Dance Of Death

Literary Lion. Dance

She lay dying.

Her clothes were bloodied although most of the blood was from her enemies. She had killed many of them tonight. But not enough and now only the most potent and deadly chased her down the alley. She knew she wouldn’t outlive the hour, she had no energy resources to tap to. She fought with them to avenge her brother. No regrets now.

Gasping breath, gurgling blood and spit she tried walking into the alley when she heard footsteps in front of her. Two men stood there, both had their weapons drawn. She noted that one on the right looked relaxed, the tip of his sword slightly lowered. He was the leader!

The leader understood he has been made. He bowed down at the waist in respect. The sign of respect was so genuine that she almost forgot that this is not a death match. Some scuffling sounds at her back made her aware that more men stood behind her. She was surrounded, the trap was sprung and there’s no way out.

She looked down at her weapons, her knuckles were bruised and there were some throwing stars in her belt. Her short swords were perfect for close combat but her feet were a mass of cuts. She was slower on her feet now. She knew she was stabbed somewhere in her back but she wasn’t sure where. Now there is no time to worry about that.

Deep breaths. Eyes closed and focused on directing any energy to her limbs. Making mental defenses for the pain she is experiencing and the ones which will be forthcoming. She must have taken a whole minute before she was ready, she was surprised that none of the five killers had attacked.

Hands steady now, legs almost nimble enough for the dance, she sprung into action. She was completely surrounded, her only option was to make room. Her strongest enemy was their leader so she attacked him. Any rational thought had long since escaped her, survival was all she looked for.

Swinging, parrying, shouting she shot forward, the leader quickly moving a step back and then two. She had her space. Blindly, instinctively she counter attacked, she felt one or two slashes across her back. Her mental defenses were crumbling but she couldn’t stop now. Slash. Parry. Thrust. Move.

Her world was down to those four actions. Suddenly her left handed thrust punched into a chest and she felt blood on her hand. No time to dislodge the weapon she moved to throw a star from her belt. Another man down.

They moved away again, another man was injured, holding his right thigh. She had no clue when she had cut him but the damage was done. He would die bleeding out because an artery has been severed. Two men remained. Their leader was furious.

They engaged again, this time she attacked the other guy and got lucky. Her right handed cut him across his face and he was down. And she felt a sword driven in her gut.

Not this way, she thought. Not this way.

A last throwing star. His right eyeball. More blood on her hands. And it was over. She fell down, vomiting blood.

She lay dying. Her dance was over.

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