Yoda My Stick Novels & Stories

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.

-Look into my eyes when you're scared and say my name in your heart- *** Yuda honked his motorbike horn loudly without stopping until the brown warehouse door opened, showing Arkan and Nando. Yuda got off his motorbike and walked towards them with his bare hands while his opponent was equipped with battle gear. "Looks like you are afraid to fight me empty-handed, let alone alone," Yuda sarcastically challenged Arkan to man to man.

A contented sigh escapes my lips, as if the water has quenched my thirst and revitalized my senses. As we rise to our feet, we return to the spot where the sticks lie before he graciously hands me one. With a determined expression, he assumes a defensive position and swiftly moves his hand towards me, signaling the start of our friendly duel. In response, I quickly adopt a sturdy stance, gripping the stick tightly as I begin to swing it with the grace and precision of a seasoned swordsman.

Yoda is standing beside the fridge, placing the chicken back inside. “Yoda? What are you doing here?." I ask but run to give her a hug. I'm surprised she's here but I'm still utterly happy. She pushes me away and pins me against the fridge. I search her eyes, they're glazed and looking weird. “Yoda? What's wrong." I ask her. She pulls out a dagger and tries to stab me with it. I break free from her grip and run backwards. “Yoda, is this a joke? If it is, please stop it's not funny."

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” He hissed in pain. “Stupid woman!” The leader raised a brow. “Careful, Davidson. She might diagnose you with something.” “Shut up!” I yelled, fury shaking my voice. “I’m not going anywhere with you! Let me go!” “Oh, you’re going,” the leader murmured. “Right into pain.” Something glinted in his hand. A wooden stick. Thick. Heavy. Perfect for damage. “You’re insane,” I whispered. “Don’t do this.”

How could this piece of trash seize the rod with his bare hands? He was stunned. He couldn't believe it. "The first move, Killing Devils with Stick!" Yang Xiao put away his Dragon's Wrath Sword. The long stick in his hand was like a tiger's wind. At that moment, all the martial monks felt everything went dark in front of them. Unconsciously, they seemed to be enveloped by Yang Xiao's stick skill. "That's not the Killing Devils with Stick, is it? It's completely different from the Killing Devils with Stick in the Ancient Pagoda of Tianzhu."

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.

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.