by Bargos McConahue
He whipped the scythe back, keeping the fiery tempered woman well at bay. The anger in her eyes was well apparent, yet he knew he had her out matched—or so he thought. Unremittingly she took the offensive, lunging in once more. Pivoting back he bent backwards, the cold steel grazing the flesh upon his neck drawing a fine line of crimson blood. However, her momentum carried her well past, the hard titanium end of the scythe finding her back just next to her spine, which would have been a fatal blow. He knew he had to keep her well at bay, the scythe constantly sent outward in warning strikes as he back peddled.
"Thi' beh yeh las' warning, wench."
Once more lashing out with the scythe in warning. She spoke threats, yet he paid little heed, the anger at last boiling over. He turned, smashing the scythe's tip into the wooden stair case. He turned back once more to face the woman, lifting his hand in a taunting manner. As she lunged in, he quickly brought his large knife to hand, pivoting sideward in attempt to allow her to pass. He felt the bite of the cold steel catching him clean in the side, running completely through his flesh. Yet without hesitation his dagger was upon her throat, pressing with enough force to draw blood.
"Seems weh aire in quite deh dilemma, nae?"
He stalled for a long moment, assessing the position of the wound and deciding it nonleathal. He forcefully jerked sideward allowing her blade to rip through his flesh. Yet now he had her, his knife pressed against her throat uncontested. Slowly a tingling feeling began to pass over his body, his hands began to go numb. The crimson flow of his blood ran rapidly from the gaping wound. He now knew he had mis-judged the wound, his legs nearly buckling from beneath him. He pulled away, slammed the hilt of the blade hard against her skull, rendering her unconscience. He then quickly reached for his scythe, departing with haste from the arena. He could hear the words echoing as he departed...
"Janella! Are you all right?"
He vanished from the room, yet unknown to those who remained, he found his way just downstairs, the annex being his only hope for survival. He stumbled down the stairs, coughing up vast amounts of blood with every few feet he crawled. At last he made it to the ring, the ward's effects immediately taking effect upon him. He felt as if it were a safehaven, and he then knew, he would be fine.
He whipped the scythe back, keeping the fiery tempered woman well at bay. The anger in her eyes was well apparent, yet he knew he had her out matched—or so he thought. Unremittingly she took the offensive, lunging in once more. Pivoting back he bent backwards, the cold steel grazing the flesh upon his neck drawing a fine line of crimson blood. However, her momentum carried her well past, the hard titanium end of the scythe finding her back just next to her spine, which would have been a fatal blow. He knew he had to keep her well at bay, the scythe constantly sent outward in warning strikes as he back peddled.
"Thi' beh yeh las' warning, wench."
Once more lashing out with the scythe in warning. She spoke threats, yet he paid little heed, the anger at last boiling over. He turned, smashing the scythe's tip into the wooden stair case. He turned back once more to face the woman, lifting his hand in a taunting manner. As she lunged in, he quickly brought his large knife to hand, pivoting sideward in attempt to allow her to pass. He felt the bite of the cold steel catching him clean in the side, running completely through his flesh. Yet without hesitation his dagger was upon her throat, pressing with enough force to draw blood.
"Seems weh aire in quite deh dilemma, nae?"
He stalled for a long moment, assessing the position of the wound and deciding it nonleathal. He forcefully jerked sideward allowing her blade to rip through his flesh. Yet now he had her, his knife pressed against her throat uncontested. Slowly a tingling feeling began to pass over his body, his hands began to go numb. The crimson flow of his blood ran rapidly from the gaping wound. He now knew he had mis-judged the wound, his legs nearly buckling from beneath him. He pulled away, slammed the hilt of the blade hard against her skull, rendering her unconscience. He then quickly reached for his scythe, departing with haste from the arena. He could hear the words echoing as he departed...
"Janella! Are you all right?"
He vanished from the room, yet unknown to those who remained, he found his way just downstairs, the annex being his only hope for survival. He stumbled down the stairs, coughing up vast amounts of blood with every few feet he crawled. At last he made it to the ring, the ward's effects immediately taking effect upon him. He felt as if it were a safehaven, and he then knew, he would be fine.