Uroboros 10

10

                This was no curse. The air around the two men had taken on a strange new feeling, as if there was a low and constant electrical charge. Davis took half a step back. The tears on Elven Greene’s face glimmered for a moment then disappeared. The blood on him seemed to be somehow too bright and too red. His expression also changed. The mixed look of fear, hate and fury was replaced with a calm malicious gaze.

                The two men stood for a moment. The hot sun above, favoring them both with its constant gaze. Three dead and bleeding men around them. Their blood spilling into the warm and unforgiving earth.

                Davis drew in a deep breath. His arm wound still ran with blood. Blonde man stood still, holding the broken sword almost casually. Not in a defensive posture. What the hell was this weapon? It healed his wounds. It seemed to have done it the moment he touched it. And it also changed him somehow. He was the same man. The same blonde hair on his head and the same scar still ran down his cheek. But something had changed. His posture. His expression. That was not the look of a man who is about to die. It also wasn’t the look of a man who is going into a conflict where the result is uncertain. His look was focused, sharp and fierce. The look of a predator.

The broken sword had made him more dangerous. That was clear. The muscles in Davis’ right arm tensed then relaxed. He was going to end this quickly. He did not want to see what other kind of tricks that sword had.

Davis moved. His hand blurred. In one sharp and smooth action he drew his big revolver and fired. He did this with the speed and practiced aim of a true gunslinger. The shot rang out. There was a flash of steel and a sharp whine.

Davis’ eyes grew wide. He took another step back. The barrel of his revolver lowered slightly. The round should have hit the blonde man about an inch above his right eye. He should be dead.

The bright blade of the sword was now held out in front of the blonde man’s face. A small wisp of smoke rose from where the round had hit. There the bullet had left no mark.

That was impossible. At this range? No man was fast enough to stop a round with his sword. No man. Had he even seen the blade move? No. Just a flash of the steel. Davis had been trained in his father’s arts. To have eyes that saw every small movement and detail. Yet he had not seen the blade move. The blonde man smiled as he lowered the sword again. Impossible. It just had to be.

Davis roared as he raised his weapon to fire again. The blonde man moved, his steps so quick and sure. One shot flew by where Elven had been a split second before. Another sailed past his head as he ducked. A third shot, which should have hit him dead in the center of his chest, gave a sharp, metallic snap as it was deflected by the blade. The broken sword came down in a wide arch before Davis could fire another round. The blade of the sword bit into the steel of the revolvers cylinder. The gun was ripped out of Davis’ hand by the force of the strike. His revolver, a weapon that had been his companion for many years, fell to the dirt, a jumbled and broken mess. Davis brought his own sword back to strike, but before he could do more the blonde man spun around and kicked him square in his chest. Davis was lifted into the air by the force of the kick.

 He hit the hard ground with his back several feet from where he had stood. His hat flew from his head and his sword rolled out his hand. Davis gave a loud cry of pain as his hands went to his chest. The force of the blow had broken two of his ribs. The pain in his chest was agonizing. His breathing became shallow. He cried out. The pain became more intense every time he breathed out. He looked up. The blonde man was coming. The broken sword in his hand.

Davis rolled to his stomach and tried to stand. The pain in his chest came to a sharp and intense pitch and he could not breathe. He got to his feet. Elven Greene was looking at him smiling fiercely.

“I am going to take your head off and feed it to the crows.” The blonde man said with a perverse joy in his voice. He lifted his arms to gesture at the sky.

“You hear me you piece of shit? The fucking crows!” He laughed as he approached. That hollow voice coming from all around. With some effort Davis reached down and retrieved his sword. His black hair blew in the warm wind. The wind had taken his hat and claimed it as its own. He tried to slow his breathing. Sweat stood out on his face.

Elven came within strike range. Davis blocked out the pain. He roared as he swung his blade, meaning to decapitate his enemy. Elven parried the attack easily. Davis brought his sword back around.

Elven caught Davis’ sword hand by the wrist. His grip was unbelievably strong. Davis tried to break free. The blonde man twisted his wrist back. Davis cried out in pain and rage, his sword dropped again. Elven grabbed Davis by his shirt collar and pulled his torso down. He brought his knee up and it struck Davis in his face. Davis staggered back as warm blood spurted from his nose.

The pain in his chest cried out louder than ever. Davis was having trouble breathing now. His vision became momentarily blurry and dull. He bent slightly. The pain in his chest brought him back fully. His vision cleared.

Elven Greene began to laugh. He took several steps back.

“Is this it? After all this time? After trying to kill me in my own home? After trying to take my father’s treasure? Is this all that you can do?” He feigned an exaggerated look of disappointment. Then he laughed again. His voice all the while retaining that hollow sound as if it was being yelled down a long stone hallway. It seemed to come from all around Davis.

Davis spat the blood from his mouth and picked up his sword again. To his left was the body of Lee, lying face down in the dirt. The blood pooled around his head forming a halo of dark earth. The world started to go blurry again. He hit himself in the chest with the hilt of his sword. The pain brought everything into focus.

Davis ran at Elven, his sword drawn back. The blonde man smiled and raised his weapon. Before he came into range of the broken sword he slid to a stop and jumped to his left. Davis reached out and grabbed Lee’s revolver. He hit the ground and rolled, nearly stabbing himself in the stomach with his own sword.

Davis brought the gun up and fired two rounds in quick succession. The first was dodged with that same inhuman speed. The second bounced off the broken blade as he closed the distance. Elven gave a loud echoing scream as he thrust. The jagged, broken tip of the blade entered Davis’ shoulder not far from the scar the blonde man had left him before. Davis let out a wail of pain as his blood splattered onto the blonde man’s hand. The pain in his shoulder dwarfed the pain in his chest. Blood spurted as the broken blade withdrew. Davis fell to his knees before Elven Green the blonde man.