A tense standoff unfolded as the man and his two pixie bodyguards assumed combat positions. Butterbell, agile and swift, lunged at his adversary, their swords clashing in a symphony of metallic echoes that reverberated through the inn. Despite Butterbell's nimbleness, the man's sheer strength posed a formidable challenge. The diminutive pixie attempted to exploit his size and agility, but the man deftly parried and retaliated with a force that seemed unyielding.
In a matter of moments, a lethal strike came hurtling from the man's sword. With no room to evade, Butterbell braced himself, his sword meeting the onslaught. The impact sent him sprawling into a wooden pillar, the collision resonating with a thud that echoed the intensity of the confrontation.
Anger blazed in Butterbell's eyes as he rose, determined to continue the battle. Before he could launch his second assault, Creambell intervened with a spectacular onslaught of fireballs. The projectiles, akin to homing missiles, swarmed the man, forcing him into a defensive stance. Despite blocking most, a few fireballs found their mark, searing the man and inflicting substantial damage.
Gasping for breath, the man knelt, battered and weakened. Creambell, holding his staff with resolve, cautioned him to stay down. Unfazed, the man's smirk hinted at an underlying confidence. Suddenly, spheres of water materialized behind him, propelled towards Creambell. The pixie magician, caught off guard, swiftly conjured a protective shield of flames, deflecting the aquatic assault.
As the tension escalated, a new figure emerged behind the man with the sword, adorned in a blue cloak and wielding a staff reminiscent of Creambell's. This newcomer, evidently a caster, hinted at the magical prowess that lay within their group. Soon, additional allies joined the fray, surrounding the inn in a show of solidarity.
"Isn't two against one a tad unfair?" taunted the caster standing behind the sword-wielding man, his words dripping with a mixture of arrogance and challenge.
Amidst the escalating confrontation, Moonlight's anxiety reached a breaking point. "I think we should help them," she urged, her concern evident in her voice. Orochi, however, remained stoic, seemingly indifferent to Moonlight's apprehensions.
On the other side, Finn, with his Appraisal Skill, calmly assessed the threat levels of those entangled in the battle—F and G, not a cause for significant worry. Confidence in his ability to intervene if needed emanated from him, his wooden hand poised as a silent reassurance.
In an attempt to assuage Moonlight's concerns, Finn ascended the table, gently patting her shoulder with his wooden appendage. His gaze then shifted to the skirmish, and he pointed toward the combatants, crossing his hands to signal their perceived lack of danger. Yet, Moonlight, unable to decipher his wooden gestures, maintained her worried expression.
"That's what I'm saying as well. We shouldn't fight them," Moonlight voiced her unease, interpreting Finn's gestures differently. Frustration flickered in Finn's wooden countenance, reflecting on his apparent lack of proficiency in non-verbal communication. Silently contemplating Moonlight's words, he conceded, "Guess I'm very bad at sign language. And if I think, Moonlight is suggesting the right thing. We should avoid fights." The wooden doll's internal musings hinted at a reluctant acknowledgment of Moonlight's wisdom, despite the silent barriers between their forms of expression.
As the man's allies converged beside him, forming a formidable front of six individuals, Creambell and Butterbell stood resolute, weapons in hand. The tension hung thick in the air, each side glaring at the other, poised for the inevitable clash. Before the first blow could be struck, Finn, the enigmatic wooden doll, leaped between the opposing groups.
"Finally, one of our star fighters joined. Now we will wipe the floor with some assholes," Butterbell murmured with a smirk, anticipating a decisive advantage.
Contrary to expectations, Finn turned toward the opposing group and executed a deep bow, reminiscent of an Asian gesture of respect. Crossing his hands to signify a negation, he punctuated his message with a series of symbolic punches. A cryptic attempt to convey, "I apologize from our side. Please stop fighting."
Both groups exchanged puzzled glances, struggling to decipher Finn's unconventional communication. The caster among the opposing team turned to Butterbell and Creambell, seeking clarification. "What is it trying to say?" he inquired, perplexed.
Even the pixie bodyguards were at a loss, exchanging uncertain glances. Creambell, after a moment of contemplation, faced the opposing group with a stern expression. The weight of the situation pressed upon him as he confessed, "We don't know."
The admission irked the opposing group, the man with the sword voicing his frustration with a growl. "I know what it's saying."
As all eyes shifted to the man with the sword, he declared, "It is saying… surrender now, or we will beat you to death," his expression dead serious. "Just look at his demonic face. What an evil look is he giving us!"
Finn, taken aback by the unexpected interpretation, couldn't contain his frustration. "WHAT! OUT OF ALL THINGS, YOU INTERPRET THAT! AND ABOUT MY FACE, IT'S PAINTED. I DON'T HAVE FACIAL EXPRESSIONS IN THIS FORM," he vehemently shouted from within.
Meanwhile, Butterbell, amused by the unfolding absurdity, smirked at Finn. "Finally, we are on the same page, ghost."
Finn looked at him and screamed once more from within as he couldn't speak, "No, you dumbass, we are not on the same page."
The man with the sword continued his explanation, diverting attention to Orochi, who observed the chaos with a detached air. "And I know who is controlling this golem," he accused, locking eyes with Orochi. "That red-headed woman. She's the one controlling this golem."
The caster, adding his own perspective, remarked, "That has to be the cockiest move I have seen. She insulted us without even bothering to come here by herself."
Finn, still indignant, retorted from within, "ME, A GOLEM!!! AND EVEN MORE, I'M BEING CONTROLLED BY OROCHI!!! HOW COME YOU ARRIVED AT THAT CONCLUSION!"
Meanwhile, one of the opposing group's members complimented Orochi's beauty. The caster, after a moment of scrutiny, agreed, "Yeah, she's indeed very beautiful."
The man with the sword joined in, "Yeah, she's absolutely very hot. Maybe the hottest girl I ever encountered."
Deciding to make Orochi the subject of their unconventional debate, the caster suggested, "I'm going to take her after killing these fodders."
The man with the sword entertained the idea, "Maybe we should let her decide."
Encouraged by his comrades, he considered asking Orochi directly, but before he could, Butterbell interjected with a warning smirk, "If you have a death wish, then go ahead and ask her. I guarantee you, she's not controlling the doll. In fact, she's not even interested in our fight. I must warn you. If you dare to ask such a stupid question to her, you will be dead before you even finish your question."
"He's speaking the truth," affirmed Creambell, his expression as serious as the impending confrontation.
The man with the sword swallowed hard, his bravado waning after the pixies' warning. His gaze shifted from Creambell and Butterbell to Finn, who stood impassive. In his mind, Finn silently cautioned, "Don't speak to Orochi, dude. She will massacre each of your group members within a second."
The man's eyes then turned towards Orochi, who remained seated, seemingly disinterested. However, when their eyes locked, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and an inexplicable shiver ran down his spine. "Why am I feeling so terrified?" he pondered.
In the midst of his unease, the caster prodded, "What are you thinking?" The man, averting his eyes from Orochi, muttered, "Fuck it!"
Refocusing on Creambell and Butterbell, he declared, "I will kill you first. Then I will go to the red head." The pointed sword and the poised group members signaled the impending clash, while Finn stood futilely between them, unable to halt the impending conflict.
Just as the man with the sword unleashed his battle cry and charged at the pixies, a commanding woman's voice cut through the chaos, echoing through the inn. "What the fuck do you think you're doing in my Inn?"
All eyes turned to the bar counter, where a slim woman perched with an air of authority. Long dreadlocks framed her blonde hair, and a black eyepatch covered her left eye. A bionic arm and leg, both metallic, hinted at a rugged past. She sported a short fur jacket over her attire, her presence commanding attention.
The sudden interruption left both groups momentarily stunned, a tense pause settling over the inn as they awaited the woman's next move.