Yoda My Stick Novels & Stories

Instead of feeding into it, I kneel in front of him, gripping my stick before holding it out to him, grip-first. His eyes widen instantly. “What?” “You did good,” I say, watching as he stares at me in disbelief. “That play earlier? When you took the ball from me? Not many people manage that.” I nod toward the stick in my hand. “So you deserve this.” His mouth drops open, eyes flicking between me and the stick like I just told him I was handing over a million-dollar contract. “You’re giving me your stick?” His voice cracks on the last word.

With the help of the Walking Character Secret Skill, he was the first to get a long stick. It was just an ordinary wooden stick, but the strength contained in it still shocked Little Apple. As expected, there were hidden top experts in this world. Little Apple sighed with emotion and quickly retreated, not wanting to give others an opportunity. At this time, the field was in a mess. Except the wooden sticks the previous experts of heavenly leaderboard grabbed, the rest of the wooden sticks drew the most intense competition. Because if they failed to get a stick, they would be eliminated. Under the gaze of all the martial arts practitioners in the world, nobody didn't want to stand up for the

Yet somehow I was having fun. For the first time since arriving, I felt like I was actually learning something. Eventually Drake picked up one of the sticks again. Then tossed the other one toward me. I barely caught it. “Whoa!” “Careful.” “I almost died.” “You almost dropped a stick.” “Same thing.” “No.” “Yes.” He shook his head. “Hold it properly.” I looked at the stick. Then at him. Then back at the stick. “How?” “Like this.” He demonstrated.

At that moment, the terrifying power erupted from the dragons and distorted the skies. Dark clouds gathered, and thunder roared. It was ghastly. "You want to block me with just a couple of squiggly worms?" Yooda was not afraid. He waved his hands and held onto a strange-looking weapon tightly. It was a black iron staff with intricate black carvings surrounding it. It gave off a dangerous aura. The weapon was called the Chaotic Sky Staff. That weapon was made especially for Yooda by Archfiend Antigonus when he came across some Chaotic Meteorite. It was 12,000 kilograms, and it was extremely powerful.

So desperate and pathetic. “Why do you think I invested in your small corporation? I thought you understood that. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret, Ryden. I have high hopes and plans for you and my daughter. Think again before you act. Use your brain and not your emotions.” I ran away before someone could see me. *** “Why do we have to use this stick?” Again, Ryden complained for the third time. “It’s called Kendo descended from Kenjutsu. You’re offending Ren.” I glared at him. “How will you go to a sword fight if you don’t know proper techniques, I can’t train with you if there’s a tendency of you cutting my head off.”

I was growing more frustrated by the second. Half the rooms were empty while the other half held crates upon crates of weapons, ones I’d never even seen before. In the one room we entered, I picked up a sleek, black item. It was heavier than I expected, a metal reinforced stick. There was a hole at the end of the metal tube that smelled sharp, metallic, and smokey. I held it up to Xander. “What the fuck is this?” His eyes went wide when he laid them on the metal contraption in my hand. He took a slow step toward me and carefully took it from my hand.

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.

I nod. “Stretch his arms forward.” The guys comply, stretching out his tied hands for me, kneeling at both sides of him to keep him in place. “Please,” the bastard mutters, but I’m beyond his pleas. “You used these hands to touch her,” I stare down at his long fingers. “You grabbed her ass with these hands.” “No, please.” “Tonight you’ll learn.” I weigh the stick in my hand, testing it. Wondering how much pressure it’ll take before the bone gives way.

Paddles, crop and canes, blindfolds, gags, including rings and balls, and clamps were arranged on a table in front of the cabinet. “Before we begin,” Derek announced, interrupting the awe of these men. “Do you know what this is?” He asked, his finger pointing at everything in the room one after the other. “Yes,” they said in unison and nodded simultaneously. “Excellent,” he said. “We will play a game,” he paused and looked at them. “I call it The master and the mastered.” Both men had confusion all over their faces but they dare not ask him questions or interrupt him.

I walked straight to it and lifted it off the wall. Memories came flashing back of my father teaching me how to use the simple weapon, bringing a sad smile to my face. My memories were interrupted by Gideon asking me if I was familiar with the weapon I held. Rolling it in my palm to get used to the weight of a metal one, I nodded and said, “My dad taught me with the Escrima sticks made of bamboo.” “Can you use them both?” “Yesssss,” I answered the intimidating man with annoyance.