Terp Warrior: Booming at the Banquet

By Rosca Santigria

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The banquet hall shimmered with gold light and quiet laughter.

Crystal glasses clinked. Silverware tapped porcelain. Wealth, elegance, control.

And then —

Rosca walked in with a pistol in his hand.

Suit. Tie. Cowboy hat. Boots.

The lion had arrived.

He didn’t come for conversation.

He came for war.

Not because he needed to.

Because he wanted to.

Because somewhere between heartbreak, distance, and silence… violence was the only thing that still made sense.

“I will show the world what I’m made of.”

The first strike came fast.

An uppercut — clean, violent.

A body dropped.

Two shots followed.

BOOM. BOOM.

Enemy #1 hit the ground, blood pooling beneath him like spilled wine at a rich man’s table.

Enemy #2 rushed forward.

Rosca pivoted.

A roundhouse kick slammed into the body — precise, practiced.

A shot cracked like a jab.

Then another uppercut.

FLASHBACK — BloodSport Fighting League

The roar of the crowd.

Sweat dripping from his mane.

A jab.

An uppercut.

Lights out.

Rosca stood over his opponent.

Victorious.

Still.

Cold.

END FLASHBACK

Back in the banquet —

He posed the same way.

Like nothing had changed.

Like everything had.

Plates flew across the room.

Guests screamed.

Rosca moved through it all like a storm in a tailored suit.

He dropped low behind a banquet table.

Eyes scanning.

A plate of spoons.

Interesting.

One by one, he placed them on the floor.

A trap.

Improvised. Efficient. Quietly genius.

Still crouched, he pulled out a medical injector.

A quick press into his arm.

A hiss.

Healing.

He wasn’t just a fighter.

He was a system.

Damage dealt. Damage managed.

The Terp Medic.

Rosca slid under the long banquet table.

Silencer attached.

Footsteps approached.

Enemy #3. Enemy #4.

Five quiet shots.

Both dropped before they even understood what happened.

The dagger came next.

Quick slashes.

Clean work.

No hesitation.

He crawled forward.

Then rolled into plain sight.

Enemy #5 stood ready.

Combat stance.

So did Rosca.

A leg kick.

Three rapid stabs.

A final shot.

Silence.

Then movement again.

At this point —

Rosca wasn’t surviving the banquet.

He was owning it.

And yet…

He paused.

A lobster sat untouched on the table.

Still warm.

Still perfect.

He picked it up.

Took a bite.

Calm. Unbothered.

Then wiped his mouth with his pocket square.

Like a gentleman.

Like a killer.

“C’mon.”

He moved again.

Fast.

Enemy #6 fell to a slash and two shots.

Enemy #7 —

Wrapped in Rosca’s tie.

Pulled in close.

Used as a shield.

Two stabs.

Barely alive.

Enemy #8 fired.

Bullets hit the shield.

Rosca fired back.

Walked him down.

Finished him.

Reload.

Step forward.

End of the banquet hall.

Then —

A voice.

“Rosca… stop.”

The pink fox.

Lufien.

He rushed forward and wrapped his arms around him.

Tight.

Grounding.

Real.

The chaos slowed.

Then stopped.

This was their rhythm.

The fox hosted the banquet.

The lion turned it into a battlefield.

The fox brought him back.

Rosca smirked.

Blood on his suit.

Calm in his eyes.

For ten minutes —

The world made sense again.

Mission Complete.

🔥 About the Author

Rosca Santigria is a storyteller, AI builder, and creator of the Terp Warrior universe — a cinematic blend of combat, identity, and transformation.

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