Not my argument by The Despot

Blood, Blood, Blood… by remains on DeviantArt.com

You drag me into an argument that doesn’t even exist.

Fists start flying. Two on six.

You pop Frat Boy’s nose. He’s down.

Wide Shoulders charges. I trip him, teeth meeting table. He’s down.

Big Chuck throwing knives, inches from your nose.

You bing him with a glass mug. He’s down.

Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum vamoose.

Only this behemoth left. Mohawk. Arms like pythons.

Grabs a bottle. SMASH! Jagged edges, slashing.

“Down boy!”

He jabs. I pop his elbow. The bottle jams his neck, fountaining blood. He’s down, down.

“Whatda we do now?” you ask.

“I was never here.”

Baby Bron by The Despot

Cudgel by QueenGwenevere on DeviantArt.com

Twenty years of suckling drove Mama to abandon Baby Bron. He crawled from giant crib, club-sized rattle in hand, diaper reeking. He bludgeoned and ate the cat. Crawled into the street, fed on street dogs.

Urchins beat him until he snatched one. Crying “Mama,” he hugged the whelp with thick limbs, the bones cracking.

Slumdogs wailed, “Giant killer baby!”

Soldiers came with spears, poked at Baby Bron. He sobbed and toddled toward them, swinging his massive rattle. Spears and skulls shattered. One guard backed to the wall.

“Mama,” whimpered Baby Bron.

“Mama,” cried the guard, disappearing in a chunky embrace.

This is Bullshit by Tim Cross

Matador by Darksilvania

Look at all these people, cheering and waving for little old me. What an amazing day. I can’t wait to tell my kids.
Ouch. That fucking hurt. What did you poke me for? Right. I’ll fucking show you. Now you’re in the shit big time. You’re not getting away with this.
Stop jumping around, you pussy. Quit waving that red thing. It’s annoying. Stay still and I’ll fucking have you.
Ouch, stop poking me!
So tired. So dizzy. Can’t see anything. Is that blood in my eyes? Knees buckling.
Are you kidding? A sword?!
This is bullshit!

Horns Afire by Brittany Pomales

Hell bull by Agusia1986 on DeviantArt.com

The matador shielded himself with the red cape. Fancy footwork wasn’t going to win against this bull. Horns ablaze the bull huffed, grinding his front hooves against the dirt. It charged head down, and set fire to the fabric. The flame singed the matador’s skin. Sizzles and screams echoed against the arena walls as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. When the opponent was nothing but bones the bull raised the skeleton onto his horns to the applause of the audience and walked back to the gates he came from, the gates of Hell.

iBull by Tom Lucas

Fighting Bull by dumont on DeviantArt.com

Antonio struggled to breathe.  

His guts were spilling out but he did not panic. He had always fought with honor and respect for tradition. He would die as many of the bulls had, with grace.

A young, spindly man knelt beside him. “So what do you think?”

“He was the greatest I have ever faced. I stabbed him with many swords. I danced with him for an entire day. He never tired.”

“Awesome! It’s all robot bulls from here on out. Thanks for beta testing. Here’s an Amazon gift card for your trouble.”

Antonio wished he had Prime, but alas.

No Menagerie, This Apocalypse by Adam Francis Smith

cougar encounter by Yair-Leibovich on DeviantArt.com

He needed water. The cougar swung, clawing Aaron’s shoulder, spinning him. Aaron dived down an incline, gaining his feet only to face a bison that charged. Dodging to avoid the beast, he ran. Climbing a fence, he dropped to the other side. A pair of goats attacked, kicking. Battered, he forced his way into a barn. Feeling safe, he rested. Above, an owl screeched and launched itself from an ancient beam, talons raised. He ran again and was nearly trampled by a horse, but he rolled, righted himself and finally made it to the well. Now, where was that canteen?

Virtuous Weapon by Adam Francis Smith

Monk by PointLineArea on DeviantArt.com

“I am bigger,” laughed Takamasa.
“True, but answer,” Masasada slashed, nicking Takamasa’s forearm, “how does one bring down Fuji-san?”
Takamasa winced and squinted as he considered the question. He thrust his sword forward, but it was knocked aside by Masasada’s thinner blade.
Masasada struck and drew blood. Before Takamasa could react, Masasada opened up another slit on Takamasa’s arm.
Masasada smiled. “One chop at a time. You see?” He slashed again and opened Takamasa’s shoulder. Blood sprayed and Takamasa dropped to his knees.
“Patience is a virtue,” whispered Takamasa, respectfully.
Masasada thrust down and inward. “Patience is a weapon.”

Miss Fortune by Adam Francis Smith

Samurai Spirit 5 – Slasher by Artgerm on DeviantArt.com

Taneshige turned, avoiding a slash. He brought his sword around, clipping Amano’s neck, causing a fan of blood to issue forth. Taneshige ducked, but could not avoid the spray. Dripping blood, wide-eyed, showing teeth, he raised his weapon and ran through the yard. Fearless Samurai turned and fled this Hellspawn. Taneshige turned a corner and slashed at a low, black shadow. His sword slipped from his blood-slick grip and he missed his mark. It was a good thing. His master’s daughter stood before him, quaking in her sandals, her robe split by the keen, crimson blade, but her flesh unmarred.

Delayed Reaction by Rachael Mills

Preparing for Battle by F1yMordecai on DeviantArt.com

Takeko roared with exhiliration as she thrust her ko-naginata into the nearest soldier. The weapon was an extension of herself, used with deadly precision. She sliced through skin and muscle, plunging and twisting the blade with fervour, before pulling the ko-naginata free and piercing the next enemy.

Takeko stared at the five bodies strewn around her, their blood drenching the battlefield. A wave of euphoria swept over her, mingled with a numb feeling in her chest. She looked down to see a wound from a tanegashima. An excruciating burning sensation enveloped her and her world faded to black.

The Truth Hurts by Adam Francis Smith

High Movility Infantry by Shabazik on DeviantArt.com

“One way out,” she said. I know now that she meant death. I thought she had meant this gauntlet.

I leap into an alcove. Flashes and bullets. I dive, sliding to the next door. I stand, decide not to wait, push off the wall, run.

Finally, I’m huddled beneath the window. Ten feet more and then freedom.

I take a breath, hold it, skitter across the floor and a bullet slams into my thigh. A laser burns my neck. I drop and exhale. Another bullet hits my knee. A laser blast burns the truth into my gut; she was right.