The knight stopped dead in its tracks, and waited for his opppenent to finish up what he was doing. “So you fight not for valor nor destruction, but harbor great vengeance against both?” he said in an old English accent. “I can not, for my very soul, say that I disagree with your ideals, as I too tire of the fighting. I was once a proud King, loved by my subjects, my knights were at the very top of loyalty and bravery.”

The Black and White stringed tornado slammed onto the Puppet King, forming the frame for his creation. “My kingdom was all I ever cared about. I now realize what purgatory I must be in for my fate to switch between good and evil every time I am run through by anothers blade. I can understand a fellow King’s distress in this situation, believe me, I know your pain.”  the knight stood stead fast as he drew out the longer of the two great swords from his abdomen. Small roots strarted to grow outwards and wrap themselves around the Puppet Kings body in preparation for the final phase of the transformation.

“I was arrogant in thinking that I was infallible, so much so that I grew paranoid soon of anyone that made even the slightest of err and had them killed on the spot. It grieves me so every time I step out of that barrier. I lost my Queen when she coughed at me and in response I had seventeen knights and squire both run her through every conceivable direction.” Large redwood panels slammed into place as the Puppet King’s head, upper torso, arms and hands were encased in massive scythes arranged in the way that teeth are in a person’s mouth.

 ”Before we begin… as is inevitable our destiny. Let me ask you this. Why do you fight? If not valor, or destruction, then what? Is it a person? A place? A long forgotten memory? Do you fight for a singular purpose or many? You see, the reason I fought was simply to expand my kingdom, which covered eight tenths of the planet’s surface. I was a very strong warrior in my day, and I had taken the heads of giants with more strength than I. Do you know how i died?” The Puppet King’s mind was fused with that of the Titan’s bloody scythe spider as wires crammed into Barney Fife’s head and sealed the gaps in between.

 ”I had picked up my shield, and my sword, and I remember looking at my youngest son, Edmund, and noticing a gleam in his eye that I did not like. In my haste to end my mistakenly perceived threat, I fell out of the window, located several miles about the spiked moat. I remember thinking to myself the strangest thought in the world, the very question I have asked you. Why was I fighting? For what purpose did it truly serve me?”  The eight eyes of the spider puppet glowed red as it planted its heavily weighed down foot on the ground.

 ”I could not find an answer to that question. And a few seconds before I hit the ground, I saw edmund with his hand reaching out towards me, I think I found my answer, would you like to hear it? I know you’re itching for a fight. But would you like to hear my answer?” The spider puppet pawed at the ground and nodded its head.

 ”Very well then, I found, that I had been fighting to protect. Not for a goal, not for an ideal, not for anything grand. Just to protect. Anything I could. Thank you for hearing my tale. Now then, my fellow King, let us once more fight for out own answers to that question, why do we fight?”

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The knight stopped dead in its tracks, and waited for his opppenent to finish up what he was doing. “So you fight not for valor nor destruction, but harbor great vengeance against both?” he said in an old English accent. “I can not, for my very soul, say that I disagree with your ideals, as I t …