Beats Entropy

(Continued from PART 1 , which was continued from PART 2, continued in PART 3 Continued in PART 4, Continued in PART 5 , Continued in part 6 CONCLUDED IN PART 7

The thudding slap of the Ogres feet rang through his incoherent bellowing. I don’t know if it was pride, rage, or inherent stupidity that set him off, but he was charging towards the Perfect Broken creature with complete abandon. The better part of a gnarled tree was thrust out before him like a lance: add a washbin helmet and he’d look a huge, insane child playing at knight gallant. I wondered, for the first time, how old he actually was.

The creature turned towards the Ogre with a fluid, inhuman grace; a flicker of cruel recognition warming its gaze. The Ogre’s massive strides closed the distance in a few steps, splintering the rough hewn lance against the Creature’s unmarked torso…the Ogre’s momentum carried it hard into a balletic backhand that sprayed teeth and cheek meat across the room. The Ogre hit the ground with a muted mushy thump, like a rotten log. A broken hearted mewling sobbed from his ruined mouth; he’d just wanted to come home. I was starting to share the sentiment.

The creature stalked to stand over the fallen Ogre.

“A stick; you strike me with a stick when I am the earth?”

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I’d heard this spiel before, so I tuned the creature out and tried to get to my feet. Scrabbling backwards for purchase my hands tangled in the mound of feathers beneath me; pushing off, my palm slid across the sheared protrusion at the end of the wing, parting my flesh like water. The wound was burning cold and deep enough to see daylight; the fingers twitched and fluttered of their own accord, flicking fat crimson drops against my face. I used my right to ball the ruined left hand into a fist, tying it closed with a dirty strip of torn cloth. Pulling it against me, I used the long spur of bone and feather as a crutch to lever myself upright.

The Creature was now pacing back and forth in front the Ogre’s one good eye. Rapt with sadism its absurdly classic features soured into something weak and petty.

“Did you suppose your vermin plight so noble you could simply return and drive me out? That I would bow before an infection…just because?”

The ogre moaned something lost and wet, prompting the creature to stomp brutally down on his wrist. The creatures bow lips twisted into a vindictive sneer; the Ogres other wrist burst with a pop.

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The stink of the cave rushed back with my senses. The Creatures callow back alley bullying had dispelled what little awe remained; a thug was low and predictable, regardless of the grace from which they fell. I sucked a shallow rattling breath, wrapped my good hand around the thickest part of the wing, and then returned the serrated bone to its former home…or near enough. The creature reared back like ship on high seas, his gory feathered sail flapping just out of reach. The ozone tang built to an audible crackle, St Elmo’s fire arcing from stump to wing. Then he was still; what passed for flesh surrendered.

After his third failed attempt to stand the Ogre crawled towards me. Shattered wrists held against his chest he dragged himself forward on knees and elbows, pleading his case with whimpering vowel sounds. I gathered my least broken blade from the floor and ended his misery with three ugly strokes, my arm shaking so badly I could barely drive home the last one. His body was swollen enough I had to cut his clothes off to find the money I was owed. My shaking hand left deep bloody groves in the corpse. Deadbeat Ogre has less then half of what he promised me, and there wasn’t enough left in the cave to make up the difference. I sent his spirit on the way with a few well chosen curses, and then spat on the floor for good measure.

The numb dissatisfaction of a job well done washed over me; I shook it off and walked away from the worthless hole and its two former owners. I wasn’t looking forward to the walk home, but every mile I put between myself and my latest failure of judgment was a good one. That first taste of night air was the sweetest I have known.

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Thing about being the most dangerous man in world: you are, until you’re not, then you’re nothing.

The hunk of stone blossomed into the back of my skulls with sickening force; my thoughts flashed and spun and bled deep in the bone. The girl stood mute above me, watching my life pour out; a hard little smile laying claim to the ghosts behind those haunted eyes. I wanted to ask her if this was paid or personal, or just bad luck on both our parts… but whatever used to push out my voice could barely twitch the corners of my mouth. She waited long enough to be sure I’d never follow, and then moved off into the night.

I often wished I was smarter.