Taking a breath, Darius, stepped over a piece of broken
window that had fallen from the building on his right. A moonbeam bounced off
the shard and hit him in the face. Darius flinched and pressed on forward,
deeper into the alley. Soon enough, he heard what he had been waiting for:
Footsteps.
Darius didn’t turn around. Instead, he focused on the air
around him. It was calm. It was easy to handle. He could feel its cool breath
on his fingertips, the slight familiarity he connected with it. He let it take
his fingers, his hands, his mind. He focused.
And then he turned.
He threw his hands out toward the man who stood there, and
air rushed from between his hands. The man was sent flying. He hit the ground
and rolled backward, jumping up. The man lunged at Darius. Darius leaped to the
wall and pushed his booted foot off the hard cement. His weight was sent
upward. He kicked his legs into the air, pushing him in a circle, and landed
behind the man.
Darius thrust his palm into the man’s back. The man
stumbled, but quickly turned with a kick. It hit Darius in the side of his
face, sending him to the wall. He blocked himself from hitting the cement with
his arms.
He quickly turned, just in time to dodge what would have
been a hard blow. The man’s hand connected with the wall and he cried out as
something cracked loudly. Darius took the opportunity to roundhouse him in the
face. Blood splattered from the man’s mouth. Darius went in with elbows. A blow
to the face. A blow to the stomach. A blow to the face. A blow to the stomach.
The man caught Darius’ arm in a block and twisted. It
caused Darius to turn. The man pulled Darius against his chest and whispered in
his ear.
“Yah think yah could ever kill me, kid?” His breath was
stale of alcohol and something else Darius couldn’t quite think of the name
for. Blood, maybe?
“I did it once before, didn’t I, Bolt?” Darius spat back.
He hated Bolt with a passion. Bolt was a mass murderer who had recently
revealed he was never actually dead.
“No, yah din’t.” Bolt pushed him Darius away and kicked
him in the back. Darius stumbled forward. Darius heard something like metal
being scraped against metal. He turned quickly to see Bolt unsheathing a sword
that Darius hadn’t previously seen.
Darius grinned. Now they were getting to the good part.
Darius put his hand inside his overcoat and took out his
own sword, which was called Saviour. A faint blue hue lit the long, thing
sword. Darius gripped the dark hilt and poised the sword at Bolt.
Bolt smirked and ran at Darius. Their swords clashed, a
loud sound emanating from the alley. Darius pushed against Bolt, using his body
weight as well as the sword. But Bolt was stronger—he was older.
Darius fell beneath the man’s weight. He rolled over as
much as he could. He jumped up. Something slit his cheek and a burning pain
racked through him. But he couldn’t think of that now.
Darius pushed at the air and it hit Bolt. He stumbled
backwards. Darius tried again. Bolt hit the wall and his sword fell. Taking the
opportunity, Darius ran at him, blade held out.
Saviour was about to find its way through Bolt’s throat
when Darius’ mind flashed with a heated thought. He dropped his sword and
clutched his head. There was a ringing. Like nails on a chalkboard. And they
wouldn’t stop!
