HE WHO FIGHTS

by Mike Morris

  Rane rushed at the other two, eager to kill. There was no stopping hm. Kibon was beauty in motion. He hacked at the nearest Legionnaire. She swerved so that Kibon only nipped her skin and then caught Rane with a backhanded blow that sent him flying along the battlements. The impact knocked the wind from him. As he tried to force air back down inside his lungs, she came at him. Her black blade scythed down. Rane rolled out of its way somehow and sparks flew as her sword struck stone. He hacked at her feet with his own sword but she skipped over it like a child with a rope.

  She kicked out, catching him under the chin, cracking his teeth and rattling his brain. He spat blood as he dived out the way of her sword again, feeling it hiss past his neck. He spun, just in time to block the return swipe, stopping her blade on Kibon's guard. The Legionnaire pressed down on him, forcing Rane to the ground. He stamped down on her knee with all his might and it gave with a crack. As the Legionnaire lost her balance, Rane drove Kibon into her side. A rush of energy flowed into him as he thrust the sword deeper. He wanted to scream in delight, as the power built inside him, as she screamed in death.

  Kibon burned in his hand, promising to make Rane stronger still, more powerful than Jefferson's mob. With this strength he could stop anyone, slay all the monsters. Mankind would be safe. He would be transformed.

  One remained. An ant before a God. Rane roared forward, Kibon lightening in his hand. The Legionnaire raised his own sword in defence but he might as well have tried to stop the world turning. Kibon smashed through the steel, into his face and down into his heart. Nothing could stop death when it came.

  41

  Rane pulled his sword free from the Legionnaire's corpse.

  Power surged through him, making it hard to think. Kibon cried out for more blood, more death, more strength. Rane's body shook with desire for all the sword promised. He'd smite his enemies from this world and the next, destroy them all, pound them into dust.

  Revenge would be his. Justice for Kara would be his. Jefferson would regret the day he betrayed the Legion. The man's only legacy would be a rotting corpse in Orska.

  From the other side of the wall, he could hear the screams and the cries of the Fia’s army. He smiled. They deserved all the pain. He knew the Legion would be back soon but he didn’t care. Let them come. Kibon waited for any foolish enough to try and strike him down.

  First he had to deal with Jefferson.

  The siege tower stood in the corner of Orska, a tall, square building overlooking the rest of the castle. The walls were too high to scale on either side with plenty of murder holes peppered around it. The only way in or out was through a door leading to the upper bailey, and Rane had that covered.

  The first grenade punched a chunk out of the wall. The second hit the same spot, tearing more stone loose. The third opened up the interior to the early morning sky. Rane kept an eye on the murder holes but couldn't see anyone manning the positions.

  Again and again he threw grenades, tearing chunks out of the walls. His ears rang with the fury of it all and his eyes stung with the smoke but still he went on.

  Then the door opened.

  Smoke billowed out, thick and black, and then four Legionnaires came out in front of the Lord General. Rane recognised Rickard and Simone among them.

  Jefferson himself walked out with a straight back as if everything was going according to his plans. That he didn't care about all the misery he had caused. The others formed a barrier around him as he made for the bailey.

  They stopped at its centre. Jefferson peered up at the battlements. "Nathaniel, is that you up there causing all this trouble?"

  Rane stepped forward and gazed down on the man who'd destroyed his life and the lives of so many people he cared about. He held a grenade in his hand. "I told you I'd have my revenge."

  Jefferson held his hands out. "Go ahead. Throw your bombs. Fire your canon. I’m not dead yet. See how you fare against me."

  "Let's just finish this," hissed Rane.

  "Why not come down here, Nathaniel. Let's talk about this like civilised people," Jefferson called out. "Like the friends we used to be. I know where Babayon is. I can tell you where to find him."

  Rane ground his teeth together as he watched the man who he once thought of as a surrogate father.

  He knew he was lying. It was all a trick. His eyes met Jefferson's. He would have his revenge the right way. Up close. Personal.

  Rane filled his lungs with air and pushed all doubt from his mind. The enemy waited and he would vanquish them. Kibon whispered reassurances in his mind. The grenade was heavy in his hand.

  "Come on, Nathaniel," called Jefferson from the courtyard. "Let's talk."

  Rane jumped from the battlements. Thirty feet down. He threw the grenade as he dropped, its fuse no more than a snip.

  It arced towards Rikard and one of the other Legionnaires. Both their eyes followed it as it looped towards them, neither reacting as they should’ve done.

  Rane hit the ground and rolled when it exploded. He felt shrapnel bite into his leg but he ignored it. The magic would heal him.

  He got back onto his feet at a run, drawing two of his pistols. Rikard and the Legionnaire had taken the brunt of the blast, but everyone had felt its power. Jefferson lay on the ground. The other unknown Legionnaire was on his feet, but swaying like a punch-drunk fighter when Rane shot him. He took a bullet in the chest, and the other in the head, putting him down. Rane dropped both pistols and reached for the third but Simone wasn't going to give him the luxury of shooting her. She threw a knife as her comrade fell. Rane twisted, turning away from the point but still it struck his shoulder, sinking deep. He cried out in pain, cursing himself for not being quick enough. Still three down in under a minute. The odds were looking better in his favour.

  He reached over his shoulder, felt the familiar grip of Kibon in his hand, felt that kick of energy he always felt. It sang through the air as it slipped free of its scabbard and came down, aiming for Simone's skull. Her blade stopped it mid-flight and shrugged off the assault. The two Legionnaires danced the dance of blades, attack met with attack, riposte, parry, lunge. In many ways, it was like fighting himself. Both were experts of the sword, trained by the same teachers to be the best, both enhanced with dark magic.

  Simone swung at his neck, forcing Rane backwards. He stopped himself from falling over with his left hand as her sword whistled by. He managed to get Kibon up in time to stop the reverse cut. He kicked out, catching Simone under the chin. She staggered back just enough to allow Rane to straighten up himself, before launching into an attack of his own. But for all his speed and strength, Simone was faster. Fully transformed, it soon became clear she had the upper hand. Sweat ran down Rane's brow, stinging his eyes, as he used every ounce of experience to just stay in the fight.

  The weapons blurred as Simone spun into another attack, twisting away before Rane could do more than parry her sword. She lunged aiming for his heart, but then hacked down at the last second, slicing into Rane's thigh before he could move out of the way. The pain hit him immediately as blood gushed from the wound. It took all his concentration to stay on his feet but Simone leaped, snapping her leg out and kicked Rane in the nose. He went down with that, head spinning, tears filling his eyes as blood poured down his face.

  Simone hacked down only to hit stone as Rane rolled way. She gave chase, sparks flying as she struck the ground but it gave Rane no chance to recover. He slashed out in reply, but she skipped over his blade, laughing, and then cut him across the back as he tried to avoid her full-on assault. He screamed through clenched teeth, the searing pain telling him the wound was deep.

  Rane pushed up, got slashed across his abdomen as he got to his feet but managed to get his chin out the way before the blow sliced his face open. He retreated trying to find some space to allow the magic to heal his wounds. He gripped Kibon, trying to draw more strength from the blade. Simone on the other hand was unmarked, looking as fresh as when the fight had begun. Rane reache
d for his last pistol but he might as well have been moving in slow motion. With a flick of her sword, Simone sent the gun flying from his hand, drawing more blood in the process. His arm, already weak from the knife in his shoulder, hung limp at his side.

  He gulped in air through his mouth; his nose was too blocked with blood. He had no idea what to do next, how he could turn around this fight and win. Simone was better than him in every way. As desperate as he grew, he could see the enjoyment on her face. As his defence became more wild, her attacks were relentless. She had no mercy to give.

  Her blade sliced him open above his rib. He parried the next blow, their blades skidding along each other, bringing Simone in closer. Fast as lightening, she reached out and snatched her knife from his shoulder, dragging out flesh with it. He cried out and got slammed in the mouth with the hilt of her sword and Rane collapsed for the third time, his leg bent under him. Kibon spun across the ground, far from his hand.

  Simone dropped on top of him, pinning him to the ground with her knees. She held her sword under his chin, forcing him to stretch his neck to avoid a fatal cut and brought the knife around so he could see the point an inch from his eye. She looked down on him, barely out of breath, with a look of utter disdain on her face.

  "Such a disappointment," she said.

  "Fuck you," said Rane and stuck the knife from his boot between Simone's ribs. She arched her back as it went in, yelping like a dog. She staggered to her feet, blood pouring from her side, and the moment her weight was off Rane, he was up too, snatching the stiletto from his wrist. He punched her with it as fast as he could, over and over again, not caring where he struck, only that he did as much harm as he could. She tried to get away but it was his turn to give no respite.

  Simone dropped to her knees and Rane slammed the stiletto into her temple. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head before she toppled to the ground.

  Rane stood over her, panting, spitting blood, to make sure she was really dead. He kicked her sword far away from her, cutting her off from its magic. Let her suffer. They’d done far worse to him. Satisfied, he shuffled over to pick up Kibon. Immediately he felt better, reconnected to the sword's magic. He snorted more blood from his nose as his wounds began to heal. How many times had Kibon saved his life? The irony was not lost on him that it was saving him only for a far worse fate. Still, he was standing while so many of Jefferson's soldiers lay dead.

  Jefferson.

  Only the Lord General remained. It was time for Rane to have his revenge on all that the man had done and planned to do.

  Rane turned, staggered over to where Jefferson had fallen. Except he wasn't there.

  Only dust and rubble remained, stained with scarlet.

  "Looking for me?"

  Rane spun around at Jefferson's voice, sword raised, eager.

  The old man stood back straight, still proud, his sword still slung at his side. "You've wreaked so much havoc, Nathaniel. Not what I wanted for you."

  Rane took a step towards him. "I'm glad to disappoint you."

  "I wonder though — was it worth it?" Jefferson waved a hand at the chaos around him. "Does all this make you feel better? Does it deaden the pain you feel inside?"

  "It certainly helps."

  "But what have you achieved really? We had to leave this castle anyway so it makes no difference if it's intact or a pile of rubble."

  "It’ll make a difference when you’re dead."

  Jefferson chortled. "I think not." He thrust his hand out. The air rippled and something smashed Rane halfway across the courtyard.

  "Wha..?" Rane spat blood over the stone as he tried to rise. A thousand shards sliced into his lungs with every breath he took. But then Jefferson's magic had him in its grip. He squirmed as the very air around him held him, crushed him, twisted him.

  "See what you could have become," said Jefferson. He raised his hand and Rane was lifted off the ground. Three, four, five feet. "See what you’ve lost."

  Unable to breath, Rane's bones splintered under the pressure. Kibon fell from his hand. It clattered against the stone, sounding his death knell.

  Jefferson took a step and seemed to float across the courtyard, grinning like a madman. He settled down next to Rane, waved his hand and lifted Rane higher still. Six, seven, eight feet. The pressure around Rane intensified. Darkness clawed away at the edge of Rane's vision. Pain filled every inch of his body.

  Marcus had nearly killed Rane with his power. Myri and Simone too. All had been faster, stronger, more ferocious than Rane. But they had been but children compared to the power Jefferson possessed.

  "Don't think ill of me, Nathaniel. I gave you every chance to join us," said Jefferson. "What I do, I do for the good of everyone. We will be fair rulers of this world, intolerant of any that would do it harm. We will purge it of weakness and forge a better future with an iron spine. Die knowing this." Jefferson squeezed his hand.

  And the life was crushed from Rane. He would have cried out if there were any air left in his lungs.

  42

  The world exploded.

  * * *

  Then Rane was falling.

  He hit the ground hard, bashed his head against the stone, cracked his shoulder too. But suddenly there was air in his lungs. Sweet air. Jefferson's grip on him gone. He blinked the blood from his eyes, amazed he was still alive. Saw Zee standing where he’d been on the battlements.

  The Lord General faced her, both arms outstretched. A grenade hovered in mid-air, three feet from his face, caught in the same magic that had just held Rane. He grimaced with the pressure, slowly pulled back his hands. The grenade moved with them, quivering in the air. Then Jefferson thrust them forward and the bomb shot back from whence it came.

  This time there was no magic to stop it. It slammed into the battlements with all its fury. Rock and rubble flew in every direction before disappearing in a plume of dirt and dust.

  "Zee!" cried Rane. Not another life snuffed out at Jefferson's hands?

  "The fool." Jefferson snorted in derision. He looked down at Rane at his feet. "She was even dumber than you."

  Rane scrambled in the dirt. Kibon was five feet away. Without it, he was dead. Even with it, he was probably dead.

  "Where are you going?" asked Jefferson. "It's time you died."

  A girl's scream cut him off.

  Zee reappeared, two pistols in her hands. She fired, the crack of the pistols amplified in the confines of the courtyard. Jefferson waved a hand and the bullets ricocheted off an invisible barrier. Another flick of his fingers sent Zee tumbling away.

  Rane had his hand on Kibon's hilt, squeezed it tight, felt the jolt as he reconnected with its magic. He pushed himself to his feet and ran at Jefferson. Kibon in hand and eager for blood. Everything slowed. To close the ten feet between them took an age. Every step seemed slower than the next.

  Jefferson turned as Rane approached, moving faster. His hands — his deadly hands — already conjuring up more black magic. The air rippled around him, crackled with death.

  At the last moment, Rane dropped and slid the last few feet. Jefferson's blast pulsed over his head as he brought Kibon up, into the Lord General's thigh. The steel bit into flesh. Blood splashed from the wound as Rane put all his might behind the blow. Jefferson's magic pulsed through the blade in an angry roar, hitting Rane like lightening. How he held on, only the Gods knew, but somehow he did as Kibon cut through bone and meat, slicing through the leg.

  Jefferson collapsed, screaming, blood pumping out over the stone ground. He thrust a hand at Rane but the magic lacked focus. The blast knocked Rane back a yard or two but he stayed on his feet, Kibon fused to his hand. The magic he'd leached off raged though him, healing him, strengthening him. He could feel its madness, its taint. By the Gods, it felt good. So good.

  Jefferson clutched his severed leg, still screaming, but already the wound had closed. Rane didn't know how long it would take him to regrow the severed part but he had no doubt Jefferson would recover. Al
l the bastard was feeling was a bit of momentary pain.

  It wouldn't do. Not after what he'd done. The pain he'd inflicted on Rane and so many others. There was a price to pay for what he'd done.

  Rane kicked the Lord General in his mouth. Blood and teeth flew as his neck snapped back. The man's eyes rolled back into his head as he lost consciousness.

  He stood over Jefferson's body, Kibon pulsing in his hand. The blade was eager for him to finish the job, to kill the man and steal all of his magic. The world would be Rane's. With just a simple flick of the blade.

  The same old sweet words. The same temptation. Power had turned Jefferson into a monster, far worse than any Rane had fought in the war. Power had destroyed the men and women Rane had once been so proud to stand beside.

  He ran his finger over Kara's locket, felt strength come from that — a different kind of magic. Jefferson was damned but Rane wasn't. Not yet. Not if he could help it. He slipped Kibon back in its sheath, ignoring its howling protest. He may be bound to it but it would not be his master. Not anymore.

  Protecting his hand with a ripped piece of cloth, he picked up Jefferson's sword. Twelve feet was enough to remove the effects of its power on any normal Legionnaire but Rane wasn't going to take any chances with Jefferson. It was closer to twenty before he stopped and dropped the sword. Let Jefferson deal with that.

  He checked on Zee next and found her alive. Just.

  "You ok?"

  "As much as I can be,” she replied, looking half-dead.

  Rane smiled. "Thanks for saving me."

  "I almost wish I hadn't." Zee spat blood on the floor. “That hurt.”