An Immortals Tale
The Man In The Black Suit
Part 9
"Technically"
Crunch. Jon's head was killing him, even with his eyes closed. Crunch. That sound was determined. Crunch. The solid wood chair under him cradled his body with ease, the smell of the world outside of his closed eyes was waiting to be discovered. Crunch. With a groan and a lot of effort Jon brought his head up, forcing his winced eyes open. The world first seeped in, then poured in, then flooded into finality.
Jon was in his old chair, in his old monastery, sitting at his old wooden round table, with his old friend sitting across from him, a wide, goofy smile on his face and an apple in his hand. Jon's friend was thin, very thin, but handsome. All the girls around the village would nearly faint with his easy smile. Wide eyes, a broad, warm smile, and brown hair that stuck up made up his clean-shaven features. The smile never left his face as his jaw worked the apple and with a thick British accent drawled, "Good morning, sunshine!" Jon's face must have been twisted with displeasure because he went on, "Oh come on, now! Is that any way to greet an old friend?" The immortal's head swiveled around, taking in his old place.
Brown clay walls accented with wood surrounded him, torches hung in iron brackets, a fire crackled and danced in the fireplace, the smell of burning pitch was heavy, black, greasy stains ran up the walls above the many torches. Iron accents and a heavy oak door made up the rest of the decor, along with crosses and a single picture of the Last Supper. Finally Jon's tired eyes came back to rest on his friend. "What am I doing here?" he croaked out in an accent he'd worked to get rid of many years ago. His friend waved the apple around and scrunched up his face as he began his explanation, the first word drawn out, "Well. Technically you're not here. Technically, you're still in the bar where you were knocked unconscious. Technically, I am a manifestation of your newly formed powers trying to find a better way to explain themselves and their uses to you. Technically." With a satisfied nod, he crunched the apple again, looking at Jon for his response. "I'm...dreaming?" The hand without the apple came up and gave him the 'so-so' gesture, "You're not really dreaming. I'm just a conduit that your mind is using to give you the easiest path to understanding." Jon was having a hard time understanding, "So you're just a figment of my imagination? This place isn't real and I'm still on the floor with people standing over me, attempting to steal my soul away?" With wide, brown eyes, his friend nodded confirmation.
Jon sat up, pulling straight his old robes, adjusting himself for the drawn-out explanation. Just as the first words began to form in his mouth, the room started to suddenly darken. The torches and fire in the hearth still burned their amber color, but the light seemed to be dying down. His friend sighed and tossed the apple over his shoulder, "Well. Looks like we're out of time, Jon. But before you go remember this: Words are very, very powerful. The reason your powers chose me is because you remembered I was a Wordsmith." Jon suddenly began to feel very panicked, cold started to creep into his body, "Yeah, you were a Wordsmith, so what?" Darkness crept on, strangling the light. "I gave normal words power, not magic - Power. With your new abilities you got certain perks. Remind me. What's the Latin translation of 'The Voice of God'?" That big, toothy grin was the last thing that Jon saw before the darkness took him.
He was back in the bar now, not twelfth century London. All the old smells came back: wine, cigarettes, whiskey, the still smoldering ashes of his friend Ricky. Jon could barely perceive the hands above him, glowing orange, the bones black in contrast. His lips struggled with the words, the final clue that his old friend had given him. "V..ox....d..." soft syllables were strained past near-paralyzed lips. Murmurs above him tried to figure out what he was trying to say. Jon tried with all his might, this time, "Vox....Dios....."
Jon's eyes were suddenly wide open, his mind no longer in a fog, but racing. Power suddenly flowed through him like water sluicing off a person lying in a river. The words made sense. He said them again, his voice driven with fury and intensity, "VOX DIOS!" A bomb of orange light went off, a ring of it pushing outward, the cloaked bodies standing over the immortal on the floor sent flying. Some crashed into tables and chairs, others smashed the mirrors on the walls. All of the energy that had been stolen away slammed back into Jon, and once more he was a raging inferno of justice, on his feet again.
A cloaked figure stood and threw its hands out, sending gouts of flame at Jon. He didn't need the words, anymore, the power had been awakened. Jon could see the glow behind his eyes as he gathered the power in his throat and released it in an instant. The fire was extinguished, the clear, but visible geyser of energy kept going, taking with it the right arm of the caster and a chunk of the concrete pillar behind them. With a shrill scream and a spray of blood, the hooded one crashed to the floor, clutching the stump where their limb once was. A call for retreat sounded behind him and the other figures all dashed for the door, bypassing Jon. The Immortal could only glare at them as they moved faster than he could track, even with his newfound powers.
The last one up and to retreat was the one missing their arm. It limped as it went, but before reaching the door turned back, "We are not done with you, Paladin! You may think yourself righteous! But you've been named before! Judas Iscariot!" The hood fell back and revealed a face that only a nightmare could describe: green reptilian skin, pulled tight over a deformed skull, no lips, sharp rows of teeth lining a mouth filled with black saliva, yellow eyes. All the features, though alien, conveyed femininity.
Jon was already gathering another bolt of energy when her words struck him. With a hiss, the creature disappeared out the door. Jon was more than perplexed; his muscles and bones still ached from the wallops of air that had struck him earlier. Without another sound or thought, Jon righted a toppled chair and sat down, grieving for his vampire friend, letting his mind dance over the creature's final statement. As his thoughts went to sorrowful and dark places, the cell phone, that had miraculously survived the entire endeavor, went off. With hot tears stinging his eyes and a long sigh, Jon retrieved the vibrating thing in his pocket and opened the message. It was an anonymous sender, but the message was not encrypted. It said one thing: "The Circle of Altu'Rang."
Showing posts with label part. Show all posts
Showing posts with label part. Show all posts
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
An Immortals Tale: Part 8
An Immortals Tale
The Man in the Black Suit
Part 8
"The Day The Sun Died"
The change started in the cab home. Jons body became hot and bursting with energy that was slowly building to something he was dreading: Rebirth. The driver didn't bother asking questions and Jon liked it that way. The night was cold, vapors of heat rose from his overheating body in the backseat. It would take another few hours for the transformation to be complete, but before that he had to deal with the pain of it. Like a mother giving birth he had to take it all. The cab pulled up to his apartment and Jon threw a wad of cash at the man behind the wheel before fetching his impossibly heavy bag from the trunk, lugging it up the stairs while waves of pain crashed into him with no mercy or sign of relenting. His fingers fumbled with keys and after an immeasurable amount of time found the right combination. Inside the bag was tossed aside, thunking like a thousands pounds of metal against the hardwood floor, but he didn't care. Midnight was upon him and the worst of this pain was yet to come. In the middle of the room, near his comfortable chair he began to strip, losing his clothing with gusto, as if it were the fabric, itself, that was on fire and not his own skin. Soon he was naked upon the floor, panting heavily and trying to deal with the oncoming agony that seemed endless.
Invoking the powers of a Paladin for a holy man as he meant that new things would come to light, new powers, new abilities, new sight, new strength, but there was a price to be paid. Paladins were the purest of the holy hierarchy of the order, bringing judgement to humans, demons, and angels, alike. Jons perfect teeth gritted against the new wave, his eyes shut tight, every fiber of muscle like stone, as more of the pain come forth. Screams tried to escape him, only to be choked off by the rigidity of his own body. His mind was being torn apart as his body was rebuilding itself into something different: A Soldier. He clutched at the wooden floor beneath him, his knees on ground with his clenched hands. Hands so tight he was sure he was cutting into his own skin. Knowledge that had been tucked away come screaming forward, incantations, weaknesses, spells, and all the things that he never needed before, once so trivial, now impossibly important. The world drowned itself out in his suffering, the night outside the windows of his small residence reflecting a world that right now didn't matter. Then a break came. Just long enough for him to draw cold air into his lungs, right before the newest assault on his senses came, the first wave of the change complete. He screamed as he arched his back, so hard he was afraid, somewhere in the back of his tormented mind, that he had broken it. Legs stiff with pain could not support him and he fell back, his head meeting the floor along with his shoulders. And that's where he stayed, for hours, until the change was done with him.
Midmorning was already singing its song by the time Jon came around. He was where he was before: On the floor, naked, twisted in an uncomfortable position. New energy flowed through him, new knowledge screamed in his mind. He stood up, slowly. Muscles had ripped apart, only to be rebuilt anew, adding and subtracting to perfect his new soldier body. Legs, though sore, carried his half limp body to the bathroom where he saw himself for the first time. His bland physique was gone, replaced with tone and bulk, his soft jawline now hard with muscles. But it was his eyes that frightened him the most: Still grey, for the most part, but now with a ring of red along the outside. Jon stood, mesmerized by his new body, as he quieted the new things in his head screaming for attention. He needed a drink. A shower later the immortal stood before his wardrobe and hoped upon hope that they still fit. With a giant sigh of relief he donned a black suit that hung perfectly off his rebuilt frame perfectly. In fact, it looked a little better, now. With little regard he lifted the now, almost lightweight, bag carrying all sorts of arms, into the closet to get acquainted with his wardrobe. But before he stepped outside he surveyed the world with his Paladin eyes. All of it, every single thing, seemed different. The buildings, the sun hidden behind the clouds, the people, all resonated something different. His reborn sight now was able to pick up the things that were lost behind a cloud of comfort.
Legs, that seemed to carry him with a lot less effort, made the walk to his favorite pub shorter. Along the way he had stopped and eaten three times, intake to fuel and maintain the power within himself that demanded more than what he was used to eating. Thoughts and deeds poured off the people he walked by, audible to him, now, like heat waves radiating off a hot coal. Some disgusted him, calling forth the fury waiting beneath the surface, others almost screaming for him to judge them. But he fought the instinct. He didn't want to pass judgement on them unless he had to. As he walked, though, he found he felt his usual smiling demeanor replaced with a frown, almost scowling at the things he now heard. At the things his new paladin powers allowed him to hear. He decided, then and there, at the thoughts of a man who wanted to murder his wife, that this new frown would be the face he would wear on this new body. Blocks passed, people passed, all the more disturbing to him. Sometimes his hands would clench so tight, trying to control the fury inside him, that they shook. He wanted a little peace. A bit of his old life back. And before he could lose control the door of his pub stood before him, welcoming, promising. He pushed it open. Inside sat the same old bouncer, with the same old look, but his reaction was different. Upon locking eyes with the incoming immortal he blanched pale and almost white, pushing the door open while he looked away from the judging gaze.
Ricky, the vampiric bartender, was at his usual station, staring at his phone and clicking away. The bar smelled the same, but now it was laden with something that had never been there before, and was as palpable to Jon as the brews being served to the patrons: Sin. Jons mood was too foul to play a prank on his favorite bartender and he made a beeline to the heavy wood counter. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted new patrons, all heavily robed and all drinking sacramental wine out of crystal goblets. He decided to ignore it as he took a chair and waited for Ricky to notice him. After a few moments the vampire looked up and saw the immortal patron and smiled, happy to see an old friend. Ricky made his way quickly, and fluidly, like he was floating on air to Jon. Jon had never paid attention to the way his bartender moved, but now it seemed almost alien, too fluid for a human, but ignored it, as well. "Jon! My favorite......" Rickys eyes met Jons. The already pale face of the undead bartender lost even more color, "What....did you do...Jon?" Rickys eyes were locked on his patrons, studying, and in pain. It gave the immortal pause to see such emotions flowing through his old friend, but he finally answered, "I'm a Paladin, now, Ricky." The vampire held his gaze, but 'No' kept tumbling off his trembling lips as he reached out a thin hand to touch a face he thought he knew. An audible hiss and a stream of smoke emitted from the outstretched fingers as they made contact with the new skin Jon wore. Slowly and trembling Ricky withdrew his hand, shaking with the pain of touching his friend.
"Oh dear God, Jon, no. A Paladin?" Jon could only nod as Ricky went on, "No, Jon, no! God have mercy. For the rest of my undead life I will remember this as the day the sun died and the world became a darker place." Watery eyes begged for an explanation. Jon began forming the words when the first blow came from behind, knocking his head into the heavy wooden counter and turning the world into a blur. Ricky gasped and suddenly ignited, like he'd been set on fire from the inside, flames seeping through cracks on his now burning and blackened skin, before he collapsed into a pile of smoldering ash behind the counter. Jons head came back up, but so did his anger, awakened and at the ready. The immortals hand shot behind him and grabbed thick robes, pulling the weight into the bar as he stood, knocking the wearer out. With unearthly speed Jon turned to face his assaulter. Before him stood six hooded figures, all near the same height as him, their faces hidden in shadow, their bodies hidden beneath thick fabric. Jon let his new power flare and flow to his fists that glowed orange, showcasing his bones through the illuminated skin. His voice was low, a growl, a hatred he'd never heard come from himself, "Your lives are now mine. FORFEITED IN THE NAME OF GOD!"
His left hand, burning with burning hot power, moved on its own, slamming down upon the figure on the floor, releasing the captive energy into the receiving body, reducing it to a flash of golden flame then ash. Powerful legs launched him from his half-crouched position towards the rest of the figures, a primal, guttural scream erupting from Jon the newly born Paladin. His movement was so fast that it slowed the world down to a crawl and for the first time since entering Jon saw the usually busy bar was empty save for the now seven occupants. Glowing fingers raked through the air, seeking a target in the hooded figures before him, begging to be released. He caught only fabric, that burned away into cinders, as the figures dodged his strikes. Jon wasn't connecting. He knew why: He wasn't utilizing his new knowledge. So he brought it forth. All the new methods of using his now muscular body joined him and now it became as easy as breathing. Thick fabric ripped and Jons extended limbs now connected. Although they tried to avoid him he was ripping into them. Every time one of the figures would try to mount an offensive against the immortal it was met with swift and aggressive action, interrupting the motion before it could be completed. Soon he had them on the ropes, his punches and kicks colliding with solid bodies. It only served to fuel his want to reduce them to nothing even more.
The sound of splintered chairs and tables as Jon chased his aggressors around the bar joined the grunts and yelps of pain he elicited with his attacks. Finally he'd chased them into the back corner, six figures trembling and looking to one another from behind hooded cloaks. "ENOUGH! YOU DIE NOW!" Jon's throat burned with the scream as he launched himself again at them. Then his body came alive with pain. The robed figures threw out their hands, aimed at Jon, each sending an unseen knot of air at him. He was too committed to his own attack to dodge them. It felt like he was being shot with a machine gun, each knot smashing into him with unforgiving force, driving the air out of him, one or two cracking his ribs, and the last of them catching his extended limbs and rendering them useless. He fell, in a heap, to the floor before the six figures, his consciousness threatening to succumb into passing out. He realized, as he lay on the sticky bar floor, the hands that had reached out of the robes were something he had not expected: Human. Above him a voice spoke, gentle and wise, "You've come to the fold, Paladin Jon. You've proven yourself to us. And we are thankful. But now. Your power is ours. As is your life. Go with God, Paladin Jon."
The world around him was beginning to fade to black as he looked up and saw six pairs of hands stretch out of those heavy, brown robes above him, and begin to glow the same color as his own. His vision continued to fade, tunneling into a long, dark spiral. The hands glowed brighter and some ancient language he thought he recognized began to drone. Jon fought to stay awake, seeking that last glimmer of light at the end of the black corridor that had become his vision. The last thing he saw was those hands above him, performing a ritual he was unfamiliar with, but he felt the effect: His lifeforce, itself, was beginning to drain away. Blackness took over and the newly born Paladin fell unconscious.
The Man in the Black Suit
Part 8
"The Day The Sun Died"
The change started in the cab home. Jons body became hot and bursting with energy that was slowly building to something he was dreading: Rebirth. The driver didn't bother asking questions and Jon liked it that way. The night was cold, vapors of heat rose from his overheating body in the backseat. It would take another few hours for the transformation to be complete, but before that he had to deal with the pain of it. Like a mother giving birth he had to take it all. The cab pulled up to his apartment and Jon threw a wad of cash at the man behind the wheel before fetching his impossibly heavy bag from the trunk, lugging it up the stairs while waves of pain crashed into him with no mercy or sign of relenting. His fingers fumbled with keys and after an immeasurable amount of time found the right combination. Inside the bag was tossed aside, thunking like a thousands pounds of metal against the hardwood floor, but he didn't care. Midnight was upon him and the worst of this pain was yet to come. In the middle of the room, near his comfortable chair he began to strip, losing his clothing with gusto, as if it were the fabric, itself, that was on fire and not his own skin. Soon he was naked upon the floor, panting heavily and trying to deal with the oncoming agony that seemed endless.
Invoking the powers of a Paladin for a holy man as he meant that new things would come to light, new powers, new abilities, new sight, new strength, but there was a price to be paid. Paladins were the purest of the holy hierarchy of the order, bringing judgement to humans, demons, and angels, alike. Jons perfect teeth gritted against the new wave, his eyes shut tight, every fiber of muscle like stone, as more of the pain come forth. Screams tried to escape him, only to be choked off by the rigidity of his own body. His mind was being torn apart as his body was rebuilding itself into something different: A Soldier. He clutched at the wooden floor beneath him, his knees on ground with his clenched hands. Hands so tight he was sure he was cutting into his own skin. Knowledge that had been tucked away come screaming forward, incantations, weaknesses, spells, and all the things that he never needed before, once so trivial, now impossibly important. The world drowned itself out in his suffering, the night outside the windows of his small residence reflecting a world that right now didn't matter. Then a break came. Just long enough for him to draw cold air into his lungs, right before the newest assault on his senses came, the first wave of the change complete. He screamed as he arched his back, so hard he was afraid, somewhere in the back of his tormented mind, that he had broken it. Legs stiff with pain could not support him and he fell back, his head meeting the floor along with his shoulders. And that's where he stayed, for hours, until the change was done with him.
Midmorning was already singing its song by the time Jon came around. He was where he was before: On the floor, naked, twisted in an uncomfortable position. New energy flowed through him, new knowledge screamed in his mind. He stood up, slowly. Muscles had ripped apart, only to be rebuilt anew, adding and subtracting to perfect his new soldier body. Legs, though sore, carried his half limp body to the bathroom where he saw himself for the first time. His bland physique was gone, replaced with tone and bulk, his soft jawline now hard with muscles. But it was his eyes that frightened him the most: Still grey, for the most part, but now with a ring of red along the outside. Jon stood, mesmerized by his new body, as he quieted the new things in his head screaming for attention. He needed a drink. A shower later the immortal stood before his wardrobe and hoped upon hope that they still fit. With a giant sigh of relief he donned a black suit that hung perfectly off his rebuilt frame perfectly. In fact, it looked a little better, now. With little regard he lifted the now, almost lightweight, bag carrying all sorts of arms, into the closet to get acquainted with his wardrobe. But before he stepped outside he surveyed the world with his Paladin eyes. All of it, every single thing, seemed different. The buildings, the sun hidden behind the clouds, the people, all resonated something different. His reborn sight now was able to pick up the things that were lost behind a cloud of comfort.
Legs, that seemed to carry him with a lot less effort, made the walk to his favorite pub shorter. Along the way he had stopped and eaten three times, intake to fuel and maintain the power within himself that demanded more than what he was used to eating. Thoughts and deeds poured off the people he walked by, audible to him, now, like heat waves radiating off a hot coal. Some disgusted him, calling forth the fury waiting beneath the surface, others almost screaming for him to judge them. But he fought the instinct. He didn't want to pass judgement on them unless he had to. As he walked, though, he found he felt his usual smiling demeanor replaced with a frown, almost scowling at the things he now heard. At the things his new paladin powers allowed him to hear. He decided, then and there, at the thoughts of a man who wanted to murder his wife, that this new frown would be the face he would wear on this new body. Blocks passed, people passed, all the more disturbing to him. Sometimes his hands would clench so tight, trying to control the fury inside him, that they shook. He wanted a little peace. A bit of his old life back. And before he could lose control the door of his pub stood before him, welcoming, promising. He pushed it open. Inside sat the same old bouncer, with the same old look, but his reaction was different. Upon locking eyes with the incoming immortal he blanched pale and almost white, pushing the door open while he looked away from the judging gaze.
Ricky, the vampiric bartender, was at his usual station, staring at his phone and clicking away. The bar smelled the same, but now it was laden with something that had never been there before, and was as palpable to Jon as the brews being served to the patrons: Sin. Jons mood was too foul to play a prank on his favorite bartender and he made a beeline to the heavy wood counter. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted new patrons, all heavily robed and all drinking sacramental wine out of crystal goblets. He decided to ignore it as he took a chair and waited for Ricky to notice him. After a few moments the vampire looked up and saw the immortal patron and smiled, happy to see an old friend. Ricky made his way quickly, and fluidly, like he was floating on air to Jon. Jon had never paid attention to the way his bartender moved, but now it seemed almost alien, too fluid for a human, but ignored it, as well. "Jon! My favorite......" Rickys eyes met Jons. The already pale face of the undead bartender lost even more color, "What....did you do...Jon?" Rickys eyes were locked on his patrons, studying, and in pain. It gave the immortal pause to see such emotions flowing through his old friend, but he finally answered, "I'm a Paladin, now, Ricky." The vampire held his gaze, but 'No' kept tumbling off his trembling lips as he reached out a thin hand to touch a face he thought he knew. An audible hiss and a stream of smoke emitted from the outstretched fingers as they made contact with the new skin Jon wore. Slowly and trembling Ricky withdrew his hand, shaking with the pain of touching his friend.
"Oh dear God, Jon, no. A Paladin?" Jon could only nod as Ricky went on, "No, Jon, no! God have mercy. For the rest of my undead life I will remember this as the day the sun died and the world became a darker place." Watery eyes begged for an explanation. Jon began forming the words when the first blow came from behind, knocking his head into the heavy wooden counter and turning the world into a blur. Ricky gasped and suddenly ignited, like he'd been set on fire from the inside, flames seeping through cracks on his now burning and blackened skin, before he collapsed into a pile of smoldering ash behind the counter. Jons head came back up, but so did his anger, awakened and at the ready. The immortals hand shot behind him and grabbed thick robes, pulling the weight into the bar as he stood, knocking the wearer out. With unearthly speed Jon turned to face his assaulter. Before him stood six hooded figures, all near the same height as him, their faces hidden in shadow, their bodies hidden beneath thick fabric. Jon let his new power flare and flow to his fists that glowed orange, showcasing his bones through the illuminated skin. His voice was low, a growl, a hatred he'd never heard come from himself, "Your lives are now mine. FORFEITED IN THE NAME OF GOD!"
His left hand, burning with burning hot power, moved on its own, slamming down upon the figure on the floor, releasing the captive energy into the receiving body, reducing it to a flash of golden flame then ash. Powerful legs launched him from his half-crouched position towards the rest of the figures, a primal, guttural scream erupting from Jon the newly born Paladin. His movement was so fast that it slowed the world down to a crawl and for the first time since entering Jon saw the usually busy bar was empty save for the now seven occupants. Glowing fingers raked through the air, seeking a target in the hooded figures before him, begging to be released. He caught only fabric, that burned away into cinders, as the figures dodged his strikes. Jon wasn't connecting. He knew why: He wasn't utilizing his new knowledge. So he brought it forth. All the new methods of using his now muscular body joined him and now it became as easy as breathing. Thick fabric ripped and Jons extended limbs now connected. Although they tried to avoid him he was ripping into them. Every time one of the figures would try to mount an offensive against the immortal it was met with swift and aggressive action, interrupting the motion before it could be completed. Soon he had them on the ropes, his punches and kicks colliding with solid bodies. It only served to fuel his want to reduce them to nothing even more.
The sound of splintered chairs and tables as Jon chased his aggressors around the bar joined the grunts and yelps of pain he elicited with his attacks. Finally he'd chased them into the back corner, six figures trembling and looking to one another from behind hooded cloaks. "ENOUGH! YOU DIE NOW!" Jon's throat burned with the scream as he launched himself again at them. Then his body came alive with pain. The robed figures threw out their hands, aimed at Jon, each sending an unseen knot of air at him. He was too committed to his own attack to dodge them. It felt like he was being shot with a machine gun, each knot smashing into him with unforgiving force, driving the air out of him, one or two cracking his ribs, and the last of them catching his extended limbs and rendering them useless. He fell, in a heap, to the floor before the six figures, his consciousness threatening to succumb into passing out. He realized, as he lay on the sticky bar floor, the hands that had reached out of the robes were something he had not expected: Human. Above him a voice spoke, gentle and wise, "You've come to the fold, Paladin Jon. You've proven yourself to us. And we are thankful. But now. Your power is ours. As is your life. Go with God, Paladin Jon."
The world around him was beginning to fade to black as he looked up and saw six pairs of hands stretch out of those heavy, brown robes above him, and begin to glow the same color as his own. His vision continued to fade, tunneling into a long, dark spiral. The hands glowed brighter and some ancient language he thought he recognized began to drone. Jon fought to stay awake, seeking that last glimmer of light at the end of the black corridor that had become his vision. The last thing he saw was those hands above him, performing a ritual he was unfamiliar with, but he felt the effect: His lifeforce, itself, was beginning to drain away. Blackness took over and the newly born Paladin fell unconscious.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
The Blade Of The Princess Part 1 of 2. (Original Short)
Her sword cleaved through another one of the giant rodents with ease, severing bone, sinew, and muscle. She wouldn't stop until she had eradicated them. There were dozens of them, coming from all directions of the dark and misty woods. Her armor saved her, as did a protection spell. She spotted the next assailants in her peripheral vision, and let the power she had inside herself awaken and collect in her left hand, the one without the short sword. As fast as thought, a ball of liquid flame appeared in her upturned palm and she flung it at the half-dozen fanged creatures. Though the ball of fire - that could burn any living thing down to the bone in seconds - was near her, she ignored it. She was raised with magic, and it was a part of her. The creatures that looked like giant rats with equally giant, gnashing teeth, burst into flames and screamed a horrible death.
She again began slashing, tearing, ripping through the hordes with her sword, throwing balls of flame and air so compressed it was as thick as steel and sharp as any blade. Soon the threat was no more than gore and ash. Sweat slicked her body, pushed to its limits. Her breathing was rapid and deep, sucking in thick, cold air and pushing it out with effort. Her bare thighs tingled from a slight breeze sifting through the thick woods, her neckline sharing the same sensation as she sheathed her sword. Pulling back bright auburn hair, the fleeting wind cooled her slightly. Her breast plate was heavy, and the thick leather belt round her waist weighed down by the enchanted blade was chafing. Her boots, that reached to her knees, were sweaty. Adding insult to injury, she was covered in blood and fur from her encounter. She wanted to feel clean again, but the nearest town was a day's journey in the opposite direction, and she needed to press on.
With an exhausted sigh, K'anda, the princess of Zhu'ul, started down the long path ahead. Mid-morning sun beat heavily down on her little trail. Her mind was put to the task ahead of her: find a king for her land. Men were of short commodity, sold as slaves, as womankind ruled the lands freely. The last great war was waged and many of the men in her land, and the surrounding kingdoms, were destroyed. Though the war happened years before she was born, the tales were heavy with her people. Old, silver-haired females would share them, telling of the fire that fell from the heavens and burned the lands. Of the monuments that stood proud and symbolized so many things, but were now ashes and rubble. Though she was a day's walk from it, K'anda decided to visit the 'Lake of a Thousand Eyes,' something her elders suggested she do before she wed.
The air was sweet with blooming flowers and the rains that had come days before. Her gold eyes scanned the landscape for threats as the trees gave way to an open field with a dirt trail cut through it. She kept her pace steady, not letting the grand and flat nature of the new terrain spook her. Off in the distance she glimpsed huge, yellow glowing eyes in the dusky tree line that belonged to Leviathan Owls. They were the size of a full-grown man, but could sometimes easily double that. They hunted what they wanted, and hunters were quick and full of pride to show off if they'd ever killed one. The afternoon came in heavy with more sunlight and dark clouds on the horizon. It would rain tonight, and she was still a half day's travel to the Agaden mountain village where she'd choose her mate.
The field she walked in was wide, but the woods bordered it with menacing stature. The forest had been cleared to let people travel without fear of the vicious things lurking behind the giant trees with dark bark. K'anda kept walking, knowing that a wayward house had to be somewhere near. Huts that travelers had set up to stay in for the night were mostly deplorable hovels, but it was better than chancing an encounter with a Moon Wolf. These bloodthirsty creatures bore glowing red eyes, fur as black as coal, and were three times the size of a large dog. Thinking of them made her eyes sweep the waist-tall grass again, coming to rest on a sign that indicated the direction to nearest hut, the Lake of a Thousand Eyes, and the Agaden village. With another, more careful look, she discerned the path to the lake cut through the grass. With quiet resolve, K'anda made the choice to head down it.
The path took the princess through another section of woods, though this time the rodents of unusual size didn't mar her journey. She ate apples picked off low-hanging branches that were brown and sweet with a cinnamon flavor. Red, green, and yellow peppers wrapped in mint leaves the size of her palm supplemented the apples. Although content with a full stomach, she still stank of sweat and blood from her morning encounter. The sky darkened to a bruised red with streaks of yellow and pink swashed through it, while the sun sank behind distant, snow-capped mountains. As she walked, the air changed from arid and sweet to thick and moist. The lake was not far and she would have to spend the night there, hopefully in an empty shanty of a fisherwoman who had long forgotten it.
Finally the dark trees broke on to white sand, and a lake that seemed to have no end. The stars had just begun to shine by the time she'd reached the Lake of a Thousand Eyes. The still water was like glass, reflecting each of the bright stars above. She looked to the left and right, but saw no land on either side, just more water. Along the shore of the monstrous lake sat simple huts, each with one window glowing orange from a carefully lit fire. Though the lake was more than beautiful as it was now, shining like diamonds strewn across black velvet, it wasn't the reason for its name. The miracle of the name came from what happened at dawn, and only to those brave enough to swim or row out onto the waters.
Smoke from the fires built white pillars into the darkening sky, and she used them as landmarks to find one without an occupant. The door swung in with little effort, revealing an iron stove with a chimney, a small bed with a straw mat for a mattress and a single window facing east. The door had a latch on the inside, but the window didn't open. Until then K'anda hadn't noticed how exhausted she was, so the dirty bed looked more fine and comforting by the moment. She swung the stove door open and discovered still burnable pieces of wood inside. Like flexing a muscle, she brought forth the power residing deep inside her and collected it in her palm, tossing the small ball of flames into the hearth to ignite the wood. It immediately caught and she now had an orange hue around the small shanty to go about her business. Though she wanted to throw herself onto the straw mattress, she knew she'd regret not removing her armor and boots first.
The process was quick and well-practiced; soon her sword, belt, leather skirt and chest piece sat across from the bed under the window, alongside her boots. Only white underthings that she wore for modesty remained. The night was cooling rapidly, so she was thankful for the small fire and stove to fight off the chill. The straw mat poked her with coarse fibers and rough straw, but it was more comfortable than she could imagine due to her level of exhaustion. With a long sigh, she let sleep take her. K'anda swam through dreams of her childhood, her sisters, and the palace that awaited her return. Her mother's face, warm and smiling, framed in black hair, and decorated with ice-blue eyes, was the last image she saw before she was jerked awake by screams.
The eyes of the Princess Warrior from Zhu'ul snapped open. She was quickly on her feet and running, undoing the latch and flying out the door onto the wet sand. The moon was high and illuminated the shore perfectly. The ground beneath her feet shook, and the sound of timber cracking and splintering apart filled the air. The shanty two over from hers had been smashed by a giant tentacle. Her gold eyes traced the offender back to its owner and saw the monstrosity: A squid. A squid twice the height of the tallest tree she'd seen today had come ashore to plunder the small, wood shacks. The inhabitants of the shore fled the oncoming attack. It seemed the stories of giants living in the lake were true. K'anda was glad she didn't try to swim the glassy waters at night.
Her royal ancestry provided her with magic. Her kind were rare, and treasured by their parents. That was why, though she was not the eldest, she would be queen of her land. She clenched her jaw with the effort and her arms followed, calling forth powerful lightning that danced down her tanned skin, from shoulder to clenched fist. Her eyes firmly fixated on the target to receive the lethal dose. This was the opposite of flexing her muscles. She relaxed them, using the well-practiced aim she had to direct the bolts flying from her outstretched fingertips to the creature. With a loud 'crack' the night lit up like high noon and her aim proved true. The ground, water, and air shook with the deep bellow of the creature as the white lightning danced from the big burn spot it had just received.
The squid slowly turned its giant, spade-shaped head and body toward the offender, tentacles slamming down on the beach, sending shocks and waves of sparkling sand into the air. Black orbs that were the creature's eyes saw her, standing alone in her white slip of a shirt and panties. She flexed again, bringing forth more power to lay another bolt into the thing, when she was distracted by the four women running in her direction. Calling out a warning, it came too late. A giant tentacle smashed down upon them, their screams interrupted, and cut short. The white sand that flew up was stained with red, trails of sinew and entrails connected the massive appendage to the beach below as it was retracted.
Fury fed her powers, the lightning dancing across her skin turned from white to red, this time. K'anda screamed as she let fly the lethal power, twice as large as the last. It tore across the light brown skin of the squid, leaving a huge gouge. High-pitched whines emitted from the monster as it accepted its defeat and started to slink back into the lake, its cries and moans carrying across the shore. The princess wondered how many had died. In the middle of the chaos of the people, screams, and darkness, it was impossible to tell.
A moon tired of the violence below slowly began to hide behind heavy clouds, and then the rain came: heavy and hard. The ice cold droplets felt good, but she was still tired, and now more so. She walked slowly back to her cabin to let the rain wash off a little of the muck and grime she was covered in. After hanging her things to dry, she went back to sleep, dreaming of what was to come.
Dawn broke through the tiny window, the fire in the hearth dead. She climbed up to consciousness, fighting to come awake. She had to move fast if she were to witness the miracle. She donned her underthings and tied together the rest of her armor and sword, dragging them down to the dock that stretched deep into the lake. She ignored the red spots of blood on the sand when she left her shack, paid no attention to the smashed shacks that had claimed others while they slept. Instead she concentrated on witnessing the miracle. Giant, dark shapes unidentifiable on the surface swam through the crystal-clear waters below. They sought shelter from the coming sun. It was a dangerous time, but she took a deep breath and plunged off the side, into the frigid waters.
Her long, muscular legs pumped and her arms pushed her down, fish and all other manners of creature moving out of her way as she descended. It would happen soon. Then she saw it. The reason for the name of the lake. A giant stone square, still a ways down from her, but large enough to be easily seen. It was gigantic. The stone turned brown and green from the algae under the water, but still some grey parts shone through. There were countless squares cut into the stone face of the giant, dark and staring at their visitor. Then the rays of the sun caught up and suddenly the squares was shining bright, each one giving the sun back its light and with luster. The sight was truly amazing. She marveled at it, drank it in, memorized the details as best she could. Then she noticed the equally giant letters on a rock bed nearby: O, E, T, L, H. She wondered what the word was, originally.
She broke the surface of the lake, gulping in air and finally feeling clean. After calming her breathing she made her way to the dock where her things were. Squeezing excess water from her hair and underthings, she donned her armor and weapon once again. Her duty as the next queen of her land pressed her on. Agaden waited. Her first steps today started the rest of her life. K'anda of Zhu'ul was now near the end of her journey.
She again began slashing, tearing, ripping through the hordes with her sword, throwing balls of flame and air so compressed it was as thick as steel and sharp as any blade. Soon the threat was no more than gore and ash. Sweat slicked her body, pushed to its limits. Her breathing was rapid and deep, sucking in thick, cold air and pushing it out with effort. Her bare thighs tingled from a slight breeze sifting through the thick woods, her neckline sharing the same sensation as she sheathed her sword. Pulling back bright auburn hair, the fleeting wind cooled her slightly. Her breast plate was heavy, and the thick leather belt round her waist weighed down by the enchanted blade was chafing. Her boots, that reached to her knees, were sweaty. Adding insult to injury, she was covered in blood and fur from her encounter. She wanted to feel clean again, but the nearest town was a day's journey in the opposite direction, and she needed to press on.
With an exhausted sigh, K'anda, the princess of Zhu'ul, started down the long path ahead. Mid-morning sun beat heavily down on her little trail. Her mind was put to the task ahead of her: find a king for her land. Men were of short commodity, sold as slaves, as womankind ruled the lands freely. The last great war was waged and many of the men in her land, and the surrounding kingdoms, were destroyed. Though the war happened years before she was born, the tales were heavy with her people. Old, silver-haired females would share them, telling of the fire that fell from the heavens and burned the lands. Of the monuments that stood proud and symbolized so many things, but were now ashes and rubble. Though she was a day's walk from it, K'anda decided to visit the 'Lake of a Thousand Eyes,' something her elders suggested she do before she wed.
The air was sweet with blooming flowers and the rains that had come days before. Her gold eyes scanned the landscape for threats as the trees gave way to an open field with a dirt trail cut through it. She kept her pace steady, not letting the grand and flat nature of the new terrain spook her. Off in the distance she glimpsed huge, yellow glowing eyes in the dusky tree line that belonged to Leviathan Owls. They were the size of a full-grown man, but could sometimes easily double that. They hunted what they wanted, and hunters were quick and full of pride to show off if they'd ever killed one. The afternoon came in heavy with more sunlight and dark clouds on the horizon. It would rain tonight, and she was still a half day's travel to the Agaden mountain village where she'd choose her mate.
The field she walked in was wide, but the woods bordered it with menacing stature. The forest had been cleared to let people travel without fear of the vicious things lurking behind the giant trees with dark bark. K'anda kept walking, knowing that a wayward house had to be somewhere near. Huts that travelers had set up to stay in for the night were mostly deplorable hovels, but it was better than chancing an encounter with a Moon Wolf. These bloodthirsty creatures bore glowing red eyes, fur as black as coal, and were three times the size of a large dog. Thinking of them made her eyes sweep the waist-tall grass again, coming to rest on a sign that indicated the direction to nearest hut, the Lake of a Thousand Eyes, and the Agaden village. With another, more careful look, she discerned the path to the lake cut through the grass. With quiet resolve, K'anda made the choice to head down it.
The path took the princess through another section of woods, though this time the rodents of unusual size didn't mar her journey. She ate apples picked off low-hanging branches that were brown and sweet with a cinnamon flavor. Red, green, and yellow peppers wrapped in mint leaves the size of her palm supplemented the apples. Although content with a full stomach, she still stank of sweat and blood from her morning encounter. The sky darkened to a bruised red with streaks of yellow and pink swashed through it, while the sun sank behind distant, snow-capped mountains. As she walked, the air changed from arid and sweet to thick and moist. The lake was not far and she would have to spend the night there, hopefully in an empty shanty of a fisherwoman who had long forgotten it.
Finally the dark trees broke on to white sand, and a lake that seemed to have no end. The stars had just begun to shine by the time she'd reached the Lake of a Thousand Eyes. The still water was like glass, reflecting each of the bright stars above. She looked to the left and right, but saw no land on either side, just more water. Along the shore of the monstrous lake sat simple huts, each with one window glowing orange from a carefully lit fire. Though the lake was more than beautiful as it was now, shining like diamonds strewn across black velvet, it wasn't the reason for its name. The miracle of the name came from what happened at dawn, and only to those brave enough to swim or row out onto the waters.
Smoke from the fires built white pillars into the darkening sky, and she used them as landmarks to find one without an occupant. The door swung in with little effort, revealing an iron stove with a chimney, a small bed with a straw mat for a mattress and a single window facing east. The door had a latch on the inside, but the window didn't open. Until then K'anda hadn't noticed how exhausted she was, so the dirty bed looked more fine and comforting by the moment. She swung the stove door open and discovered still burnable pieces of wood inside. Like flexing a muscle, she brought forth the power residing deep inside her and collected it in her palm, tossing the small ball of flames into the hearth to ignite the wood. It immediately caught and she now had an orange hue around the small shanty to go about her business. Though she wanted to throw herself onto the straw mattress, she knew she'd regret not removing her armor and boots first.
The process was quick and well-practiced; soon her sword, belt, leather skirt and chest piece sat across from the bed under the window, alongside her boots. Only white underthings that she wore for modesty remained. The night was cooling rapidly, so she was thankful for the small fire and stove to fight off the chill. The straw mat poked her with coarse fibers and rough straw, but it was more comfortable than she could imagine due to her level of exhaustion. With a long sigh, she let sleep take her. K'anda swam through dreams of her childhood, her sisters, and the palace that awaited her return. Her mother's face, warm and smiling, framed in black hair, and decorated with ice-blue eyes, was the last image she saw before she was jerked awake by screams.
The eyes of the Princess Warrior from Zhu'ul snapped open. She was quickly on her feet and running, undoing the latch and flying out the door onto the wet sand. The moon was high and illuminated the shore perfectly. The ground beneath her feet shook, and the sound of timber cracking and splintering apart filled the air. The shanty two over from hers had been smashed by a giant tentacle. Her gold eyes traced the offender back to its owner and saw the monstrosity: A squid. A squid twice the height of the tallest tree she'd seen today had come ashore to plunder the small, wood shacks. The inhabitants of the shore fled the oncoming attack. It seemed the stories of giants living in the lake were true. K'anda was glad she didn't try to swim the glassy waters at night.
Her royal ancestry provided her with magic. Her kind were rare, and treasured by their parents. That was why, though she was not the eldest, she would be queen of her land. She clenched her jaw with the effort and her arms followed, calling forth powerful lightning that danced down her tanned skin, from shoulder to clenched fist. Her eyes firmly fixated on the target to receive the lethal dose. This was the opposite of flexing her muscles. She relaxed them, using the well-practiced aim she had to direct the bolts flying from her outstretched fingertips to the creature. With a loud 'crack' the night lit up like high noon and her aim proved true. The ground, water, and air shook with the deep bellow of the creature as the white lightning danced from the big burn spot it had just received.
The squid slowly turned its giant, spade-shaped head and body toward the offender, tentacles slamming down on the beach, sending shocks and waves of sparkling sand into the air. Black orbs that were the creature's eyes saw her, standing alone in her white slip of a shirt and panties. She flexed again, bringing forth more power to lay another bolt into the thing, when she was distracted by the four women running in her direction. Calling out a warning, it came too late. A giant tentacle smashed down upon them, their screams interrupted, and cut short. The white sand that flew up was stained with red, trails of sinew and entrails connected the massive appendage to the beach below as it was retracted.
Fury fed her powers, the lightning dancing across her skin turned from white to red, this time. K'anda screamed as she let fly the lethal power, twice as large as the last. It tore across the light brown skin of the squid, leaving a huge gouge. High-pitched whines emitted from the monster as it accepted its defeat and started to slink back into the lake, its cries and moans carrying across the shore. The princess wondered how many had died. In the middle of the chaos of the people, screams, and darkness, it was impossible to tell.
A moon tired of the violence below slowly began to hide behind heavy clouds, and then the rain came: heavy and hard. The ice cold droplets felt good, but she was still tired, and now more so. She walked slowly back to her cabin to let the rain wash off a little of the muck and grime she was covered in. After hanging her things to dry, she went back to sleep, dreaming of what was to come.
Dawn broke through the tiny window, the fire in the hearth dead. She climbed up to consciousness, fighting to come awake. She had to move fast if she were to witness the miracle. She donned her underthings and tied together the rest of her armor and sword, dragging them down to the dock that stretched deep into the lake. She ignored the red spots of blood on the sand when she left her shack, paid no attention to the smashed shacks that had claimed others while they slept. Instead she concentrated on witnessing the miracle. Giant, dark shapes unidentifiable on the surface swam through the crystal-clear waters below. They sought shelter from the coming sun. It was a dangerous time, but she took a deep breath and plunged off the side, into the frigid waters.
Her long, muscular legs pumped and her arms pushed her down, fish and all other manners of creature moving out of her way as she descended. It would happen soon. Then she saw it. The reason for the name of the lake. A giant stone square, still a ways down from her, but large enough to be easily seen. It was gigantic. The stone turned brown and green from the algae under the water, but still some grey parts shone through. There were countless squares cut into the stone face of the giant, dark and staring at their visitor. Then the rays of the sun caught up and suddenly the squares was shining bright, each one giving the sun back its light and with luster. The sight was truly amazing. She marveled at it, drank it in, memorized the details as best she could. Then she noticed the equally giant letters on a rock bed nearby: O, E, T, L, H. She wondered what the word was, originally.
She broke the surface of the lake, gulping in air and finally feeling clean. After calming her breathing she made her way to the dock where her things were. Squeezing excess water from her hair and underthings, she donned her armor and weapon once again. Her duty as the next queen of her land pressed her on. Agaden waited. Her first steps today started the rest of her life. K'anda of Zhu'ul was now near the end of her journey.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
An Immortals Tale: Part 5
The man in the black suit
Part 5
"Sword Fights Are For Romans"
He Waited a long time, the man in the black suit, longer than he thinks he should have. Another sunless day with grey clouds greeted him as he walked out his door, the seven automatic locks clicking shut behind him. With something as big as trying to merge the three kingdoms people behind this would be looking to do a few things and real estate was number one. Can't raise an army of they have somewhere to stand.
Although he didn't need to Jon enjoyed eating and drinking all the flavors of the world, so on such a big discovery and the possibilities of a lot of people dying he decided to spoil himself a little bit. On a crowded corner of his city there was a very special place for him: Jim's Hot Dog Stand. "A special with everything on it, my good sir." Jon's smile made the very tall and skinny man smile in return, "Jon! Oh this must be a special day if your here. One special with everything coming right up." Jon waited patiently, hoping for rain, for some reason. Jim handed the paper wrapped confection to his customer and refused the money Jon was trying to hand him.
Jon smiled and sighed, "Really?" Jim's smile was almost child like in innocence. "Okay." Jon thought for a minute then snapped his fingers, "Ah. Okay. There was no second gunner. Oswald acted alone." Jim iclapped once and laughed out loud. "I knew it! Thanks, Jon!" The two men smiled and shook hands and parted ways.
The tasty treat was quickly devoured and he kept walking. He took out his phone and sent several emails and text messages, some purposefully sent to the wrong recipients to provoke the right reactions. As soon as the mobile device slipped back into his pocket it started chiming and sounding alerts of emails and text messages being received. Jons grey eyes sparkled with mischief and a sly smile crept across his face. Today would be eventful.
He had to buy time to let the pot stir so he stopped by a local coffee shop. As he stood in line to get his third favorite beverage of choice he checked the contents of his pockets to make sure that he had all he needed. Vial of holy water? Check. Rosary made of the bones of saints? Check. Pocket bible? Check. Gloves of the great alchemist Mikhael? Check. Double mocha coffee with extra espresso? Check. Time to see the messages he's gotten.
Two denials, three 'have no idea', and five with fingers pointing to one name: Scud. Jon didn't answer the messages, just to keep the pressure up. But. He had a destination and a name. He polished off his coffee and left a generous tip as he walked out. Luckily one of the messages had an address providing a door to knock on. Or kick down. Either way he'd be doing it with a smile. And depending on his reception an apology.
Outside in the cold air Jon stood still and let the wind wash over him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the chill atmosphere of the city around him fill his lungs. He let it out slow and hailed a cab, enjoying it all. Inside the cab he gave the address and sat still for the 45 minute ride, his body still slightly chilled from the outside. Grey eyes watched the city change from behind the window of the back seat, the cabbie not wanting to make conversation and Jon more than fine with that.
The streets changed from the crowded and bustling city to that of warehouses and empty bays of half destroyed buildings. He tried hard not to let his mind wander to memories of his life, instead saying small prayers and going through all the ways to defend himself from demons and all the beasties that could be waiting for him.
47 minutes after he stepped into the cab it slowed to a stop at his destination. Jon handed the man his fare and again tipped heavily. His expensive shoes landed on a gravel road in front of that seemed to be an old garage. The large door and the skeletons of old cars around the premise giving reason to believe garage. The immortal took a moment to gather himself and steady his nerves then approached the door. The handle gave way and the door swung in.
Inside there stood a single counter with car parts scattered across it, the walls decorates with nails holding various belt loops and fans, and a single person behind the wooden barrier with car signs all over it. He was a tall man, taller than Jon, with a thin and bony frame, an almost shaved head and a prominent nose between two bright purple eyes. The man held up his hands in a surrendering pose and spoke first, "Look, man, I know who you are and I don't want nothing to do with you!" Jon smiled suspiciously and closed the door behind him, walking towards the counter and letting the nervous man do all the talking.
The man with the name "Scud" sewn on his mechanics shirt backed up hurriedly and nearly tripped over a chair. "I'm serious man, I don't know anything." Jon let his grey eyes lock on the man and kept a stern look on his face. "Come on, man! I'm just a mechanic, here! I got nothing!" The immortal didn't budge. "Alright! Alright! I'll tell you what I know! Just don't...melt me or anything." Jon gestured for the man to sit down at the counter and the man obliged, albeit very nervously.
"Start singing, Scud." And he did. "Okay. There's some weird stuff going on in the underworld. Like, a lot of new faces trying to buy old relics. And a group of...demons, not like me, man, but real bad dudes, trying to buy up old graveyards." As he spoke he dry-washed his grimy hands over and over, "My garage here is on top of this old....miners graveyard or something and they came here and tried to buy it. I couldn't sell it cause it's the only place my kind can live, and they got mean with me. They started threatening and smashing stuff and so I compromised with them." Jon leaned in and put a bit of authority in his voice, "Compromised how?"
Scud was taken aback a little bit, nervousness pouring off him in waves, "I told them a list of old graveyards they could probably buy up. That's it, man! I swear!" Jon nodded, seemingly half satisfied with the information, "Okay, Scud, because you're going to write down that same list for me I won't have to subject you to the old method of getting cooperation: A sword duel. And I must warn you. I'm an expert." The mechanic nodded enthusiastically and brought a piece of paper around and started writing quickly. After he was done he handed the information over and quickly backed away from Jon's hand reaching for it.
The list was folded up and Jon started walking towards the door, ready to exit when Scud's voice came from behind, "Hey...were you really gonna hack me up in a sword fight or something?" Jon paused at the door and turned back, a big smile on his face, "Of course not. Sword fights are for Romans." He stepped out and slammed the door behind himself, proud of not having to resort to violence. He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and began answering all those messages he received, sending an 'All clear' to the recipients.
As he hit 'Send' on the last message and tucked the phone back into his pocket movement ahead of him caught his eye. He looked up just in time to receive a heavy fist to his left cheek so powerful it lifted him off his feet and sent him back a few feet. After Jon coughed out the white dirt from his lungs that the impact sent flying he tried to focus his vision and looked down his body at the owner of the big hand.
There stood a hooded demon, horns and a flat, pig face barely visible under the heavy robes. Pain radiated slowly from Jon's now bruised cheek to other parts of his face and he struggled to listen to the words that came from the creature. "For my brother fallen under your hand I will eat your soul, immortal." Jon's face twisted with pain as he tried to recover himself, trying to focus his blurred vision on the method of the next attack.
Metal sung as the beast drew a scimitar from underneath the heavy robes and started closing the distance between itself and the immortal on the ground. Jon's body was still swimming with pain when the demon lifted the heavy blade above its head.
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