Then the dance of blades began, each pair of arms whirling and pumping in an intricate series of thrusts and parries. Each of the cloaked figures appeared to have eight arms, as it seemed impossible only two could move with such tenacity! The steel-on-steel blows were so heavy that a shower of continuous sparks fired off in every direction. Each time the sky light up with a flash of lightning, the scene showed a portrait of violence, that exact moment frozen in time forever.
As the display of whirling blades raged on, it became clear that one of the figures was taking more slashes than the other, although they had both taken several. Individual blade collisions could no longer be deciphered from one another as the air filled with one long, solid ringing. Each of the cloaked figures rolled their bodies with the blows to keep the slashes from doing no more than grazing, while countering hard as the other did the same with unimaginable speed. It was impossible to believe humans could move like this.
One reaper began to really press the attack as the other jolted, then jolted again with fresh, deep cuts. At last the first reaper parried both his opponent’s daggers out wide while dropping his own, then grabbed the cloak of the other figure, doing a backward somersault while locked together tightly and ending up on top.
The reaper on the bottom slashed up once, twice, three times, each one dodged by lightning-quick reflexes as the other continued to squeeze and twist the neck of his victim. A loud, sickening crack echoed through the cave, and then it was over...
His head spinning, nausea flooded through Eric. He knew this was it—he would be out within seconds, probably never to wake up. The remaining reaper limped toward him.
Blink
It was closer now, almost on him.
Blink
The figure pulled its hood back to reveal a beautiful face with crystal-blue eyes.
“I’ve searched my whole life for you...Gate Keeper.”
Blink
Eric’s world faded into darkness.
Chapter 8
Dragot gazed out his stone-cut window, beyond his personal paradise and into the lifeless desert. Deceitful winds brought the illusion of comfort as they spun hot, dry air along the scorched, sandy surface. Brilliantly colored birds continued to mock the lifeless desert as they sang their cheerful songs filled with unwavering happiness born from an oh-too-easy life, constantly soaring through the waterfall before landing on a lush, green tree branch only to shake off the precious liquid in a fine white mist.
The demon’s large yellow eyes were glazed over with calm serenity, scanning the wasteland looking for nothing in particular as the narcissistic being continued to dwell upon his genius. He marveled at the plans he’d concocted and which now set in motion, plans to not only stop the Gate Keeper, but to bring him to the tower for judgment as well. The demon wanted to show his enemy the error of his ways, the sheer betrayal of being born and posing a threat to his greatness, his immortality—crimes that could never be forgiven, even through death. Oh, death would come eventually, but by then it would be more accurate to call it mercy!
Even though the silent intruder never made a sound, Dragot knew the briggit had drifted into the room. “Yesss?” he hissed, his eyes never leaving the desert scenery. His acknowledgement of the creature was followed by a series of anxious clicks. Even as Dragot whirled around like a top, his face held a deathly calm. “What do you mean she failed?” The nervous clicking continued as skinny, cloaked arms flapped up and down like a hummingbird.
Massive clawed hands moved tauntingly slow toward the bringer of bad news. The messenger’s only crime was being the informant on this particular day, a crime considered quite severe. Dragot had no need to rush; the little servant knew better than to move. His claws moved ever so slowly as they dug deep into the hooded fabric while hoisting the messenger high in the air.
As easily as ripping a piece of paper, Dragot pulled in both directions at once with a quick twist. He was left holding two halves of a brown cloak, a piece in each hand with no blood, flesh, or any remains; there was not the slightest clue that anything had ever existed inside the coarse brown fabric. Calmly throwing both pieces to the ground, he glided from the room, exuding calm serenity once more.