The Vocabulary Booster!
The Dragon Booster fell and slid along the street, finally hitting a nearby building. His head whacked against the side, and he groaned aloud. The Shadow Booster’s laughter drowned out his pained grunt as he watched in satisfaction.
“Hah. I was wondering, when were you actually considering fighting back?” The Shadow Booster sneered as he was lowered to the ground by his dragon’s mag energy. Artha lifted his head and sat in a slumped, sitting position. “Try this time, alright?” Moordryd’s left hand glowed bright, and Artha rolled to his right to avoid the impact of the mag-push. The building where Artha had sat was now scorched.
Artha heard Beau roar, and grinned when he saw him appear behind Moordryd and Decepshun. “All right, Beau!” Artha laughed as Beau roared again, clearly surprising Moordryd, and ran forward with a mag-push to unsteady Decepshun on her feet as he ran past her without trouble from her biting mouth. Artha could see the widening of Moordryd’s eyes through his Shadow armor, and laughed in his direction.
“Okay, Mo…Shadow Booster. You want me to try? You asked for it!” Artha shouted as Beau stopped at his side and lifted him up into the air.
“It’s about time, brat.” Moordryd called back, soaring up on his own mag stream. He launched the first attack, firing off mag-pushes with his feet, and as Artha was defending against those, Moordryd rapid fired mag-pushes from his hands.
As Artha batted away the first two mag-pushes, and noticed the flurry of those that were about to hit, he quickly created a mag-shield. The black draconium mag-pushes hit the shield and disappeared with a somewhat wet, zapping sound as the gold draconium seemed to eat them up. When the black mag-pushes ended, Artha halted his shield.
“Now how was that?”
Moordryd scoffed at him. “I could’ve done that.” Artha grinned back at Moordryd, their ongoing training matches - which Moordryd liked to refer to as fights which he won, whether or not he actually did - amusing him like they always did. Not to mention that when Armeggeddon would come back, they would both be ready. Or readier than what they would have been otherwise.
Artha balanced himself on Beau’s mag stream. “I’m completely in over my head, is that what you’re saying?”
“Precisely. It’s just true.”
“Well then,” Artha said, “to overcome the horrifying odds, note the sarcasm.”
“I decided to invite a…friend of mine.”
Moordryd’s eyes turned into slits, his yellow eyes becoming a very thin line of uncertainty. “A friend? To help you?”
“Yep. The Power Booster.”
Artha nodded. “Not too long ago, the Power Booster found his gauntlet and amulet. I figured I might as well help him in his first fight against another booster.”
“Power Booster? Waitaminute, You’re friends? With him? Two against one isn’t really…” Moordryd trailed off. “I mean, it…”
“Oh, like you said countless times before, you’re skill is evidently greater than mine. Note the sarcasm.”
“This should be a fair fight then, right? Or are you…”
“No way! I can take you both.”
Artha chuckled. “We’ll see, won’t we?” Moordryd clenched his fists, a sign to Artha that he wasn’t quite sure of himself. A fight against the Dragon Booster and the Power Booster? Artha was sure the very name was putting Moordryd on edge.
“Well, where is he?” Moordryd huffed and landed in Decepshun’s saddle. Artha returned to Beau’s.
“I think…there he is. He’s coming now.” Artha pointed to an open street that yawned out before them, a gloomy dark colour, as all were in Down City. A shadowed figure that had not yet been illuminated by the spaced out lights and iridescent advertisements walked slowly up to them, creating an atmosphere of mystery, intrigue, ill boding and unrelenting, rising questions masked with hidden fears.
The Shadow Booster straightened as the figure came closer, although still shadowed and unidentifiable, the new booster clearly rode a Bull-class dragon. A big, powerful Bull-class dragon. Spikes ranged over its body as it lumbered closer, snorting in irritation.
“The powerful muscles moved it closer, closer to the trembling Shadow Booster. A pure green, what could be more…”
“Oh, shut up. And I’m not trembling.” Moordryd pointed out. “He doesn’t look that intimidating.”
Artha smirked at him as he rode Beau to stand beside him. “Oh, Power Booster,” he called out, changing his attention from Moordryd to the other booster. The dark figure stopped. “Come out into the light. The Shadow Booster wants a better view.”
And the Bull-class dragon walked forward again, faster this time. Then he stepped into the light. Moordryd was able to hide his sudden intake of breath, but his eyes widened as Artha nearly laughed inside from his reaction. The Power Booster stood before him, armored head to toe in a disturbingly powerful way.
The Power Booster looked at him through his dark green visor, appearing black at certain angles, and talked in a…not so deep voice, as Moordryd expected. “Oh, um, Dragon Booster. I’m inclined to rectify you on an unambiguous aver.”
“Oh, um, I…okay?” The Dragon Booster stuttered. “What?” Moordryd looked from one to the other, his momentary respect and awe of the new booster beginning to slide away.
“Well, you entitled me as the Power Booster.”
“What’s wrong with that? You are the new one, you know.”
“I comprehend that, but I’ve elected to classify for myself an inventive appellation.”
“Uh…okay?” Artha asked slowly. Moordryd started to snigger.
“Commencing as of this juncture on, you shall in tandem with alacrity call me by my deviating moniker…the Vocabulary Booster!” The Power Boos…excuse me…the Vocabulary Booster replied proudly, staring off past them into seemingly nothing, only the wonderful future as this new booster imagined it.
Moordryd and Artha stared at him. “What, you’re…renaming yourself as the…Vocabulary Booster? You can’t do that.” Moordryd objected.
“I just implemented that compos mentis exploit.”
Moordryd and Artha stared at him doubly. “So you’ve…changed your name?” Artha dared to question. Parm took a deep breath, and looked as if he were about to delve into a lengthy explanation, but noticed Artha’s rather blank stare and instead simply said, “yes.”
“But that goes against the original Power Booster and the, he…you have the green draconium gauntlet of power! Not the green draconium gauntlet of vocabulary.”
Parm shook his head. “I divulged my erudite diktat. It coincides with me better, you’d do benevolently to procure discern of that.”
“Ugh. Parrroower Booster,” Artha sighed, almost calling Parm by his ‘secret identity.’ “I don’t really…ah, understand you.”
“Why not? I’m vocalizing in manifest draconian.”
“Ugh,” Moordryd groaned aloud. “He said he’s speaking plain draconian.” Artha looked back to Parm, beginning to understand. “And I don’t really care how he talks. Let’s see how he fights.” Moordryd raised his right hand, and extended his mag-staff. He pointed it at the new Vocabulary Booster. “Show me what you got, king of the nerds.”
Decepshun magged him into the air, and he lifted his mag-staff over his head, preparing for a brutal strike as he closed the distance between him the and the Vocabulary Booster.
“Parmmooower Booster,” Artha called, his tongue slipping again. He wasn’t used to having to remember to keep other people’s identities a secret.
“Discharge not your qualms, Dragon Booster!” The Vocabulary Booster called out as he watched the Shadow Booster close in on him.
The Vocabulary Booster ignored Artha’s dim protests, and focused his attention on the Shadow Booster. “Solidify, you obdurate mandrill. Your derisory gaffe bewails my insipid acumen. Claret, ad hoc negligee will subjugate the integral forte!”
Moordryd fell off his mag-stream, dropping his mag-staff as he fell. He landed heavily, and looked up to the Vocabulary Booster. “What did you just say?”
“Acquiescent nonentities exonerate importunate sagacity. You construe you are capable of pasting me?”
Moordryd held his head and closed his eyes in growing pain. “I still don’t know what you said!” He cried in dismay.
“Vocabulary Booster, stop!” Artha pleaded from atop Beau. “My brain is hurting.”
“Of course,” the Vocabulary Booster said, now on a roll. “Your puerile psyche’s competence can’t contravene in conjunction with my own. My turgid lexis independently is capable of trouncing you. I do not necessitate derisory hostility adroitness.” He yelled, raising his fist high into the air as he said the last part.
Artha was bent over in Beau’s saddle, hands over his delicate head. “Parm! Stop talking. Head hurt!” Beau roared painfully in agreement. The Shadow Booster looked up from the ground, where he was lying in great pain.
“Unfetter the Enigmatic Terminology!” Parm yelled, very loudly.
“Wha…” Moordryd barely whispered. Parm sighed heavily.
“I mean, Unleash the Vocabulary. Asinine individual.”
“That was not a compliment.”
Moordryd narrowed his eyes, and stood up, swaying slightly. “What did you just call me then?”
“He said you were a genius,” Artha piped in from behind Moordryd.
“Well…gee,” Moordryd said, and rubbed the back of his neck and moved his foot in a circular motion on the ground, “gosh.” He mumbled, blushing slightly. He always knew he was pretty darn smart…
The Vocabulary Booster slapped a hand to his head. “I said it wasn’t a compliment! Why do you hearken to him?”
Moordryd glanced from one to the other, and rubbed his head from the sudden jab of pain the unknown word had caused. “Umm…”
Artha looked at them both. “So….I’m the genius?” The other two stared at him. Beau looked up at Artha and shook his head slowly and sadly.
The Shadow Booster rolled his eyes, but no one could tell since he was wearing a mask, so it didn’t really matter what he did with his eyes. He turned back to the Vocabulary Booster. “This is taking too long,” he said in a deep voice.
“Oh, I accede to that avowal,” Parm said in a low voice.
“I said, this is taking too long. I said nothing about vowels.” Moordryd rebuked Parm’s poor hearing skills.
Parm sighed irritably. “Avowal doesn’t refer to…”
“My favorite vowel is A.”
“Shut up, Dragon Loser,” Moordryd retorted to Artha without turning around.
“Make me, stinky breath.”
And Moordryd twisted around and prepared to fight with the Dragon Booster. Artha spun his jakk-stick, then beckoned Moordryd to come.
“Wait!” Parm shouted, and the two turned to look at him. “Dragon Booster, you beseeched me to come with you to bequeath succor in altercating the Shadow Booster. You’re sanctioning yourself to get preoccupied with your enmity.”
“I don’t know what you just said,” Artha said in his hero voice, “but it my head is hurting, a lot. Why don’t we just fight? I know you and I can defeat the Shadow Poopster together.”
Moordryd was slightly miffed. “What did you just call me?”
Parm shook his head at Artha. “But…but my virtuosity of mêlée was prodigiously trenchant! He was recumbent, I essentially won!” Parm pointed an angry finger at the two and continued on in his growing rant. Moordryd stepped back, realizing what was going to happen; Artha prepared by covering his ears and repeating, “lalalalalalalaIcanthearyoulalalalalalala,” over and over.
“You never advert to me. Just glom at you forthwith, oppugning my modus operandi. My acumen is off the schemas, yours is prodigiously substandard, and you conjecture, ‘assent us to surmount it my expedients.’ You just envisage that considering you’re the laureate paladin, the veritable and transcendent means to effectuate is to transact it your way! Well my methodology is a plethora, it comprises an elevated contingency of attainment than your truculent credentials against him. A vicinal 95.8 percent prospect of fruition, in fact.”
Artha yelled, his temporary singing defeated by the Vocabulary Booster’s own fighting technique. “Argh! My head!” Artha nearly writhed in pain.
“Shut up already!” Moordryd yelled from where he was curled up in a ball on the ground, while all of the unknown terms and language the Vocabulary Booster was using was giving him a major headache. “I can’t take it anymore! Decepshun!” Decepshun roared, her brain hurting as well, and was barely able to mag Moordryd to the saddle. She ran away from the dreadful Vocabulary Booster.
Artha was not so lucky, as Beau had already fallen unconscious. Artha slumped across the saddle, the pain in his head too great.
“Now where are you going ? Can’t beat me, can you?” Parm settled back in Cyrano’s saddle, and folded his arms, chuckling. “See Artha? I told you I could help... Artha?”
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