[IC] NoW Rnd: 3 Small Town Rodeo

[Descartes]

President Andrew Jackson.born 1767, died 1845. In his life time, he had fought the war of 1812, became a senator, and eventually became United States president. He fought hard for his country, keeping out the invading British. He also allowed his people to expand through the continent only at the cost of kicking out the indigenous tribes. Jackson survived numerous duels, and likewise numerous assassinations. Once, he beat his would be assassin to death. Cities were named after him and statues were built in his honor.His death would be remembered, carried in the memory of every American citizen and the tears of every native. Then, by some cruel twist of fate, the president had been revived- forced to fight a war after his time and against enemies who he did not even know the names of. Like in his past, he survived the battles. One by one, they fell beneath the President's feet. He climbed to the finale of the Nexus of Worlds tournament.

And there he was, standing. Andrew Jackson stood erect before a boy carrying a flag on a horse. The president, naturally, saluted to the flag and began his country's anthem. The boy would quickly join in. After concluding their song, Jackson broke from his salute. "Thank you sir" he said, a tear almost in his eye. He was quite fortunate to make it so far, and even more fortunate he would have his final decisive fight in his home country.

Jackson checked his gun for ammo and put it back, before making sure his sword was where he left it. The president looked down at his shoes, which despite being nearly completely dissolved in acid two fights ago, had been restored.

"Alright. I'm ready."

[Green]

All that is required for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing.

Fuchsia, a child of hell, a product of hate and malice, an offspring of the wicked, had ascended all expectations, and reached the finale of the Nexus of Worlds tournament. Truly, the gods wept at the sight. The demon was meant to be decapitated by a fearsome swordsman, eaten by an eerie arachnid, but instead, realities had imploded and sent him straight to the final match. Before the eyes of a man who's legend stretched far past the dimensional boundaries of the multiverse. Andrew Jackson.

Every denizen of hell with a basic education, provided so neatly by the Wicked man, knew about the heinous deeds of the fabled president. He who had sent so many mangled souls to the pits that they had to dig another row just to make space. He who had then inspired an entire continent to live up to his ideals, to become better people, robbing them of the opportunity of descending into the everlasting fires upon their untimely passing. He who had kicked every single infernal agent pushed against him as a result back to the darkness. Fucking Andrew Jackson. When he finally went down, he gone and went to heaven. This time around, things would be different. Fuchsia had an obligation to all the shitty bastard that came before him. An obligation to make sure that asshole went down. Down to the pits. Everyone knew that kind of deed would earn him a solid rank up straight to the top. Fuchsia the duke? Had a nice ring to it. He would finally be able to leave his child body behind. He checked his equipment. The spidersperm from his previous fight was gone, good. His Hellzooka remained fully functionable and active, his dagger had been returned to his hip, and the two skullnades rested on his rear, attached to his belt.

Fuchsia leaned forward, eyes narrowed on the prize. The wind caressed his black curly hair, his undeveloped horns left unmoved. He smiled widely, his sharp teeth glistening in the sun. Saliva poured out of his mouth, out of the pure ecstasy of anticipation, and onto the dry muddy ground of the rodeo-themed arena he and Andrew was to fight in. There was a man on a horse between the two, swaying the banner of the American nation and singing the country's national anthem along with the president. Fuchsia joined in, loudly.

"Oh, say! can't you see? This a man's final fight!
What so proudly he hailed, was a nation long dreaming;
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, is as dead as the night,
Oh the rampage I'll bring, Will be gallantly screaming.
And my rocket's red glare, skullnades bursting in air,
Come die by my might, then your corpse I will tear:
Oh, say! Will your blood-stained defeated body wave
In the land of which I see, On the stone of your grave?"

The rider, disturbed by Fuchsia's bastardation of the classic, rode away into the horizon. "Fuck freedom." the demon said. A rocket came screaming after the boy, and blew him, his horse, and the american flag, into tiny little pieces of oppressional symbolism. Fuchsia turned towards the president, stared at him. His body language shouting "what are you going to do about it?" - It was the silence before a storm.

[Descartes]

The president clenched his fists tightly. "How dare you make a mockery of my great nation. You see partner, the way I see it: you're either for this nation or against it. Now I ain't no diplomat- oh wait, yeah I am, but I digress. If you ain't for this nation, that means you're against it; and you know what that means? One of two things: You're either a terrorist or a commie. I don't care how young you look. Now tell me son. Which one of those are you?" Andrew Jackson thought about it for a bit. As he spoke, he had his sword out with the blade on the ground. He walked around, occasionally lifting the sword a bit only to have it fall back to the ground. He stopped soon enough, holding his hands out, as if he were carrying a small stone. Then, it turns out there was a stone; a stone shaped like an egg. Except it wasn't a stone, it was in fact an egg which hatched and quickly grew into a fully grown bald eagle.

"See this? This is a symbol of America's freedom. As long as this little critter stays alive, he will remain a beacon of hope. And freedom." The president released his grip of the eagle, setting it free as it flew off into the distance. "Now go free" Andrew said as the bird slowly disappeared from sight. "As I was saying. You're either for this country or against it. As an American, I can't have nobody harming this country or its people. The way I see it you've done both of these things. That makes you a repeat offender, and I can't have none of that." The president picked up his sword and held it in both hands before making a mad dash towards Fuschia.

Dirt was kicked backwards, shrouding a bit of the background behind the president in dust. The president raised his sword high into the air before coming in to slash at Fuschia, the blade aimed at the boy's shoulder. As the dust settled, three letters were revealed- the letters Andrew Jackson had marked with his sword. It spelled "USA".

[Green]

There was a distinct difference between Hell and America. The oh-so-great nation of Andrew Jackson was built upon a foundation of self-propelling propaganda and nonsense. A foundation the legend himself had helped build, but which had collapsed into a corrupted, twisted version of itself upon his passing. Nowadays, the nation was waging wars left and right, in the name of freedom and democracy! To liberate the poor souls that knew not better than to think that the soil they grew up to belonged to them! Such blasphemy! Thank go-.. You know who, that 'Murica is ready to take them on! Ready to free them from the wretched shackles of their oppression. Of dictators, of terrorists, of foreign threats! Always ready to step up and show the world how it's done. Walking in the shadow of former president Andrew Jackson, they'll even help the environment by removing all of that black cancerous oil off the lands of their allies. Such selflessness! Trust in USA to save the day! - The difference? Fiends have the good decency to admit their wicked ways.

Fuchsia watched the president unfold his nationalistic ritual. From his hands, an eagle formed and flew into the air, soaring majestically like a majestic eagle flapping it's wings like an eagle. As long as it lived, Andrew said, it would remain a beacon of hope, a symbol of America's freedom. Poetic. The great leader continued talking, but the demon couldn't hear him over the sound of his Hellzooka throwing out insults as three rockets made their way across the field towards the soon-to-be extinct bird. Their screams came ever closer at an alarming pace, likely blasting it's frail little body to pieces before it even got to fully enjoy it's brief but brutal life, showering the area with feathers.

"COMMUNISM RULES!"
"BRING BACK SLAVERY!"
"YOU'RE THE PRESIDENT!? THEY DIDN'T SET THE BAR VERY HIGH!"

Then, out of nowhere. Well, okay, it was pretty straight-forward, but this was the finale, so some descriptional liberties had to be taken. Coming straight at him with a sword gripped tightly in his hands, Andrew Jackson was charging. Like a raging bull, the former president was prepared to deliver his own brand of justice, or whatever the fuck his intentions were. Fuchsia, to be honest, got a bit carried away with the bird. So his prey got so close that the demon child instinctively stood his ground and lashed out with his Hellzooka instead of increasing the distance and keeping the fight a ranged one, using his weapon's alternate function as a gigantic spiked metallic club, it's massive three meter length enabling him to reach Andrew before he even got close enough to strike at him. His feet shifted, his left foot behind, right foot in front. His torso twisted left, then right, his right hand gripping the handle of his club, he swung it left to right horizontally with great force, aiming at Andrew's lower torso, aiming to do some serious harm, if not outright crippling him right then and there on a direct on.

[Descartes]

As soon as he noticed the hellzooka move, Jackson lowered his sword, putting it between him and his opponent's weapon. "My bird!" Jackson shouted. Quickly, he made another one, sending it off. "Aight, that'll be my symbol of freedom." He said, the new eagle flapping away, Jackson hoping it wouldn't be hit again. For a twelve year old, Fuchsia was awfully strong, being capable of hefting such a weapon. Of course, Jackson himself was fairly powerful, able to withstand the test of time.

But he didn't like Fuchsia. Not one bit. "What the fuck did you just fucking say?" Jackson exclaimed, still fighting off the boy's weapon. The president spared no time to shift hos own weight. He only pulled up the sword, using the fulcrum of the hellzooka. Jackson pushed his blade forward, attempting to plunge the sword into Fuchsia's face.

[Green]

President Andrew Jackson proved to be of greater physical strength than Fuchsia had originally assumed. It was not often he faced an opponent who could stop a solid hit from his swing without even flinching. Not amongst humans at least. He was honestly surprised, but the moment was not exploited by Andrew, who instead opted to complain about his dead bird, before summoning a new one. Silly really, the demon child was not about to just stand around while the freedom fighter talked. Fighters fight.

"Alright, that'll be my-.." Was as far the president got before Fuchsia dashed backwards, pulling the trigger 0,1 seconds after doing so. A single rocket hurled itself towards Andrew Jackson from a point of origin 6,6 feet away from him, aimed at his torso. The demon child halted his movement more or less a second afterwards, placing him roughly 66 feet away from his starting position. Upon stopping, he turned his Hellzooka towards the -new- symbol of freedom, and fired another two rockets. He wasn't about to allow Andrew Jackson the liberty of feasting his eyes upon the nationalistic propaganda that was the bald eagle. Such luxuries was for the living. The Hellzooka itself had shouted out a plethora of insults, but they were drowned out by the screaming faces mounted at the head of the rockets, fired at such close proximity, if not also detonated, that he could only faintly make out the fact that it spoke at all.

[Descartes]

The president cartwheeled to the side, getting out of the path of the rocket. He landed in a kneeled down position, his Liberty Brand held high up, aimed towards the other two rockets. A firework shot towards them, detonating the first one, thus detonating the second before it could reach the bird. "You know, I thought you demon folks loved freedom. I mean, you guys spend a hell lot of time avoiding the law right? The big man up stairs? Or are you trying to fight fire with fire?" Jackson retorted. "But you know" he started "The only big man you gotta talk to now is me. And the only fire you gotta fight... is also me!"

"Freedom go!" Jackson shouted, a bird flying from the tips of his fingers. The eagle shot straight towards Fuchsia, its eyes clearly intent on striking the demon's head. It flew left and right, weaving some kind of pattern in the air as it approached. "On average, the eagle flies up to 32 miles an hour" Andrew Jackson explained. "The maximum air speed is roughly 200 miles per hour. I don't know much about birds or speed, but I'm pretty sure that's real damn fast."

[Green]

As the president cartwheeled out of the way of the incoming rocket, Stubbs, the soul residing within the projectile, thought back on his pathetic life. Stubbs had never been much of a thinker. Not much of anything really. He had dropped out of kindergarden, didn´t know how to read or write, or even how to count properly. Kind of a retard, really. Worked all his life at the local peanut factory. Sixty fucking years. Early on, he discovered how satisfying peanut butter felt when rubbed on his genitalia. For the entirety of his employment, he ejaculated into the factory mixer. Until he died of a heart attack, and plunged into it himself, adding his corpse to the ingredients of Nutty´s crazy peanutbutter mix! Here he was, at the tip of a rocket, speeding at a velocity that would bring Gandhi to shame, if Gandhi had ever had anything to do with shit that involved high-speed movement. Normally, Fuchsia´s rockets detonated themselves whenever they got within the kill radius of their targets, but not Stubbs. Stubbs was retarded, and kept on flying. Where was he going? No one knows, but some say that in between the muffled schreeching of the rocket´s screaming, his lust for Nutty´s peanutbutter was announced yet again!

As the president, yet again, started talking. Fuchsia took aim, making sure to hit his mark perfectly this time. What would Andrew do? Shoot fireworks at him? Charge him? He didn´t care, whatever happened, a well placed rocket would stop it. "Freedom go-.." Andrew Jackson shouted, and Fuchsia immediatly pulled the trigger, hurling a rocket perfectly towards his hand, just as a bird popped out of it, exploding the bird into bits of flesh, bone, feathers and blood, dangerously close to Andrew Jackson himself. Likely dealing quite some damage to him as well.

"WHEN YOU WANNA SHOOT, SHOOT, DON´T TALK!" the Hellzooka shouted.

Not a word came out of Fuchsia´s mouth.

[Descartes]

Another rocket shot and destroyed another bird. By the time the Hellzooka fired, however, Andrew Jackson was able to pick it up and make a quick jump backwards; leaping just far back enough as to not be caught in the explosion. "Fuck you! I'll talk whenever I want you dirty commie!" Jackson snorted. He picked up his sword and both hands, apparently grasping it incredibly tightly. He reared it back as if to swing it, before making a running jump towards Fuchsia. The president further expressed his freedom of speech by shouting "USA!" before the tip of his Liberty Brand touched the ground, breaking into the dirt.

The president vaulted off of the sword, once again flying into the air. He grabbed onto his rifle, which swung wildly in the air before he snatched the handle. Aiming it towards Fuchsia, Jackson simply sprayed and prayed.

[Green]

No matter how many times Fuchsia had tried to hammer in the point that talking that much while fighting was really unpractical as long as it wasn't done while simultaneously doing something else, Andrew Jackson just continued doing it. The guy was as slow as Stubbs, but then again, he was human, so.

While Andrew talked the talk, Fuchsia prepared himself fully for his next course of action, his fingers clenching the club handle of his Hellzooka so tightly that his massive gauntlets let off numerous metallic clanks and clinks, the sound of joints coming together. He bent his knees, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Andrew Jackson started running towards him, still he waited, Andrew planted his sword into the ground, and vaulted off it. An opening, as big as any. The red swordsman had taught him that. Fuchsia kicked off from the ground, and launched himself into the air at a velocity far greater than what the president could achieve, launching himself at him like a missile, meeting him in mid-air perfectly. He swung his club with massive force upwards vertically, aiming to not only smash him to a bloody pulp, but also launch him the fuck off into the air, even if he were to block the blow. Dodging it was out of the question, lest the man sprouted wings and flew off.

Bullets peppered around Fuchsia during his approach, a few even hit him in the chest and shoulders, bouncing right off him, some leaving a few bruises at most, but that kind of shit was not nearly enough to stop him. Oh no. President Andrew Jackson was about to go to heaven, and not in the afterlife kind of way.

[Descartes]

The sky seemed like home for the president. There he felt free and could move in as many directions as he could perceive. Of course, the only numbers he needed to know were 50 stars and 13 stripes. Andrew Jackson dropped his gun. He felt no need for it being as high up as he was. The president simply moved his hand up to his forehead to give a salute to the sky, a salute to his bright blue American sky. His gun stayed slightly upwards in relation to Jackson himself who was in fact falling. Fuchsia, on the other hand, was in fact rising, having jumped up to meet the president midair. He swung his hammer, and Jackson didn't care. He was too free to care.

The president put his arms foreword, grabbing the spikes with his bare hands and gripping them tightly. The dirty towel head zombie had a similar tactic. Jackson didn't like using terrorist tactics, but he had no choice but to. Maybe he'd give the zombie citizenship for teaching such a move. No, he wasn't nearly American enough. Andrew Jackson held the spike tightly. Using the spikes, the president attempted to climb to the other side, and clinging with one arm. Both of Andrew Jackson's hands were American, and therefore they were both free- however, one was actually free. As in, free to grab at whatever it wanted. Using said hand, Jackson decided he wanted to smack the boy. He reared his arm and attempted to smack Fuchsia right on the arm.

"Your name was Fuchsia right? That's a purplish color? Well the only colors I need to know are red, white, and blue!"

[Skallagrim]

---FINIS---