Throne Room Battle!
The last line of the throne room’s defenses broken, Shiba rushed forth to the huge double doors, the rest of the Knights at his heels. There, he paused, looking about for a weapon. If they were going to face the Necromaster of Zardoz, he needed something to replace his shattered bat. Not finding anything handy, he pointed at a nearby table. “Tank!” he shouted. “Break that!”
“Sure thing, Shiba.” Tank lumbered over, sized his target up for a moment, then brought both fists crashing down. Shiba stepped up to the resulting pile of splinters, grabbed a table leg, and wrenched it free. Holding it in one hand, he turned it this way and that, getting a feel for it. Then, giving a shout, he slapped it suddenly into a two-handed grip, his body flashing a blinding white. When the Knights’ vision cleared, Shiba was left standing in a pile of smoking rubble, and the table leg had become a gleaming, perfect baseball bat, a tiny whisp of smoke rising from the Louisville Slugger brand.
“There,” Shiba said. “That’s better.”
“Coool,” Harvery whispered.
Golf walked over and offered Shiba his hand. “Good show, old buddy. Now, let’s go kick some tail.”
Shiba smiled. “After you.”
“Oh, no. I might be able to handle diplomatic affairs, but I’m done leading us into battle. That’s your job.” Golf stepped back, and gestured toward the throne room. Shiba stepped up to the doors again, and this time kicked them open.
On the other side was a huge, dark chamber, the Necromaster’s legendary Steam Sanctum, where only a few had dared step. Worktables and racks of tools and equipment cluttered the sides of the room, while a red ribbon of carpet ran down the center from the door to the raised throne dais.
Across this vast expanse of marble floor, the Necromaster himself sat, his ornate Steam Throne hissing gently beneath him. He rose, an imposing figure even from across the room, his deep purple cape draped over his broad shoulders. A strange scar ran up the side of his neck from his collar to behind his ear. It glowed a dull red in the dim light.
“Ah,” he said. “The legendary Tenku Knights. I wondered who was causing so much trouble in my stronghold. Well, you’ll find me much more dangerous than the simple cyborgs you’ve fought thus far.”
The Necromaster threw off his cape with a cry, revealing a black double-breasted military uniform beneath. Around his waist was slung a gunbelt, two oddly-shaped holsters at his hips. The Knights tensed for battle.
Suddenly, the Steam Throne reared up behind the Necromaster, transforming to a vaguely humanoid shape in a rush of steam! Leaping over its master’s head, the Throne landed with a crash of splintering marble and rumbled across the chamber at our heroes, white steam trailing from exhaust pipes on either side of its skull.
As the rest of the Knights leapt aside, Shiba went to work. The Throne barreled into him at top speed, and Shiba fell back a step, absorbing the rush with his bat. For a moment the two swayed, each trying to force the other off. Then, with a grunt, Shiba shoved the towering Throne away. It fell backwards onto the floor and transformed again, spider legs sprouting from its sides with tiny jets of steam and the human legs combining to form a scorpion tail.
The combatants circled each other, the Throne’s engines chugging quietly in the silence. Then, Shiba leapt forward, shattering one of the spider legs with his bat. Listing dangerously, the Throne struck out with the scorpion tail, narrowly missing Shiba’s back as he leapt out of the way, more marble shards flying beneath the attack. But as Shiba landed, the Throne’s head swiveled and bit him on the thigh. Shiba fell to the floor with a cry of pain.
“SHIBA!” Tank jumped forth to protect his friend, shielding Shiba’s body with his own. The scorpion tail flashed, gouging deep into the flesh of Tank’s left side. The sickening sound of breaking ribs filled the room as Tank shouted in pain. In quick measure, the Throne landed a series of lightning attacks on Tank’s heavily-muscled back. Blood began to seep through the big man’s jersey, the white 18 stained crimson. But still he did not move.
Beneath Tank’s sheltering form, Shiba stirred. “Thanks pal,” he said through gritted teeth, “but you’ve done enough.” With one smooth motion, Shiba threw Tank off him, out of the path of the Throne’s attacks and dodged three sharp legs as they pounded down around him.
“TENKUUUUUU!” Shiba shouted, leaping into the air and bringing the bat down, point-first, into the center of the Throne’s back. Shiba was lost in a gout of steam for a moment, as the Throne convulsed and died beneath him. When the steam cleared, Shiba stood atop his fallen foe, skin red and fairly gleaming in the light.
“Now, Necromaster,” he said, pointing his bat at the evil industrialist, “It’s your turn.”
