The hitman smiled at the turn of events. The alley was plenty wide for him to continue the chase from the comfort of the Audi, and so he did.
From the first glimpse he had caught of his target, he knew he would be fast. He had seen that he had great athletic prowess. But this was something otherworldly. The man was able to maintain a steady distance between him and the vehicle while spilling every trash can, box, and any other miscellaneous item he could toss into the path of his would-be murderer.
Resigned to the fact that his windshield would require a replacement, he began to spray rounds at the ludicrously fast man. The shots were sloppy and either hit the ground or went cruising right past him.
It wasn’t long before the hitman saw where the rest of the stray rounds were impacting. There was a brick wall at the end of the alley. It couldn’t have turned out any more perfectly for the hitman. He eased the acceleration of the vehicle and slowed to a crawl before stopping all forward movement entirely.
At the end of the alley, Bruce searched for an escape – a fire escape, an open door, anything at all – but turned up empty-handed at every turn.
After removing his jacket, the hitman placed the SMG back into its proper spot, picked up the pistol and carefully tucked it into his waistband, and then withdrew the collapsible sword. With it in hand, he opened his door. He watched as a wisp of breath left his lungs on the cold night. He allowed a smile to escape, knowing he had the man dead to rights.
With his target standing defenseless in the glow of the headlights, the hitman took his time and admired his sword. With a quick flick of his wrist, the six inches of steel expanded into a full fifty-four-inch razor-sharp blade.
With slow, methodical steps, the hitman approached. His deliberate movements were intended to strike fear into the soul of the unarmed man, who was left with nothing but pain and despair to look forward to for the rest of his short life. This was well-deserved terror after having shot at the hitman on what should have been a quick, one-shot hit.
Inch by inch, the hitman neared the end of his job and another five hundred thousand dollars in his pocket.
However, his mark had no shortage of surprises in store. Once the hitman stepped into the light shining from the car, a smile crept over the mark’s face.
“Yes, you have a beautiful smile, but this is no time for it. This is the end for you, Bruce,” said the hitman.
“Wǒshìyīgèchōuyān de zhànshì. Wǒshìsǐ,” the target said through a smug smile: I am a Smoke Warrior. I am death.
“I don’t know what the fuck that was, but I sure as hell hope it was a prayer. You’re about to meet your maker, son, and it’s only fitting that you let him know you’re coming home,” the hitman said as he switched to a two-handed grip on his sword.
The target squatted down as if he were moving into a defensive posture, but then quickly spun in a circle. Smoke poured out from his hands in a spiral. The spin stopped, and as the smoke dissipated, it revealed a scythe with a long wooden shaft and an eighteen-inch curved blade.
The hitman was at a loss for words. There was nowhere for the seemingly ancient weapon to have been hidden on Bruce’s body, and that trick with the smoke was nothing short of exceptional.
A little sleight of hand wasn’t enough to dissuade the hitman. He rushed forward with his sword high in the air and brought down a heavy blow, directed at the target’s head. The scythe was raised in a flash, and the hitman looked directly into Bruce’s eyes. He was almost sure it was just the glow from the headlights of the Audi dancing in his pupils, but there appeared to be a fire burning within. This, in conjunction with the prestidigitation, made the hitman question why a hit was placed on this man.
The small frame of the target had caused the hitman to underestimate his strength. With a quick thrust, Bruce managed to send the sword, hitman attached, sailing backward several yards.
This displeased the hitman greatly as he fell to his ass in the darkness of the alley. Standing with the sword in his left hand, he reached into his waistband for the pistol. He aimed the hand cannon at the man before him. He was done playing games.
Before he was able to squeeze the trigger, the target turned toward the wall. The hitman thought it was a pointless attempt to escape and fired off his first shot. Before the round escaped the barrel of the gun, Bruce leaped toward the wall, rising nearly five feet off the ground before his feet made contact with the bricks.
The shot was far too low, but the hitman kept the weapon trained and fired off a few more rounds. Much to his chagrin, they struck nothing but the wall the scythe-wielder so effortlessly ran across, defying the laws of physics.
“What the fuck are you?” the hitman asked just loud enough for himself to hear.
Bruce came back down to solid ground with a gentle landing and let out a soft laugh. “Nǐshìhǎo yang, David, dànnǐshìbùshìzhídé,” he said in a voice that projected over to his assailant and echoed off the walls of the alley: You are good, David, but you are not worthy.
With his ancient weapon in hand, it was now the target that approached the hitman, whose name the target somehow knew.
With his pistol emptied, David dropped it to the ground and once again gained a firm two-handed grasp on the sword. Admittedly, he hadn’t had the best of training on the weapon, but he still believed strength would be on his side. All he had to do was manage to not get cut down by the scythe.
The two were separated by the glow from the headlights which still pierced the darkness of the alley. The light in between them could have been an ocean; from this distance, neither of them could strike the other. One would have to act and plunge into full illumination.
Not one to be taken by surprise, David stepped into the light, prepared to strike as soon as Bruce was within reach.
The target stood motionless. He wanted David to reach him. He wanted him to get close. He had encountered many challenges in his own line of work, and his skills had been improving due to the wonderful killers he so often encountered. He wanted to put them to the test.
David brought the sword high over his head, just as he had done before, leaving himself exposed to a quick yet deadly attack to the head, neck, and midsection. Bruce shook his head but did not make a move. He merely watched as the sword was brought down with all of the man’s might.
David’s face went wild with anger as he put every ounce of power he had into bringing the weapon down.
He saw the flames reappear in Bruce’s eyes a second before the blade came into contact with his head. Or should have come into contact with his head. But just before the blade met the space the man’s skull had recently occupied, his flesh became smoke, and the sword met no resistance during the entire strike. A shock rippled through David’s bones as the weapon landed heavily upon the asphalt, sending sparks and chunks of rock flying off into the air.
All expression left David’s face as he looked up from the blade to see the mass of smoke move to the side, still somehow clutching the scythe. It reformed as a person to his left.
Before David could lift the sword and prepare to engage once more, he was struck by the staff end of the scythe. Blood shot from the hitman’s mouth as his head jolted to the side. He hit the ground hard and skidded to a halt in front of the car.
David considered getting into the vehicle and making an escape. Then reality set in. In his line of work, fleeing one danger meant finding himself in a new heap of trouble. Those who hired him were resourceful people with plenty of liquid funds. There was no corner on the planet in which he could call himself safe if he were to let this mark escape.
Then another thought crossed his mind. This mark had some unreal talents which he had never before encountered, but facts were facts. Bruce had been able to get out of the way of the bullets and shift form in order to avoid being struck with the blade, but he’d started off running. And why would he run? The only reason to run from something that threatens you is because it can hurt or kill you. Something inside told David there
was a weakness somewhere.
There was always a weakness. He just had to feel it out.
With renewed vigor and determination, David stood and held his blade vertically before him. His eyes were locked onto those of his opponent. Inside of those eyes burned the fires of hell. Bruce stood still with the shaft of his scythe resting on the ground. For some reason, he had not a care in the world as David stared him down with murder etched in his mind.
From the peripheries of his vision, David saw little puffs of smoke materialize out of thin air. The puffs of smoke swirled as a light from within them tried to shine. It wasn’t long before the patches of smoke condensed before his eyes. What David saw, once he finally broke eye contact with Bruce, were two-foot-tall imps. There were five of them surrounding him, including one standing atop the Audi.
None of the little hellions made a move as David turned in a circle to gain a visual on all of his new targets. None of them began to approach, and the first thing that came across David’s mind was that Bruce must be some sort of a coward. Using some form of black magic and summoning these beasts to fight his battle for him was laughable.
Before engaging with the new threats, David gave Bruce a quick glance, shook his head disapprovingly, and said, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
The imp to the left made its first move. The red dwarf came charging with its enormous mouth filled with bright yellow teeth. It let loose a shriek that pierced David’s ears and nearly took him off his guard, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept him focused.
The sharp claws of the creature came within inches of his face as it flew through the air; David was narrowly able to dodge it as it passed.
As the first imp missed with its attack, David felt claws dig into his hip. He let out a pained yelp and bashed the hilt of his sword into the godforsaken red face that was getting ready to dine on one of his kidneys. The thing fell to the ground and David gave it a swift kick, sending it skidding underneath the car.
Another imp came at him, again attacking from the direction opposite of his focus. It sank its teeth into his left calf and David instinctively swung the blade down on it, slicing its head in half from ear to ear. The back of the head fell to the ground, but the side with the face remained latched onto his leg.
He had no time to pry it away, as there was already another attack coming in from behind him. At least he was able to understand their simple tactics – they wanted to maintain the element of surprise.
Before the next imp was able to manage any form of attack, David jabbed at it with his weapon, impaling it through the torso.
But this was to be a two-pronged attack; the fifth imp was right beside it, and it bit at David’s hands as he attempted to shake the dead imp from the blade. The little fucker managed to get its fangs around one of his thumbs and crunched through the bone, severing the appendage and swallowing it whole.
A spurt of fresh blood sprang from the wound as David punted the beast away. The demon went sailing across the alley, into the brick wall.
David fell to the ground after putting all of his weight onto his injured leg. Focused on the battle, the hitman felt no pain. All rational thought had given way to the basic instinct to fight and win. With two imps decommissioned and the others a safe distance away, David set the sword down and used both hands to pry the dead imp jaws from his leg. As he yanked the teeth out of his flesh, fresh blood oozed out and sent warmth running down his calf.
Frustrated, he threw the large chunk of imp across the alley. As he unsuccessfully grabbed at his sword with his thumbless hand, another imp gouged its talon-like fingernails into his back, just missing his spine. He swung around with the wounded hand and jammed his fingers into the eyeballs of the foul creature. The imp dropped to the ground. David continued to press his fingers into the warm tissue until he could feel the brain, and he swirled his fingers around until he was confident that the creature was not only blind but quite dead as well.
With his good hand, he once more reached for the blade. When he had a firm grip, he stood up. The headlights shone straight into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Something struck the back of his head. The blow caused him to fly forward and land on the damaged hood of the car; the impact caused the steel to drop from his hand.
There was an imp attached to the back of his head, clawing toward his eyes, making an attempt to cause more damage for its fallen comrades. The flesh around David’s temples was gouged and torn, but his vision remained intact, aside from the blood that flowed into his eyes.
With both hands, he reached up and grabbed the unholy terror and bashed it against the windshield until the glass shattered and caved into the cab of the vehicle, raining bits of glass down from the laminated sheet. The creature’s skull had given in after the first few slams, and David discarded the dead creature onto the driver’s seat. As he did so, he reached down, peeled up the broken sheet of glass, and picked up the SMG that was resting peacefully in its compartment.
After quickly dropping the magazine from the weapon and inspecting it to see how many rounds were left, he slammed it back home, and then sat up on the hood of the vehicle to see the final imp on its approach. Tucking the automatic weapon into his waistband to conceal it, David rolled from the hood of the car and dropped directly onto his sword.
Woozy from blood loss, the hitman still managed to maintain his focus and rose to his feet, blade in hand. From several feet away, the red fiend bounded and took to the air on a path straight for David’s face.
David took a step back and brought the sword up in a baseball stance and waited for the monster to be positioned directly in the strike zone. The wretched thing was too stupid to know it was already dead before it even reached its final destination. As it flew within striking distance, it continued to snap its jaws and swing its claws as though there was still some slight chance for victory.
Using what remained of his strength, David swung for the stands, slicing cleanly through the last of the imps, sending a shower of blood raining forth from the razor edge. Spent, David dropped the sword; he would no longer require it. With both hands, he reached up and wiped the blood from his eyes.
Holding the scythe in the crook of his elbow, Bruce began a slow clap for the spectacle he had just witnessed. He snatched up the bladed weapon and approached the hitman, speaking – now in English – as he did.
“I was right about you,” he began with a heavy Chinese accent. “You are truly a great warrior. You possess the foresight and intelligence to understand the necessity for secondary and even tertiary plans. You have trained your body to be in near-peak physical condition. Your determination shows that you truly are unable to give up and you lack the capability to accept defeat even when it is looking you directly in the face. You have managed to fight creatures that are not of this world. Broken and battered though you may be, your skills and weapon selection have allowed you to achieve victory in what was a battle that even the most imaginative warrior could not have anticipated.
“However,” he continued, “despite all of the talent you possess, you were unable to kill me. As I send you into the afterlife, I want you to take no shame in this defeat. I have hired many men to try to take my place, and there have been but few who have come as far as you have on this night. It is with the highest regard that I must now put an end to your life.”
David fell onto his knees beside the sword; blood dripped to the ground from every open wound as he made impact. He had no idea what the hell the target was talking about, but he assumed Bruce was high as hell on some new street drug and had perhaps slipped something to him as well. Maybe it was even the lack of blood that was causing him to hallucinate.
Bruce walked over and kicked the sword away before taking a few steps back to observe his beaten foe.
Soaking in the fact that his enemy had seemingly accepted defeat, Bruce once more set the shaft of his scythe on the ground. He shut his eyes and began what seemed to be some sort of a prayer in Chine
se.
An opportunity like this is something to be seized at once.
Doing his best to not make a peep, to not even alter the course of his breathing, David reached into his waistband and withdrew the SMG. Using both hands and all of his remaining strength, he lifted the weapon and took careful aim. Once he had the shot lined up, he squeezed the trigger and held it down until the weapon ran dry. As the rounds spewed forth from the weapon, David clenched his eyes shut. He had no desire to see some crazy bullshit like he had when he had initially attempted to strike Bruce with the sword and the man had transubstantiated into smoke.
Once the weapon was empty, David opened his eyes, half expecting to see the mark had jumped on top of him despite the barrage of rounds, with great big devil horns jutting from his head.
But that was not the case.
The shocked look on Bruce’s face was cause enough for a joyful smile to slither across David’s blood-covered lips.
“Now it is you who surprises me,” said the man that had been riddled with holes.
Though a normal man would have fallen over dead after incurring so much damage, Bruce took the last steps over to David and knelt beside him. “You have killed me. But I still must tell you what the purpose behind my death is. For over one thousand years, I have helped souls cross from the mortal world into the afterlife. I am what is known most commonly as a Smoke Warrior, though there are many names for us. There are tales of Death, or the Grim Reaper, and while they may have some facts correct, they are not entirely accurate. There is a legion of us who work to maintain the balance between life and death in this world.
“Occasionally, we will seek a challenge – someone that may rise to our ranks. We seek out the top killers and hire them to attempt to kill us. Those who accept and fight to the death with honor are rewarded with great status in the afterlife. Those who accept only to turn their tails and flee in cowardice are punished with an eternity of servitude. And then there are those such as you – those who fight and win. Be it through skill or trickery – there are no rules in the field of battle other than to win – those who prove themselves a worthy adversary and take the life of a Smoke Warrior are to carry on the scythe.
What Goes Around Page 10