User blog:Cherubic Card/The Beginning-Part 4

The chair hung heavy in his hand, its purpose fufilled. The man's crumpled form lay before him, wet with rain, and slick with blood. He ran a hand through his pale green hair, resting it on one of both aching sides of his head. It felt as though his skull had folded under the pressure of the man's attack. With a kick he buried his foot in the passed-out man's ribs. He felt them bend, but not break.

"Bastard." He spat a thick globule toward the body, disappearing somewhere in the man's jacket. To his left, one of his comrades lumbered forward, carrying the third.

"We need to get out of here. Boris didn't fare as well as I."

It was true. Hoods now off, a large, grossly colored mountain of a bruise could be seen dominating most of Boris's face, a thin line of drool hanging weakly from his lips. Green hair bobbed quickly in a nod of affirmation as he moved slowly toward the door. Head still aching from the crushing blow, he plucked one of the torches from their sconces, his eyes burning in tandem with the flames. The man carrying the limp Boris stepped heavily toward him.

"What are you thinking? We've done enough damage to him, and too much to the barman. For revenge, this is..."

"Nikolai." His voice was flat. "He's not waking up. As it stands, we're murderers. If the bar burns, however..." He waved the torch to emphasize. "...It wouldn't be hard to pass blame on the town drunk."

Before Nikolai could respond, a pained groan sounded out despite the rain's din on the roof. His green hair turned toward Boris, to ask his condition. Nikolai shook his head cluelessly, before together turning toward the former corpse. From within the heavy folds of his dark jacket came more sound accompanied by the movement of limbs, as if they sought a grip to pull their host out of his stupor.

"Die." His hand released the torch, bouncing as it rolled toward the unconcious bastard who'd hurt his woman. Nikolai spoke up in a shocked tone. "What are you doing, the bartender! He's still-"

"He knows what we did, and it'd be suspicious if only one died here." Not waiting for a response, the green-haired man quickly hurried out the door of the bar, fast consumed by flames. Both the barman and the bastard were hidden behind the flames dance.



The flames caught quickly on the wasted booze, spreading far-quicker than the dank wood should've allowed. Forcing my beaten body to stand, I took in the state of the bar, and my options. The fire was nearly on me, if not for the mass adreniline I'd probably feel the burns undoubtedly marking my face. The path to the door was completely hidden by fire, and cut off. Any rain outside was drowned out my the roar of the flames. I had the rest of the bar away from the door and the circle-table area to retreat to-

A painful groan pierced the symphony of flame, like a fart in a church. Finding the source of it, the barman's up-do, singeing slightly, met me, the rest of him comparitively dormant. Bastards. I reached over the bar table, flames licking me on one side, ribs creaking on the other as I pulled him up and over, slinging him over my shoulder. My lungs began to burn far beyond what the tricigar could ever perform. The fire quickly encroaching on my territory put my brain into a scramble. Ok, one unconcious barman who hates me weighing me down, and a fire that's gonna cook me well done. As I considered my options, which mostly consisted of looking around desperately, I saw my salvation. A window, one of the few in the bar, and thus far untouched by fire, though that would last another snarky comment at best. Rushing as fast as I could, I beat the fire by a few precious feet. The leather of my coat hung heavy on me as sweat began to build up underneath, my face completely dry from the heat. Resting the barman furthest from the flames, I punched a hole in the window, just large enough for my fist. Repeating myself, I punched again and again until the window was free of glass, most of it burying itself in my arm, blood pouring out and drying near-instantly as it hit the sweltering air. Lungs and muscles burning, I lifted the unconcious barman up and through the window, hearing a wet "thump" from the other side. I wasted no time following him as fire began to caress any exposed skin it could reach. I'd've passed out by now if not for my life-saving habit. Barely avoiding the body at the crash point, I fell heavy on the wet ground, for the first time in my life forcing smoke out of my lungs, instead of in. Quickly shaking off my discomfort, I dragged the barman and myself away from the building, smoke now visibly billowing from the window.

Propping him up against a building nearby, I began the long trek toward the mountain shack with my unwelcome company.



The rain had ceased for the moment, noon was fast fading to dusk, but time had not been kind to my wounds. Burnt skin flaked away, leaving exposed flesh open to the heavy air, and my arm moved only painfully, glass shards still buried deep inside, the open wounds seared shut. My head pounded, my ribs cried for mercy, but finally I collapsed against my abode's door. Stumbling in, my vision took in everything it could, including the two lizard-people sharing what looked to be trail rations, or leftovers of some kind. Both eyes looked up to me, the mothers widening as she took in my sorry self. Leaping up with her umbrella at her side, she rushed over to me as if I were some injured fawn.

"What in the hell happened to you!?" Her voice was harsher than ever I'd heard it, and potentially her child as well, her eyes growing to the size of saucers, hands covering her mouth. None of the softness, the grace, the self-assuredness that she commanded was present in that question, in its place only raw honesty. It put me off for a second, before I was able to shrug the feeling away.

"A few friends thought they could free-load some booze, i said no, things went downhill. This happens all the time, no need to-"

Before I could even finish, the umbrella was... Pulled apart, for lack of the term, and in its place a razor-sharp blade, barely thicker than my finger, shone in the fading light.

"Where. Are. They." It wasn't a question, as much as it was a demand from a superior, and for all my candor, she felt like exactly that. It was then I realized exactly what I was dealing with, not some silly single mother whom had never grown out of bedtime fantasies of valiant knights and noble women, this was a warrior, a killer, one who in that moment was fully prepared to prove it. Even the brat stayed motionless where she was. I lifted my arm up to calm her, the glass shards tearing through muscle as I did so. I was unable to hide the pain on my face, as hers shifted closer to what I had greeted this morning.

"What's wrong, what happened?" Worry permeated her voice, her hands gingerly taking my arm in them. As loathe as I was about it, it was better than her going on a killing spree. Sweat began to drip down my face, as the pain began to rush back. All but falling, I explained.

"Somewhere in here there's a knife, it needs to be that knife." She began to speak up, but I interrupted her. "Just-" A wince. "-Do it. Please." I added. Sweat began pouring off my face now, blood pounding in my ears, pain darkening my eyes, but I held on. Damned if I were doted on as an invalid by a monster and her daughter. The mother, Isadora, barked some orders at her daughter, drowned out by the pain, the blood? As she began tearing through the refuse that made the floor.

A heavy blink.

The daughter, Louise, was holding a rag, dabbing at my face with what I assumed was a look of seriousness, out of place on the ten-year-old's face. Isadora finally fished out a holster, heavy with metal and connected to a journeyman's belt.

"Both." I croaked. "That's it."

Another blink.

I held the knife in my hand, the blade giving me a massive feeling of unease. Taking it in my good hand, I held it above my lacerated arm.

"What are you-" This time it was my turn to cut her off. Snatching the rag from Louise, I put it in my mouth and bit hard on it. Salt and earth filled my mouth, as I plunged the dagger into my-

Blank.

-teeth gnashing, Louise screaming and Isadora trying to comfort her and question me all at once as I dug in deeper to where I felt the glass hiding in me.

One piece.

Two pieces.

Isadora comforting Louise.

Four pieces.

Blood pounding, eyes heavy, hearing sensitive, arms weak. My legs stood. Taking the belt from Isadora's hands, I wrapped it around my waist. The weight was greater than I imagined it would be, but with a small puddle of crimson forming at my feet, I conceded everything would be heavy for a while. Pushing past the Lizardmen, I stumbled out the door.

Darkness had settled, and the rain had come back, washing me clean of the blood, sweat, and pain.

"Are those the ones who did this to you?"

Isadora's blade was held forward, facing the dancing lights of the torches marching up the path. I stared, water droplets hitting my unblinking eyes. The barman's house burned, and so this was revenge. The rain fell on us equally.

Except it didn't. His bar was his home, his life, He was born here and would've died here without ever leaving. I stumbled in when I had nowhere else to go. As much as I had settled, I didn't mind the excuse to leave. Was I waiting for this...?

"Put that away." I turned, senses dull, one leg after the other. "It's a long walk."