plagued man ever since the sweet puss of the forbidden apple was slurped. However, as both accumulated wounds, the pool of their foul blood grew became a shallow lake.

The lacerations amassed by the child were seemingly repaired as if by a miracle bestowed upon by a Deity. Wounds violently sealed as steam burst through lacerations. The Priest only murmured, struggling to take hold of the child as he realized his hands as become pink, wilted and blistered by the regenerative steam.

He was shocked.

How could the impurities be drained if the blood could never end? The Bloodletting Priest believed that if one could survive the procedure, then they'd be absolved of all sin. But the nature of man meant that his skewed version of salvation would result in inevitable death. Yet this child did not perish. No wound could ever draw enough blood to kill her. And so, as the child attempted one last slash at the man's neck, he clasped onto her head with both hands.

And he crushed it like a ripe pomegranate.

Her lifeless body fell into the pool of their concoction of crimson fluids. The damage he had taken would end him if no action was taken. However, he did not immediately move. Rather, he observed the body, and his previously slipping smile returned as he offered a prayer, and was praised by the deranged voice of his mission's success.

He lived for its acknowledgement, for none in his life ever acknowledged him.

As he turned his back to return to his broken chapel, he unexpectedly collapsed.

Turning back, he realized that his Achilles heels had been severed, and standing behind him, now on his back was the child whose head was enveloped with burning steam. His attempts to swat her away were futile, for she went in for the kill, digging her hands and nails into the base of his spine. Through the tiny cranny in the base of the cranium, she shoved her hand and ravaged grey matter like an animal scraping out food from the bottom of a barrel.

As an Undead, brains were the greatest source of nutrition. It was the only way she could ever grow hers back. However, with no method to chomp it, she carved a hole directly into her stomach and allowed the digestive fluids to do their work. Over the course of hours her head slowly returned, and by then, the fog had disappeared, revealing a night sky devoid of stars and its moon.

Yet like a wolf, she reeled her head up to the sky as though a moon did exist, and she sung a lullaby in the dead of night.

One handed down by her mother who now slept beneath the unamed tombstones.

One about how their world used to be filled with so many stars that shone upon their bleak world of madness.

Absolutely beautiful!!! If this style is what your writing is characterized by, then I am definitely checking out your story. It's really good!!! The gore is top-notch, and the insane perspective is truly delightful. The twisted teachings that run this man's brain is a sight to behold. I cannot gush over it enough.

 

[Deleted member 84247]

Absolutely beautiful!!! If this style is what your writing is characterized by, then I am definitely checking out your story. It's really good!!! The gore is top-notch, and the insane perspective is truly delightful. The twisted teachings that run this man's brain is a sight to behold. I cannot gush over it enough.

Syringe is really great at writing!

 

[TheMonotonePuppet]

I feel like this is too easy for the child.

Violent acts of prejudice had spread throughout the holy church. The city of Dooran's church prevented a number of creatures from even attending mass; however, among all of the races the undead were the most vilified. Even now an aged thin priest towered over a poor ghoulish child as he berated her for even existing. "Your kind has no place in our beautiful city! You stain the grounds with your muck!"

The child had enough. Everyday she was forced to endure, but today would be the last! She steeled herself as she kicked him right in the shin. The priest yelped a pitiful scream, before falling on his face. The onlookers stood in silence; meanwhile, the fallen priest yelled out. "I think I broke my hip!"

The End: To lazy to write more.

LMAO! I wasn't expecting comedy for the fight scene, but it certainly turned out downright hilarious!

I suck at fighting scenes, especially when it comes to physical fights, but here I go:

The Child crawled out of the debris of the underground ruins.
His left leg was bent in the wrong direction and was in the process of regeneration - which involved very disturbing crunching sounds and an unholy amound of pain. The Child was silent and did not let the pain show on his ghoulish tiny face.
His yellowish murky eyes covered the space around him in a quick sweep and he saw the Priest lying down, half-crushed beneath a flat stone wall. Blood was pooling around the thin emaciated figure and most people who'd seen it would conclude the terror of a man dead.
Child knew better. Child saw the crushed Priest and saw an opportunity.
He didn't wait for his leg to heal and ran towards the thin figure like a mad hyena hungry for the meat.
He jumped at the man and began tearing at his body with his ghoulish knife-like claws.
*Squick, squick, swish*
Meat and blood as well as pieces of intrnal organs were flying to the air as the Child was clawing away at the immobile anarexic body.
Child was trying to tear the large intestine out from beneath the piece of flat wall when said wall flew at him with the speed of a rabbid horse and sent him flying with it.
The priest, now free from the burden, stood up.
He was a hellish sight, with his abdomen all but gone, intestines and bits of gore spewing out of it like a slow and visceral waterfall.
But his gait was firm and he was smiling his trademark disgusting smile from ear to ear.
He lazily traces over the tear in his abdomen and brought a terribly thin and pale finger to his mouth.
His pale and serpentine tongue traced over the blackish crimson goo on his finger and hid behind his razor sharp teeth.
His black eyes narrowed deep inside his eye sockets and his awful smile grew wider.
He walked towards the piece of wall that had imprisoned him earlier in a slow but confident manner.
He put his thin fingers on it and they sunk into the pale yellow stone. He put another hand beneath the wall and, with ease that completely didn't suit his stature, raised it over his head.
The Child was completely crushed underneath the tonnes of stone. He was practically liquified, his bones were thoughroughly crushed, his brain was a puddle and there was no organ in him that stayed internal.
It seemed completely absurd to see his unholy powers work to stitch him back together. The priest made a sound like a baboon in heat as he brought down his unwieldly weapon, turning the Child's power's progress back to zero again.
He raised it and brought it down again.
And again.
And again.
The ground was shaking beneath his feet but the puddle - the grotesque crimson stain - kept wriggling.
The Priest made a sound that sonded like an angry snarl of a dog and began beating bdown with the wall even harder, until it could take no more and broke apart into smaller pieces.
The priest then in a frenzy began throwing the pieces away and grabbed the ugly goo with his hands and began stuffing his mouth with it until there was nothing left.
He then fell down as his chest bulged and something tore through it - that something being a gelationous tiny ghoul-shaped mass of crimson, the Child.
The Child stood and regenerated in front of his adversary. The Priest could regenerate, but his powers were far weaker and slower than Child's.
Considering how the Priest's front has been opened like a can of sardines, the Child allowed himself a few agonizing minutes of quiet and piece in this endless battle without a hope for a victory, a defeat or an end.

Deliciously gory! And a baboon in heat? I'm... uh... a little curious how you know what that sounds like...
I also really enjoyed the unholy creepiness and character designs you had going on.

 

[Syringe]

Absolutely beautiful!!! If this style is what your writing is characterized by, then I am definitely checking out your story. It's really good!!! The gore is top-notch, and the insane perspective is truly delightful. The twisted teachings that run this man's brain is a sight to behold. I cannot gush over it enough.

Thank you! Lots of broken/ruined people if you do check it out. But be warned, it's an extremely dark setting with little slivers of light, and where people's psyche are manifested into monsters. Some are significantly worse off than the priest.

Syringe is really great at writing!

Thank you! I love your poems!

 

[TheMonotonePuppet]

Thank you! Lots of broken/ruined people if you do check it out. But be warned, it's an extremely dark setting with little slivers of light, and where people's psyche are manifested into monsters. Some are significantly worse off than the priest.

That last part "...it's an extremely dark setting with little slivers of light, and where people's psyche are manifested into monsters," sounds remarkably similar to my story. That's funny! I'm sure they are very different, departing quite quickly from that initial premise, but it is pretty hilarious!

 

[TASTYLEADPAINT]

Aaaarrrgghh!!! No guns or any form of related artillery!

Child reaches in to pocket. Pulls out phone. Calls the command station of the RT-2PM2 Topol-M 3 stage cold launched nuclear ballistic missile launcher 20000km away. He give the order to fire.

*ITS SUPER EFFECTIVE*

FIN

You only mentioned artillery

 

[TheMonotonePuppet]

Child reaches in to pocket. Pulls out phone. Calls the command station of the RT-2PM2 Topol-M 3 stage cold launched nuclear ballistic missile launcher 20000km away. He give the order to fire.

*ITS SUPER EFFECTIVE*

FIN

You only mentioned artillery

I'm pretty sure a missile launcher is artillery. The missile itself might not be, but I'm pretty sure the launcher is... ?

 

[Rhaps]

The priest watches the ghoulish child attacking the people, he stepped forward, a cane in his right hand and the Bible in his left. His steps were purposeful, drawing her attention to him.

He does not speak a word, only stare down at the child... the body, even with endless regeneration, still did not heal the chemicals leading her to this state. She was scared, she was tired, yet the madness compelled her to keep going, never stop, fight back, attack, rage, attack, kill, rip and tear till it is done.

The ghoulish child lunged at the priest, but he bat her away with his cane.

She crashed into the wall of a house, her body embedded in stone. He was a calm man, but he pull no punches, The Silent Manic was his title albeit begrudingly.

He opened the Bible, his faith made the book glowed a golden holy light.

"I will kill."

The child got out of the wall, some semblance of reason returned to her... but she still saw the priest as an enemy.

Still, she did not run away. She ran straight at the priest.

"I will let live.", he tried to strike her once again. However, the ghoul child redirected the attack with her hand.

The priest backed off by a wide step, just long enough for her punch to not reach him. He then smashed the girl in the side with his cane, staggering her a bit.

"I will harm and I will heal.", he took another step back, creating enough distance for him to retract his cane and strike her in the solar plexus.

She gasped, stumbling down. Super regeneration does not protect her from feeling pain, after all. Taking this chance, he hit her in the head— but she caught his cane just in time.

"None will escape me.", he twisted his cane and yanked it violently, causing the girl to dislocate her shoulder.

She screamed, letting go of the cane. Then she crawled backward, creating a distance to correct her joint.

"None will escape my sight.", the holy book in his hand flipped it's pages, like a maniac was cycling through the verses in the Bible.

He then pushed for the assault, his monstrous speed make people wonder if he was even human. But yes, he was human, a devout man of God.

"Be crushed.", he switched his stance, now holding the cane at the end and he swung it down.

She was barely quickly enough to react, rolling to the side to avoid the heavy handle— yet, she was not safe from the shock of the cane hitting the ground, knocking her away while leaving behind a crater.

Quickly, using this chance he swung to the side, hitting the child in the head.

"I welcome those who have grown old and those who have lost.", the Bible stopped, remaining still on a page.

Disoriented, she tried to attack with her vision hazy ftom the shock.

Yet he side stepped her, "Devote yourself to me, learn from me, and obey me."

She tried to sweep his legs, but he remained still like a pillar, a strong and as unmoving as his faith in God...

"Rest.", he swung his cane again, this time upward hitting her chin and sending her flying to the air.

"Do not for get song, do not forget prayer, and do not forget me.", the priest closed his eyes, offering a quick prayer.

"I am the light and relieve you of all your burdens.", he performed a high kick, sending her away.

"Do not pretend."

"Retribution for forgiveness, betrayal for trust, despair for hope, darkness for light, dark death for the living.", his eyes opened wide, just in time to him to lean to the left to avoid the child, now striken with complete madness.

"Relief is in my hands.", he closed the Bible, facing the ghoul child eye to eye again.

"I will add oil to your sins and leave a mark.", he raised the Bible, pointing it at her.

She tried to attack, but golden chains of the Heaven came out from the ground, shackled her to the earth.

The priest approached her, looking down with his eyes now golden with the power of the Divine.

"Ask for forgiveness here.", a wall of golden light formed around her, trapping her completely in her end— her final rest.

"I, the incarnation, will swear..."

Her body began to turn translucent, burning brightly under His gaze. She felt no pain, no suffering... no madness; as if she was once again one of the living.

"Kyrie eleison."

He tapped her head with the handle of his cane, like a parent scolding their child. She began disappearing... returning to the embrace of the Lord.

The priest never left, until she final rest he will be with her. That is his duty as a pastor, as the voice of the Lord, to witness her Final Rest.

~Hope you enjoyed it.

Premise: You have two people: one is a tall, thin man who is a maniacal priest of sorts with and another is a short child with ghoulish features and a endlessly regenerating, undead body and martial arts expertise.

Task: Write the best fighting scene you can with solely physical moves (no magic or anything like that. Just physical speed, strength, dexterity, and her healing)

Huh, I completely missed the assignment. Well, at least it was fun to write.

The priest was based on Kirei Kotomine, btw.

 

[ArchlordZero]

The priest was based on Kirei Kotomine, btw.

You should have added a cheesy catchphrase at the end, like:
"Rejoice, young girl. Your wish will definitely come true."
Then the priest disappears into the light.

 

[RepresentingCaution]

I could write about getting my kid dressed or brushing his teeth, but I'm too exhausted from those battles to put them into words.

 

[TheMonotonePuppet]

I could write about getting my kid dressed or brushing his teeth, but I'm too exhausted from those battles to put them into words.

LMFAO! That would actually be pretty sweet. The priest is just maniacal with joy at being able to to finally finish adoption papers for the poor, abandoned ghoulish child, and has to wrassle the kid to their toothbrush because they need it.

 

[Deleted member 113259]

Tried to do a rhyming thing for it but didn't work without profanity so I scrapped it. :p

 

[BigBadBoi]

Creepy priest versus child...
Oh no...