Naruto Sticks Novels & Stories

“Maybe you’re stronger than you look, but you’re certainly not very smart are you?” They laugh again, and then Alice gestures for one member of the group to move forward. My stomach drops when I realize he’s holding a stick. He hands it to Alice. “This is going to be fun.” Alice rears back and I close my eyes just as the stick makes contact with my stomach with a thud. By the time the third person takes their turn with the stick it’s almost easy ignore the sound of my ribs cracking under the weight of their blows. I inhale sharply, as another hit lands, but grit my teeth. I will not beg them for mercy.

Darius said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I nodded, tightening my grip. With a swift motion, Darius lunged forward, twirling the nunchaku expertly. He aimed for my side, but I was quick, twisting away just in time, the whirling sticks barely missing me. I retaliated with a rapid series of strikes aimed at his midsection. Darius deflected my blows with quick movements, the impact of our weapons ringing out sharply in the air. We exchanged a flurry of hits and blocks, the sound of wood colliding echoing like a heartbeat. Each strike was harder than the last, pushing me to my limit.

She doesn't notice. I panic and do the only thing I could think of. I grab a thick stick, the first thing my hands and eyes land on un the moment; and rush towards her. "Duck!" I yell, lifting the stick up. Her eyes widen in confusion, but the moment I swing the stick, she does as she's told. She ducks, and before the goon can comprehend what just happened, the stick makes contact with his head. Sending him reeling, and falling to the ground immediately. Silence, and my heart drops. The stick tumbles out of my hands before I know it. Mira stares at the body, and rushes to me when she sees the panic in my eyes.

I reached up and stroked his hand affectionately. “It’s okay I want to do this”. I patted his hand before I cleared my throat and repositioned myself on the pillow. I looked to Artemis to continue and he nodded. Reaching behind him he pulled out a wooden stick, about fifty centimetres long and an inch thick, and placed it on the ground. “With gravity power, you can make heavy or you can make lite, with this I want you to make too heavy for he to lift” Artemis pointed at the stick and then at Smith and I nodded slowly.

“Come at me, I promise that I will tone down my strength to ten percent.” Ten percent? Is he trying to insult me? I know that he is just trying taunt me, make a fool of me in front of hundreds of other students. I look around and see one of those thick sticks that some of the students are using as a weapon. If his hands are tied behind him, and I have this stick, maybe I will have a chance at him. I grab the stick, and he stands with his hands akimbo, as if now amused by me.

Even Anna shouted in shock, “Alex, dodge!” It was too late to dodge! Snap! Crack! The wooden stick slammed into Alex’s knee. The sound sounded like his knee had been smashed, but the scream of pain didn’t follow. Alex stood there without moving. It was the wooden stick in the mohawk guy’s hand that had broken in half. “F*ck, how is that possible?!” “Let me!” Another tattooed youngster jumped out, an iron rod in his hand, and he swung it violently at Alex’s leg.

Their screams were comparable to someone desperate to live. After I had that conversation with Hanaele, I haven't heard any response from her, but it doesn't matter. It only took a few minutes before she finally landed in front of me, eradicating those crawling roots which came closer to me. She did this by swaying her activated five to six-feet bronze metallic stick with a spiral arrow with an estimated circumference of eight from its base. According to the handouts we had, the one she was holding is a specialized weapon for an Esperer like her. Those roots turned black from brown as they flew away from us. Damn, I did not even notice that there were hidden roots underneath the mud that app

It wisps here and there in an ugly and opinionated way. Point before last, I struck him clean with the stick on off-hand. Wasn’t the spark rattan makes when wood hits wood or flesh, but something familiarly blue that flashed at the point of contact. It was my surprise at that development that cost me my off-hand stick. Might look like hesitation (which is defeat, thanks to Gramps and the patron saint of ‘wait why does that old man have a glock in medieval Japan'), but it was more curiosity than that.

It was the only way. Naraja: “I don’t care how much pain that I go through nor how much you put me through. As long as I get my hands on you, then I’ll be all good you bastard.” ???: “Pfft, sure. Bring it on hotshot!” The mysterious black human-like monster figure threw two fast jabs at Naraja’s face, but in a split second he ducked beneath those two fatal attacks, then Naraja put most of his weight into his right leg to perform an uppercut.

In his hands, was his favorite toy of all. It was a stick is a foot long and about three inches long, it had a mix of nails and razor blades covering the surface. I tried to swallow the thump in my throat from forcing myself not to cry. I am all too familiar with what he does with this. My hands started to tremble so bad, that the cuffs that held my arms above my head started to clatter against the table.