Conquest of the Red Obelisk

A wooden fortress of stacked books tried to corner me against the lamp base. Insolent paper blocks. At the very summit sat a wooden pencil, its raw crimson end pointing straight at my territory like a spear. I did not retreat. I vaulted onto the slick dust jacket and charged the shaft. I jammed my red double blade beneath its hex-cut cedar belly and heaved with all my might. The timber rolled with a hollow rumble, teetering violently before plunging off the precipice onto the carpet below. The peak is cleared. My perimeter remains unbreached.