A Dyad in Time

by D. D. Prideaux

  Flashes of blonde hair whipped around as Lars attacked Gerard with a furious and unimaginable speed, despite brandishing a heavy and devastating hammer. Even though the weapon was made of magik energy, it mimicked the real, physical properties of an object that size and weight, so a toe-to-toe, direct defence from Gerard was ill-advised. A few blows from that crushing weapon would buckle any man. Having seen Lars in training and on the screens earlier Gerard knew the counter moves he needed to weather the onslaught. ‘Water round rocks’ his mentor said to him from the depths of his mind. Flow around the rocks. In between the rocks. Past them. Keeping an eye on the blonde flashes, steely blue eyes, and the way he moved, Gerard could mostly anticipate the path of destruction, knowing his opponent needed some momentum to keep the deadly hammer head moving. Water round rocks is what people watching the fight would have said. Gerard flowed, trickled and rushed past the attacks, patiently waiting for his opening. Patiently waiting to strike.

  Sylvane was blunter in how he dealt with his opponents, baring teeth and claws he growled a guttural, frightening sound once he’d recovered from the body slam he dealt. They were all on their feet now, facing each other, so he lashed out with deadly bites and heavy paws with razor sharp claws, at the little men with their small hammers. However, ‘without grace, accidents come’ and Sylvane was not embodying grace, letting his more feral side take control after being imprisoned and tortured for so long. For every blow he landed, a hammer cuffed him in one place or another. For every scratch he dealt, a bruise was exchanged in return. For every step taken, one was given. The little men with their small hammers and red eyes were much stronger than Sløv he’d fought before. All three of them were weakening second by second at the effort of the unrelenting attack and defence. Time would judge the outcome of this fight, whoever making the first mistake, paying the bigger price. Animal instincts would keep him alive for now, but his rational mind looked for options, a gold ringed, lightening blue eye looking over to see the outcomes of the other two battles. He watched as Gerard moved fluidly in and around the strikes of Lars and he imagined a river flowing over, around and past rocks. Relentless and unstoppable. Untouched. All men tire though, and it seemed time would judge their bout too. He hadn’t waited to see what Haverforth would do when he attacked, recklessly charging into the men earlier. Something about the small man made him likeable and he feared what would happen to the likeable. From experience, they were the weak link in the attacking line, the shaky part of the defence. They gave way when they should stand, stood when they should advance. Sean Haverforth however, did neither. Gerard was fluid, evading attacks and picking his moment. Haverforth was also fluid, raining attacks down as rain pounds the earth. No part of him was unused; elbows, feet, knees, his head, his long knives were all tools of disruption and hurt. The little man with the small hammer never found his rhythm, unable to get the momentum he needed to turn the tide or shelter from the rain. He was using all he had to defend, desperately parrying and moving to stay in the game, until he couldn’t. His mistake was attacking Gerard without prejudice and so he was lost the moment Haverforth came to the fore. After a particularly nasty flurry from the book work, the Sløv was caught off guard, allowing Sean to sweep his legs. The last thing the man saw, as he fell towards the ground to be rendered unconscious, was a small man underneath him, violently whipping his elbow around, and up, to meet his jaw. Sylvane was impressed by the wicked onslaught, relishing in its skill and precision and applauding the small man, when a small hammer clubbed him across the face.

  Sean saw his opponents hammer disappear as soon as his elbow made contact with the hard jawline, his work here well and truly complete. Hoping his father was watching him from somewhere, impressed, he assessed whether he should do more to the man at his feet. I’m more than just a book worm he thought, looking to the ceiling, a silent prayer on his lips whilst he decided the man’s fate. The phrase and his thoughts however, were broken by the sound of a wounded animal coming from behind him. Spinning around he saw Sylvane careen to the side, faltering on his four legs even though he should physically have the edge. The red eyes of the two Sløv were trained on the Werewolf, time deciding that they should win the day. Not if Haverforth had anything to do with it though. Surprise them. Be first. Be unforgiving. Be the last standing he thought, his mother's words worming their way into his head. So he was. Silent as the night he sped past Gerard, awed by how the Våpen moved, and attacked the first hammer that was closing in on Sylvane. He surprised the man. He hit first. He was unforgiving, and he was left standing as he grounded him. Then he surprised the second man. Hitting first. Unforgiving. Standing. He rushed to Sylvane and steadied the large wolf.

  “Want me to take them?” He asked earnestly. The big wolf shook its head, trying to clear its vision, blood streaming from its temple. A gold ringed, lightening blue eye met Haverforth’s and he swore the wolf smiled, knowing that wolves can’t smile. They looked away from each other, an unsaid understanding forming between them, and faced off with the two men, grunting as they got off the floor. One injured werewolf to one hammer. One little man with biting blades to another hammer, a hammer that was already moving. Even odds would have been yelled from the rafters. All bets are off.

  Why wasn’t Lars tiring? Gerard thought, concerned he may begin to tire soon. The ornate hammer hadn’t stopped moving since they started, unless it made contact with a wall, floor or ceiling, leaving craters in its wake. Each time its flow was interrupted like this, Gerard thought he’d see an opening or find the weakness, but there was nothing. Some early, close skirmishes between the two had resulted in Gerard backing away, Lars’ defences strong and impenetrable. No way in. Time for something different then. ‘Water drown rocks’, his mentor offered. Flow over the rocks. Through the rocks. Past them. Still watching the blonde flashes, steely blue eyes, and Lars’ movements, Gerard saw where the hammer would stop next, visualising the crater it would leave behind in the floor, and he struck. His turn to use momentum. His turn to carve a path of destruction like a river would. Steely, liquid death came for Bonedust in waves, like a dam had broken. Without his own flow, the great and beautiful hammer was on defensive duty now, sometimes planted to take a sword attack as Lars moved behind it and out of range. Sometimes in the air, elaborate dance moves employed to move around the heavy object and evade a sharp end.

  Now Lars was tiring. Gerard saw the toll it was taking. Sweat was forming on his brow and there was a slowness in how he moved. The hammer was a little lower than it should be when held in the air. The hammer was planted a little more often than before and every now and then, true to his unique blades summoning, he wounded his opponent. Good, because the knife wound in his back was screaming at Gerard, who was starting to tire, the small wounds he was inflicting slowly giving him the edge he needed to finish things, the edge he needed to flow past him and show Lars the way to the endless sleep. He looked to the flashes of blonde, sensing that the end was near, reading the man’s intentions, second guessing his moves, and finding the moment to land the last blow. Patience Gerard, you have him. What are his eyes telling you? He looked for the blue, in order to find the moment to strike with the final blow, only to see they’d been replaced with red and a strange symbol. He’d ignored his opponent’s mutterings, assuming they were a by-product of being tired. Assuming that saying movements out loud would force his body to follow suit. They weren’t movements though. They were incantations, alien and unknown.

  A flash of red sprang from Lars, forcing Gerard to raise his own guard and pushing him back a few feet. Red eyes had bought enough space and time to bring the majestic, wrathful hammer down. To make him into a pile of meat. Curse his slow thinking, Gerard thought, preparing for the attack. The attack that never came, though. The red light cleared, and Gerard could see the other two hammers, engaged with a wolf and slashing blades. Then he saw the blond flash again. That cursed flicking of hair.

  “You’ve been keeping secrets, Elias.” Gerard still
wouldn’t waste words on the man, favouring silence for now. “A unique weapon and two, rare, unique fighting styles by my count. A werewolf pet and a wasp with two stings.” Silence were still Gerard’s words as he was gathering himself for the next attack. He breathed through the pain in his back, the aches already setting in across his whole body.

  “Does your blade have a name?” Lars was met with a quite determination and knew he’d get nothing. “Too little, too late I’m afraid.” Mock sympathy dripping from his words. “The Fall needs you gone. So, you will be gone.” Red eyes flashed, and their dance began again. ‘Water round rocks’, Gerard’s only defence now. Too drained for ‘water drown rocks’. After seeing Lars’ recovery and the new ferocity with which he fought Gerard knew it was over now. He’d bested one of the Twenty-Seven, but now he would go to the endless sleep in this dreadful, clean room, at the hand of a red-eyed daemon. He’d go there happy though, knowing that he’d done a good thing before he died. Releasing Sylvane was the right thing to do and all he’d need do now, is buy time for his companions to escape. Thinking about how he’d do this, a blow caught him in the ribs and he was flung sideways like a rag doll. Just how the sisters treated Lars’ men earlier. Lying on his side, bleeding from the knife wound, cradling his crushed and broken ribs he saw Sylvane and Haverforth push their men back. He laughed to himself, thinking that Lars had done his job for him as they could get out the door and escape now. They could be free. Gold ringed eyes and sharp, kind eyes looked at him, they wanted to come and help, but he shook his head, knowing they stood no chance against Bonedust in his current form. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes and he mouthed the word, go, physically incapable of saying it.

  The broken English of his mentor’s voice came to him then, his last moments blessed by a warm memory. The one where he’d been found. Orphaned during The Reaper scourge, he’d wondered the streets begging, scraping and battling for survival. It hadn’t been enough. A few rough days. A few ungenerous people and he sat in an alley, withered. Skin drawn over bones, he panicked, knowing it would end soon when a handsomely dressed man in a beautiful kimono bent down to him. His handsome face smiled. His handsome hands offered him something.

  “Water?”

  The handsome face was replaced by red eyes and blonde locks. Cuts to his face already healing in front of Gerard. Lars’ was gifted with good looks, yet, the red light that bathed his face now made him look gaunt, taking away any attractiveness he’d once retained. He looked tired. In pain. Angular and damned. Gerard suddenly felt very tired too. And sad. Sad that the last thing he’d see was this man’s ugly, distorted face. Upset the last thing he saw wasn’t his mentor’s kind and welcoming face. Grieving at it not being Isabella’s face. He was appalled at how things had ended with her and he carried that weight with him daily. By Kai, he missed her.

  “Any last requests?” The red face asked, in a voice not belonging to him as he raised a red hammer. Still, Gerard wouldn’t waste words on this man.

  Haverforth and Sylvane were at the door, making their escape. Dumbfounded by what they’d just seen happen to Gerard. They needed to go. They needed to try and escape, to fight another day. They watched, a raised red hammer, arms tensed, ready to bring death and the endless sleep to Gerard. Poised to kill, Lars looked like he would enjoy this very much. Neither could watch the last strike though, their eyes dropping. They dropped and saw two black non-hands grasping the inside of the door. The surface looked slimy, but it wasn’t. It rippled slightly and instinctively they backed away from the door opening as quickly as they could. What fresh disaster was coming for them now? They felt a whooshing, as a blur of that same black substance and fur rushed past them faster than they could move their heads. Faster than they could think. They heard a disgusting crashing, squelching, breaking noise to their left, followed by two sharp grunts and thuds to their right.

  Turning back to the room, the two little men with their small hammers were strewn on the floor, hammers gone. Looking to where Gerard was about to die, they saw Lars crumpled into a crater in the wall, broken bricks falling and dust floating around him. Blood seeping out of everywhere, his chest was covered in vomit and his hammer was gone. Where he’d stood, there were now two figures. A bear, nearly ten feet tall was shrinking back to a man's height, breathing hard and looking at the carcass in the wall. Facing the opposite direction, back touching the mans, was a black glob of slime in the shape of a bear. Also nearly ten feet tall, it was shrinking back to a man's height and shape, breathing hard and looking at the men on the floor, a sliver of gold light intermittently penetrating the dark surface. Haverforth recognised the man. It was Tor.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT - SCARS

  “Eve, I’m in contact with Blue. She says that Rosalind appeared in a major Naïve city and killed a lot of people.” Tae hurriedly said as Eve got through the hole in her hull after her visit to the bank. Tae’s urgency explained where Eve’s anxiety appeared from on the walk back. Their mind link stronger than either anticipated.

  “Can I speak with her?” Purple lights bloomed, and Eve felt a second voice in her head before she heard it. “What did she do, Isabella?”

  “She turned up in New York, indiscriminately causing damage and killing people.”

  “Was she alone?” Eve let some of Tae’s urgency bleed into her voice.

  “No.” Isabella’s voice was slightly distorted, loud and soft in her head, confusing and clear with the thoughts they exchanged. “She had thirteen creatures with her.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We’ve had Eye confirmation and checked multiple witness accounts from the scenes. I’m heading to the scene now.” Isabella was all business when it came to business.

  “Describe them to me.” Eve asked with as much empathy as she could, knowing their thoughts and emotions were partially shared, even over this long distance.

  Isabella struggled to find the words at times, trying to rationally describe the beings that accompanied Rosalind. “Two very large, near perfect Orc shapes, one male, one female. Two extremely large, gorilla-like creatures with shifting skin and bone. Sex unconfirmed. Eight normal orc sized and shaped entities of mixed sex. All were purple, each with a different body part of mixed race Naïve origin and all of them had white eyes.”

  “That’s what she wanted with the seeds.” Eve thought-said.

  “The thirteenth was bear-sized, mostly covered in hair with bulging masses undulating across its surface. The head was part bear, part human, with green eyes and large teeth.” Nightmarish feelings moved between them and they all knew it was an Archfiend.

  “What were they doing?” Eve pressed.

  “The eight purple Naïves were rounding up anyone who came near and bringing them to Rosalind where she then killed them in front of everyone.”

  “How was she doing it?”

  “Crushing them in her hands and biting into their necks.”

  “Isabella, I need you to describe exactly what she was doing in more detail.” Some urgency had creeped into Eve’s voice, every part of her hoping not to hear what she knew Isabella was about to say.

  “With her hands, she was grabbing her victims and then they were absorbed into her palms, folding, crushing and pulling like they were being sucked out into space through a small hole. Her mouth did something similar.” Eve’s fears were realised after hearing Isabella describe what Rosalind was doing.

  “She’s eating them.” Her voice was so sad, Tae and Isabella overwhelmed by how she was feeling. Eve wondered if it truly was too late to save Rosalind. After experiencing some of what The Last Word had, she’d come to see what it must have felt like and could empathise. Even centuries ago, her and Tor wanted to save her in some way but went about it the wrong way. Everyone deserves redemption, or a second chance of some kind and she did her best to mask these feelings from her sisters.

  “She’s-” Tae began before Eve cut her off gently.

  “It’s my fault.” If it were possible, the
sadness deepened in her, emotions swirling in with her thought-words and pressing onto her friends even more. Both of them went to disagree, dissuaded by Eve’s explanation.

  “When we trapped her, we were worried something might happen. That she’d get out. If she did, we wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be as powerful as before. We wanted to slow her down.” Sadness grew into sorrow, its old companion shame joining their feelings. Sensing her next sentence, Isabella helped finish the thought-said to try and ease her friend’s pain.

  “You bound most of her soul to the amulet but siphoned some off onto another object.” She couldn’t help some of the horror from worming its way into their conversation at the realisation of Eve using the rare Bleeding Heart magik. This forbidden cast may have cost her friend dearly and a thought-nod confirmed she was right.

  “She must be feasting on Naïves to stay alive. She must have discovered something in her cursed book that showed her how to do it.” Helplessness and desperation welcomed themselves into the gathering of emotions they were all feeling now.