William and Anvelle
A rush of a stream. Gust of wind. The scent of nature filled the atmosphere.
There were two males here, one of high stature, the other one a dog from the ghettos. Dirty ‘dancing’ was his game. The other one was a proud ‘knight’ who found an honourable fight to be the only feasible way.
That wouldn’t matter when he was on the ground in one swift movement.
But for now they would stare at each other with taunting expressions, not a single word uttered from either.
A long, thin blade crashed with the metallic body of a stick that ended with two curved blades. A grin spread over the trickster’s lips as they were locked in a battle of strengths.
Slink. Their weapons released their grips on each other as they both were pushed back by the other’s force, but they wasted not a single moment as they were right in each other’s faces again, blade hitting blade with a metallic shriek. The knight-wannabe dodged, ducked, swung. The fiend thrust at the other’s side, his ears filling with the sound of fabric being torn, but the lack of the scent of iron and plasma disappointed him. He had to aim closer for his next blow–and he was knocked to his arse as he lost focus for that second, a kick to the chest that had sucked the wind out of him. Fuck.
Quickly scrambling up to his feet, Anvelle focused all of his strength on the swing he aimed towards his opponent’s leg, hoping to hit him right behind the knee, causing him to lose his balance and giving him the opportunity to pounce on him.
But the knight, Sir William, was determined and angry. Although he collapsed to the floor as his leg began to bleed, the harsh gash causing him to wince, he leaned on his sword-free hand and swept at Anvelle’s legs. The trickster jumped up in the air and in a breath was on the knight, pulling his double-edged polearm back as he prepared it for the taste of William’s left eyeball, a grin slowly spreading and revealing his pearl white teeth that were aching for flesh. The lids of the man beneath him spread open as far as they could, optics bulging out with shock and horror as he suddenly realised what was about to take place.
The knight resorted to a trick he never thought he would have to use, but unless one matched the shrewdness of their opponent, they were sure to die in battle. He turned to his side, the blade sinking into the mud beneath him as he shielded his face with his arms.
William shoved the other male right off him, as hard as he could, and the sound of his skin scarping the grass was enough to reassure him he could stand back up and limp away from the trickster that now lay on the ground, his black shirt catching some of the loose blades of green and the earth they had rested on. He glared daggers towards the knight and he slowly got back up this time, anger slowly building up inside him.
“Time for you to die, Sir William,” growled Anvelle, clasping his pole weapon tightly in both of his hands, cracking the iron apart as it turned into two smooth swords that were sure to slow him down a little, however they looked to be light enough to keep him going at almost the same fast pace he had adopted since the start of this battle.
The knight said nothing as he held up his sword in defence. He had weaker legs and could not move as swiftly as the other, and he really needed to stop the bleeding his knee was so freely watering the ground with, but there was no time. They faced each other once again as their eyes locked, William’s a pale blue, Anvelle’s a dark grey.
Charge. Clink. Clink. Swish. Clink.
The pair kept at it for some time, their gazes never leaving each other’s as their weapons collided with so much force, it took some energy out of them just to keep their swords held in their hands.
Sir William hit the floor before he even knew what was happening. All he could see was the sky above him, the harsh sun causing him to squint as he blinked several times.
The trickster stood above him, grinning down at him with smug satisfaction. Of course he won. He was a dirty fighter of true skill and immense speed, combined with impressive strength in his arms. The knight was just too proud to have seen that beforehand and refused to simply avoid the match altogether. But it was not only pride that had him in this mess. Vengeance was the true reason.
“What’d I tell you?” Mocked Anvelle as he jerked one of his swords out of William’s gut, where he had so forcefully lodged it when he caught the other off guard. The male lying on the ground coughed as more of his life force fed the green.
“I killed your brother, and now you. Was it really worth it?” Smirked the victor, shaking some of the insides and the crimson that had coated his blade off into the air. The swift sound of his polearm becoming one again was the last thing William would hear as he choked on his own plasma, his body going limp as the world went black.