[ti]spawn[/ti]Slugfest

He sprints across the steppes (courtesy of Mother’s Running Shoes™, Fastest Kicks In UNOVR!), making faster progress than usual since he doesn’t have any pokemon lagging behind.

It’s pretty good, were it not for the addition to his hubris.

He starts aiming for rougher terrain, eager to put his memory to the test. It’s been a few months since the incident. His body has healed considerably; still far from enough, but exercise has returned to his routine in a form he can respect, and he’s eager to make as much progress as possible (to the dread of his doctor).

He vaults over stones, because parkour is clearly the reasonable goal a patient should aim for.

Kazuki sputters as the next platform he tries to vault over ends up flipping his ass.

He smacks onto the ground, cursing under his breath as he opens his eyes to see, of all things, a Duraludon. The massive creature roars, enraged at having been disrupted.

“No warm-ups today, huh?” He says, getting up from the ground, but before he can retaliate, a familiar high-pitched voice comes zooming through the air.

“Wh—” and before he knows it, a ball of fur and silk fabrics comes right up the dragon, smacking it on the head with her heel in signature fashion.

Kazuki bursts into laughter, more out of disbelief than anything at how precisely history is repeating itself. “Yo, Foxy! Ready for an encore?” With déjà vu as their witness, he launches forwards, aiming his first flaming punch.

The consequences of hubris sets in.

He misses the giant walking target entirely, and gets a hearty, humbling wallop for it. It takes him back to the cave, another Duraludon, and absolutely fumbling the bag on a dropkick in front of Verai. Said moment will haunt him forever.

“I know how to punch the damn pillar!” Kazuki spits, face reddening as M’Foxy has to demonstrate what he’s been doing for a living for most of his life. “I just—got something in my eyes!” Stupidity, maybe.

Regardless, he tries again.

What is happening. He hits the Duraludon for approximately nothing, the dragon practically laughing in his face, as well as every omnipresent deity, every sentient virtual being, and probably even his parents. He gets smashed into a pancake again.

Is this because he tried to go solo? Forsaken his pokemon one too many times? Committed crimes against players and NPCs alike?

No.

It is solely the RNG who is wrong.

And so he does the only solution to bad RNG that he knows: he keeps rolling. He lunges again for the Duraludon as M’Foxy takes the reins, the dragon’s cry ear-piercing as it struggles.

It really is going to be just like the first time. Chipping away at the steel type bit by bit, like trying to punch through actual metal.

“I—” Wham! “—am so—” Wham! “—OKAY!” WHAM!

“Fucking hell, what is this thing made of?” His handwraps are looking more like party streamers at this rate, knuckles rubbed raw. “Steel. Yeah, no shit, fuck.”

“They are handwraps!” He says, before looking down and realizing his hands are now naked. “… Used to be handwraps.”

He doesn’t understand why M’Foxy is suddenly psychoanalyzing him. Her sandal has just sailed over the Duraludon, which considering her track record probably meant they just lost the killing blow.

“I’ll show you flashy,” he hisses, having to psyche himself up before lunging for the dragon again, his fists set ablaze.

He continues wailing on the creature, dealing approximately slap damage with each hit as M’Foxy comes to chill by his ear.

“I’m not fighting with anyone!” He yells, continuing to punch the Duraludon. “Not myself, not my starter, not my—I don’t have a wife.” He does not comment on the boyfriend. “And not my own goddamn self.”

The Duraludon slams him hard enough to send him ass over tea kettle, and as he lays on the ground, he hisses at M’Foxy. “My self-care is violence.”