The man was a giant over seven feet tall. I surmised that he was one of the thugs standing behind us during my initial evaluation. Several thin strips of wooly black hair stood in disarray atop an otherwise bald head riddled with scars. A white mask constructed of a material resembling clay veiled his face; various cracks snaked across its surface along with blotches of blood stains and dirt. The concealing ceramic encompassed his whole face save a large opening revealing his right eye, the flame-branded cheek below it, and the right half of his thick mouth. His every exhale forced a gush of white mist from the exposed half of his lips like an arctic gale.
His black skin, dead and ashen from lack of exposure to the sun, stood in stark contrast to the paler complexions of his comrades. Oversized muscles popped from his upper body beneath a pair of straps that looped around his shoulders and attached to a pair of thick overalls tucked into enormous combat boots. More scars littered much of his exposed figure; I briefly shuddered in apprehension.
Neither his overwhelming stature nor the tight draw of his flesh around bulging muscles bore responsibility for my shiver, nor could the gargantuan steel great sword, fashioned by shaving an edge onto a large metal plate and attaching a hilt to it, boast of conjuring my apprehensive quake. It was his lone, exposed eye that caused my momentary sense of dread. Unlike the vacant crazed eyes belonging to the majority of Raze's henchmen, the large dark man's gaze was a dictionary of murderous intentions and brutal warmongering. He was different. He was a warrior.
“Joachim, man, yer a lifesaver! That bitch was totally about to shoot me in the face!” The skittish thug who lost his iron spear to my powerful stomp stepped forward and placed his hand on the dark giant's shoulder blade.
Joachim's eye shot down toward the man's relieved clasp with passive annoyance. My eyes widened as the great sword resembling a colossal butcher knife moved so quickly it seemed like a silver flash in the night. It passed through the twitchy goon's figure with a distinct crunch laced with the squish of splitting flesh. The smaller thug's face quivered in an interim state between horror and pain. After a few seconds, the grotesque sound of the man's body splitting apart heralded his descent to the ground in two separate pieces. A few coughs and sputters escaped the man's throat as he furiously swiped and clawed at his own entrails attempting to stuff them into the gaping cavity created by his bisection.
His death would be slow and painful. Panacea would attempt to stitch the flesh together and expedite the cellular regeneration present in all human beings. Unfortunately, the miracle nanite possessed limits. Being totally split in two pieces definitely qualified as one of them. I felt a flame of passion smolder within my chest. It mattered not that I intended to personally end the weaker thug's life anyway or that Joachim instilled fear in me, my indignant abhorrence toward betrayal flared like a raging fire, and I focused my ire upon the overgrown brute. I was now resolved to kill him or die trying.
File 10: Joachim Izrahi
“Annoying pest,” Joachim wielded his giant weapon using only his right hand, and he swung it with the speed and accuracy of a fly swatter. Even the tone with which he dismissed his late companion suggested Joachim believed he had merely squashed an annoying bug buzzing about his ear. I furrowed my brows and grimaced, but the anger I rarely felt armed me with an acute sense of awareness that penetrated my surroundings like an arrow through a bull's-eye. The two other men, who I assumed stood at Joachim's right and left during the initial confrontation, seized the opportunity presented by Joachim's display to flank me.
To my right, a crazed maniac bore down on me with a metal spear similar in design to the betrayed man's pole; when I noticed him, he was airborne and attempting to use gravity to increase the force of his attack. To my left, a man with cold calculating eyes brandished a blade with swift precision. I never broke my direct stare with Joachim; the sensation of his single, demonic eye bearing down on me fueled my actions. I aimed to prove to him I was a fearful opponent. Though he possessed every opportunity to rush to the aid of his comrades, he stood like a motionless bulwark in the darkness and observed with intense scrutiny.
The man on the left aimed his sword for the base of my neck with a horizontal stroke. Synchronously, his partner haphazardly thrusted his metal spear toward my ribs. I maintained my stance until the final instant before activating my Supersoldier nanite. I quickly hopped back toward the swordsman as though rushing to my demise, but to his dismay I bolted my left elbow skyward and rammed it into the underside of his wrist. The blow halted his strike altogether. Without a weapon of my own, countering the edged steel in such a fashion possessed significant risk, but it was far more agreeable than the alternative.
A roaring pain ripped through my torso as the metallic spear grazed the front of my chest. The bandit successfully tore another gash in my already shredded attire and peeled away a significant amount of my flesh. The decision to move just enough to avoid impalement allowed me to quickly send my right hand through the air and grip the metal pole as it traveled the full width of my midsection. Using the momentum created by the psychotic attacker's descent, I redirected the spear. The laws of physics prevented the airborne thug from changing his course until his feet touched the ground, so his new target became one designated by my hand. I chose the gut of the sword bearer.
The sickening squelch of the spear penetrating the left bandit's abdomen joined his tortured cry. The shock of his agony zeroed his attention to the point where the metal pole skewered him; he uncurled his fingers from the hilt of his weapon, and it began a careless plummet toward the ground. I activated my Cognitive Accelerator. I spun on my heel; I detached my right hand from the silvery spear and slid it through the air toward the falling blade. As I gracefully placed my palm against the sword's handle, I plucked it out from air with relative ease. It weighed significantly more than my daggers, but circumstances facilitated a quick adaptation to my new weapon.
My perception jolted to normal. I finished my twirl and unleashed my wrath upon the spear maniac. I lifted the sword diagonally toward the him during the final second of his descent just as his feet contacted the ground. His contorted expression of mortification complimented the sing of the blade's edge as it tore through his arms with enough force to bisect them at the elbow. His screams and groans mingled with the spew of his life force. He staggered back, and I followed through in pursuit. My limbs pummeled the brigand in a series of blinding strikes designed to inflict pain to the soft, sensitive locations on his body. The desired result was his continued staggering retreat; the desired result was accomplished.
After traveling a sufficient distance, I ended my flurry of blows with a vicious thrust kick to the pitiable thug's knee cap. The bone's crack echoed loudly, and he dropped to one knee with a dull thud. With the thug in such a position, a simple horizontal sweep of the blade across my waist separated his head from his shoulders with ease. A spurting fountain of his crimson vitality splattered across my face and leathery garb, but I paid it no heed. Instead, I slowly turned to my other target.
The calculating thug heaved and gagged as blood wormed its way up his throat from the pit of his stomach. His blood drenched hands grasped the metal pole and worked to free his midsection of impalement. Still covered in his partner's blood, I spun with the force of a whirlwind and brought the bottom of my heel to bear against the tip of the spear. The magnitude of the spin kick drove the spike through the goon's entire body and ejected it from his back accompanied by a morbid symphony of torn organs, a shattered spinal column, and tortured screams.
As the brigand fell backward onto the ground and writhed in pain, I calmly stepped forward and drove the tip of my new sword through his throat with the nonchalance of an executioner. After twisting the weapon, I lifted my scarlet painted face to Joachim; the exposed right side of his mouth stretched upward in a disgustingly pleased smile.
“I understand,” Joachim's voice sounded similar to the deep g
uttural growl of a feral predator. It rumbled from the pit of his chest like rolling thunder. The large man slammed the tip of his blade into the iron floor; the resulting dent testified to his overwhelming strength, and I questioned how many augments he possessed. For several moments we stared at one another, but while I attempted to evaluate his capabilities, his gaze was devoid of any emotion save the desire to fight. The weight of that monstrous stare was a ten ton boulder pressing against my shoulders. I needed to pull myself together, and I needed to do so quickly.
“I understand…” Joachim repeated, “you decided the more dangerous of the two was the pest wielding the sword. His calmness and careful aim posed more of a threat than the reckless attack of the insect using the spear, but you also calculated that meant he would react more to pain. You focused your efforts on completely negating his attack while making it hard for him to dodge the redirected spear by waiting until the last possible moment at the expense of your own well-being. 'It will be okay, Panacea will heal the wound quickly,' you must have thought! Haha! Glorious!”
Joachim lifted his free left hand and gripped the mask covering his face as he released a boisterous laugh into the night sky, “and it only gets better from there!”
“Since he reacted normally to pain, you chose to stab his gut! Having your stomach pierced by a bullet or spear is likely the most painful thing you can encounter,” Joachim brushed his fingers against the scars decorating his stomach, “it was only natural that a man with his senses about him would double over in pain and drop whatever he was holding. Like the sword. And you wasted no time taking advantage of that. It's almost too cruel for words.”
Joachim laughed again, “Once you plucked it from the air, you moved pretty quick to cut off both arms of the man holding the spear just to keep him from pulling it out of his partner. This served to 'disarm' your opponent and forced the man formerly holding the sword to contend with his own wound, effectively turning the fight into two one-on-one bouts in which you clearly possessed the advantage. Genius.” Joachim lifted his hand and flicked his thumb skyward to display his approval.
“The rest of the fight goes without saying. Killing them at that point was more an act of mercy than violence. Stranger!” Joachim pointed at me, “I've waited for a fighter like you for years! Day in and day out we guard this useless town to avoid Raze's wrath. Where's the fun? Where's the challenge?!”
Joachim drooled as he spoke; the pupil in his bloodshot eye dilated, and he cried aloud, “My blood is boiling just thinking about it! Defeating you will be the greatest honor!”
“Honor?” I venomously spat. I ripped the sword from its hearth in my former opponent; it squished from his flesh with a sickening crunch. I sauntered a few paces to the right and knelt down. At my feet, the man with enormous muscles wielding a revolver lay motionless with my long dagger embedded in his brain stem. After grabbing his blood-stained, rusty revolver and sliding it into my pants' waistline, I plucked the elongated dirk from the back of his throat and gripped it firmly in my left hand. I fell into a combat stance.
“There is no honor or battle for a traitor that slays his own comrades. No, I'm not going to fight you,” I tipped my head down; my bangs veiled my face in a darkness resembling the hatred seeping into my chest. “I'm going to slaughter you!” I growled.
“Oh? How disappointing,” Joachim sighed, “I thought perhaps we were more compatible. Hmph. Very well then, stranger. But you should know the name of your killer before you die.” The warrior lifted his enormous blade with one hand and with his free hand gestured to himself, “My name is Joachim Israhi; take it with you to your grave!”
Like a locomotive, the man charged. The thunder of his footsteps drowned the distant quakes caused by Crelyos as he fought the remaining thugs several yards away. As long as I heard such robust noises emitting from my ally's vicinity, I would not worry. Given Crelyos' fighting style, it would be silence that concerned me most.
As Joachim approached, he coiled his legs and took to the air in a mighty leap. His great sword dragged behind him, and he prepared to bring it down in a forceful overhead strike powered by gravitational force. Did none of the thugs understand that leaping so dramatically into the air forced one into a predestined trajectory unalterable once one left the ground? I kicked my Cognitive Accelerator into high gear; as time slowed around me I danced with languid movements to Joachim's right. From that position, even if he suddenly changed the trajectory of his blade, the resulting impact would be significantly weaker since he would be swinging away from his body.
In slow motion, I prepared the twin blades for a deadly strike. My feet dug into the artificial ground and propelled me upward along Joachim's right side, but as I steeled my resolve to thrust the tips of each weapon through the warrior's skull, my eyes twitched. I beheld the man's right hand, empty, snaking through the gelatinous air toward my head. His right eye, which should have been focused on my previous position, locked onto my airborne figure. I incorrectly deduced that with Joachim's large stature, his movements would be sluggish compared to my own. I underestimated him.
His palm encompassed my face like a man gripping a tennis ball. Plucked from the air like a fly, I winced from the initial pain of Joachim's grip. My eyes raced to the vicinity in which his blade should have been free-falling since he released it from the grasp of his right hand. Indeed, with my enhanced perception it seemed to flutter downward with gentle abandon, but as it neared the synthetic ground Joachim's left hand swept through the sky and coiled around the hilt.
Ambidexterity? No, his clumsy grip turned the blade the wrong way. The simultaneous actions of Joachim's left foot touching the ground and his left hand powering the length of the blade toward my lithe figure left me no time to defend. I returned my gaze toward the hulking human and swiped my sword toward Joachim's exposed eye just as the blunt side of his makeshift giant cleaver dug into my ribs with a resonating crunch.
The searing pain spread like a wildfire from the point of impact up and down the entire length of my body. My eyes widened in bloodshot twitches, and my body began folding awkwardly to the left as the force of the blow bent me in half like someone folding a towel over a towel rack. My lips parted and unleashed a fervent scream that heightened in pitch and volume with each crack of my splintering ribs. The pain, coupled with my own shriek, snapped me from my accelerated state, and I catapulted through the air like a stone released from a sling. But as I whistled through the air, I kept a single eye opened to deduce whether or not my desperate attack connected.
Joachim cried out in pain as well and gripped his face to cover the gash splitting his exposed eye. While a small trail of blood trickled out the corner of my mouth, a steady gush poured from the dark warrior's face. I felt relieved, at least until my body smashed into one of the large stone pillars separating Loftsborough's lower plate and upper plate. The impact shattered my shoulder blades and the cracked stone itself with a heavy thud; I ended the transaction in a broken heap among a few dislodged stones and gasped for air.
“Graaagh! You whore! I know what you're doing! You think this wound will buy you some time to heal up! I'll see to it that doesn't happen… arrgh!” Joachim furiously rubbed at his eye as though the contact would expedite the process of Panacea stitching his ocular back together. Though my own healing augment ardently worked to piece my bones together and seal the holes in my punctured lungs, I cursed its sluggish pace. I thought intently on the events that transpired as I struggled to return to combat-ready status.
Joachim was not ambidextrous, for the clumsy manner with which he wielded the great sword in his left hand prevented him from exacting a fatal blow. So why make the switch? Did he predict my actions or somehow figure them out during the course of his descent? I was skeptical; even assuming his mind processed information at a rate superior to my own, I certainly would have detected the change in his course and counter-attacked his counter-attack. Th
e exchange would surely have continued until one of us committed a folly, and there the fight would have ended. No, his actions bore no semblance of reasoning or preparation. It was almost as though…
“Play time's over, stranger! Raaagh!” With blood still streaking down the right side of his face and his eye shut tight, Joachim charged in my direction once again.
My intuition perked for two reasons. First, Joachim's charge carried him in a straight line toward me with immaculate precision. By the time I was flung from the blunt edge of his sword, he was already suffering from temporary blindness, therefore he should not have been able to pinpoint my exact location based off the vague knowledge he possessed regarding my trajectory.
Second, during his intimidating bull rush Joachim trampled over the corpses of his alleged allies; his foot's connection with the fallen bodies caused him to stumble if only a bit. How was it he possessed perfect precision in regards to my position but remained oblivious to the locations of his deceased comrades?
By the time he arrived, Panacea barely repaired my body enough for me to move. His momentum, accompanied by his feral growls, fueled his strength as he brutally thrust the length of his great sword toward my body. I rolled to the left with grace obtained through years of training and barely avoided impalement. I noted that if his thrust connected, it would have precisely pierced my heart. The thwack of the man's steel against the ground and debris reverberated the air behind me.
I seized the opportunity and rolled back planting both hands flat against the ground; the buzz of my Supersoldier augment rattled my temples as I used my enhanced muscle power and shot to my feet with a quick handspring akin to an ancient ninja technique. The action sent electrical twangs of pain coursing down my still-healing ribs. I grunted and prepared my next move; there was no time to feel pain.
NANO Archive 01: The City of Fire Page 12