Chapter X:

Bolero of Blood

(Author’s note: As always, when dealing with Garland, beware of language and disturbing images)

            “You kept me waiting, Ket,” the voice echoed throughout the small, secluded plaza that Ulaist had just entered.  There was no other person nearby.

            “Sorry about that,” Ulaist said, humorlessly, as he drew his Katana, “I had some other business to attend to.”

            “Like that pitiful bounty on the captain?  Or that little whore that is always following you around?” he asked, as he stepped out of the shadows.

            Garland had obviously changed since their last duel.  The symbol on his forehead had been re-painted, and similar runes now covered every visible square inch of skin.  His form had become skeletal, but he was still a powerful figure.

            “Not a pitiful bounty, and she isn’t a whore,” Ulaist corrected him.

            Garland laughed, a decidedly unhealthy sound.

            “How you concern yourself with such mundane things.  To think that I ever saw one iota of potential in you…oh, how short-sighted I must have been.”

            “We’ll see,” Ulaist said, raising his sword, and entering his dueling stance, “Enough talk, lets see who walks away from here alive.”

            Garland drew his sword, and grinned, revealing a row of crooked and broken teeth.

            Ulaist moved forward, slowly.  He focused completely on his opponent.

            Garland rushed forward, and slashed downward, attempting to make a quick kill.

            The smaller man blocked, and landed a kick on Garland’s midsection, pushing him back.

            “Impressive,” Garland said, pulling himself to his feet, “But you won’t win.”

            As if to highlight his words, a massive explosion tore through the air, as the Hornet’s supply of fire oil exploded.

            Ulaist turned, his eyes wide.  What was that?  It sounded dangerously close…he might have to postpone the duel further.

            Garland, on the other hand, had a different idea.  He stabbed, taking Ulaist in his left shoulder.

            “Always be on your guard, Ket.  That’s the first lesson I taught you.”

            Ulaist bit back a scream of agony, as Garland wrenched the bloody sword from his shoulder.

            He turned, and pressed his attack.

            He slashed across, the attack was parried, and he followed up with a stab, which Garland deftly avoided.

            “Your life’s blood is seeping out of you,” Garland taunted.

            “Who cares?” Ulaist said, “I’m already dead.”

            He slashed, taking Garland across his upper arm, then followed with a powerful chop to the enemy’s shoulder, cutting down to the bone, and a stab to his opponent’s stomach chased that quickly.

            “How’s it feel…to be bleeding like that from your wounds, Garland?  I hope you remember what you did to my Angela.  I’m going to make you pay for that.  I’ll make you pay for that over and over,” Ulaist’s voice was cold, like a winter gale, and his eyes blazed with unbounded fury.

            Garland stood, his hand on the stomach wound.

            “The flesh is weak, but the mind is strong.  You think a paltry wound like this is going to slow me down?  I’m disappointed in you.”

            Garland’s massive sword arced around, a powerful chop at neck-level, faster than a striking serpent.

            Ulaist ducked under it, and slammed into Garland, his shoulder taking his opponent in the stomach, right over the wound.  Agony ripped through him, as his shoulder screamed in protest.

            Garland screamed in agony, and struck downward blindly.  His sword scored a long gash down Ulaist’s back.

            Ulaist jumped back, and surveyed the situation.

            Both he and his opponent were wounded, and he could feel the temperature rising—the city was in flames.

            “I grow weary of this, Qasov.  Make your move.”

            Ulaist focused on Garland once again, and anger welled up inside him.

            With a scream, the Hunter rushed his enemy.

            Garland smirked, drawing back his sword for a strike.

            Ulaist focused, and his sword turned jet black—the silvery blade turning to onyx.

            Garland struck slashing at his opponent at waist level.  The strike would have been powerful enough to cut his former pupil in two.

            Ulaist dropped to his knees, and skidded across the ceramic tiles of the square’s floor.  His sword arced out, ready to stab upward, right through Garland’s rib cage, and pierce his heart.

            Garland jumped, somersaulting with a degree of agility that far surpassed what someone his size would normally possess.

            Ulaist’s back was exposed.  He couldn’t move in time.

            “Funny.  You say you wouldn’t kill me while I was on my knees?  I have no such qualm.”

            Garland struck, a powerful blow that would have severed his head.

            It was only through blind luck that he managed to parry the blade, his arm twisted at an odd angle to knock his opponent’s sword aside.

            Ulaist stood, and spun, his foot lancing out, and hitting his opponent on the jaw, causing him to fall back, sprawled on the ground.

            “I think I’ve lost my qualms,” Ulaist said, advancing on Garland.

            The older man smirked.

            “We’re not done yet, Ket.  We have leagues to go before we sleep.”

            The sigil on his forehead flashed with red-black radiance, and he changed.

            A being that Ulaist could only describe as a baron of hell stood before him.

            It was tall—at least eight cubits in height.  Its skin was blacker than the darkest night, and its eyes were red, the color of newly spilt blood.  It had long arms, that reached down to its knees, ending with a five-clawed talon.  The beast was completely hairless, and lacked all humanity.

            It opened its mouth, revealing row after row of red teeth.

            “Do you like my new form, Ket?” Garland asked, laughing.  His voice sounded like a den of vipers.

            “So know your outside looks like your inside?  Interesting.  I knew you would sell your soul, but this?  This is cheating, Garland,” Ulaist focused, the length of the blade turning silver.

            “I’m afraid you don’t stand a chance, my former pupil,” he grinned.  A single arm snaked out, and batted the sword away.

            Ulaist cracked his knuckles, and narrowed his eyes.

            Garland reached out, and slashed at Ulaist with his new claws.

            The smaller man jumped over the strike, and landed on the back of his opponent’s fist.  He seized the chance, and ran, his feet somehow finding purchase on the being’s slick skin.

            He ran up the creature’s arm, onto its shoulder, and landed a well-placed kick right in its eye.

            Garland clapped a hand over his injured face.  With his other hand, he batted Ulaist away, sending him flying.  With a crash, he hit a wall, causing it to collapse.

            The building was on fire, and so was the wall, Ulaist quickly ran out of the structure, noticing that there was flame on all sides of him.

            He dove for his sword, picking up the weapon, and raising it.

            “Your pitiful attempts are all for naught.  You are incapable of beating me, fool.  No mortal being can.”

            “That’s what you think,” Ulaist said, smirking.

            With a scream of pain and hatred, he rushed, dove between his opponent’s legs, sprang off the wall behind him, and landed on Garland’s back.

            “Those big, long arms of yours can’t reach me here, Garland.  I have you now.”

            Garland responded by pushing backwards, impacting the building behind him with bone-crushing force.

            Ulaist screamed, as he felt his left arm shatter from the force of the blow.

            He raised the sword, and drove it in between his opponent’s ribs, twisting the blade.

            With a snarl, Garland slammed into the wall again, unwittingly driving the sword in deeper.

            Ulaist crumpled, the pain too much for him.

            Garland stood triumphant over his fallen enemy, and reverted to human form, the katana dropping out of him, as the flesh it had been imbedded within disappeared.

            “Most impressive,” he said, kneeling by Ulaist.

            He tugged on his opponent’s hair, matted with blood and sweat.

            “You actually made me work for victory.  Kudos, Ulaist.  But it doesn’t matter.  I’m stronger.  You can’t beat me.”

            “That’s…what…you…think…” He responded with a smile, blood trickling down his lips.

            His right arm reached out, grabbed his sword, and stabbed, taking Garland in the chest.

            Ulaist fought his way to his feet, his body protesting even the smallest movement.  He could feel the life seeping out of him, bit by bit, but he wouldn’t be destroyed, not now.

            “You betrayed my trust,” he said, twisting the sword, piercing his foe’s heart. “You killed without need,” he tugged the sword out, and, with force born from righteous anger, severed his right arm, cleanly. “You raped Angela,” he stabbed his former teacher in the groin. “Then you killed her,” he tugged the sword free, and severed his left arm.  “You are the lowest scum to ever call yourself human!”

            With that, he severed Garland’s head, the decapitating blow was neat, simple, and clean, though the aftermath wasn’t.

            Ulaist smiled.  He had done it.

            He raised his fist to the heavens, and gave a victory cry.

            Then, silence reigned.  All save for the sound of the city burning around him.  The flames danced around him, a jubilant celebration of light and heat, mirroring Ulaist’s feelings.

            He looked around him.  Fire.  Only the square remained.  Despair filled his mind, it was over.

            “I’ve done it…” he said, his voice quavering, “but that’s it.  I’m done for.”

            He fell to his knees.  His opponent’s blood seeping into the cloth of his pants.

            A cold wind blew.  Death had come for him.

            Wait…that’s actual wind…what’s going on?

            A hand rested on his shoulder.

            “Come on, Ulaist.  Let’s get back to the ship.  I’m not leaving you here,” Lena’s voice came.

            He stood.

            “Goodbye, Garland.  For the sake of the friendship we once had, I hope you find peace,” he said, and turned, walking away with Lena.

            Ulaist cracked his eyes open.  He was resting on the couch in the lounge, wrapped from head to toe in bandages.

            “I can’t believe you let him get away!” Bridget screeched at him.

            “I didn’t,” he said, though his words were muffled to the point of being nearly unintelligible.

            “You killed my bounty!” she shouted, throwing her hands into the air.

            “I had the right,” he responded, though she couldn’t understand him.

            “Maybe I should just cap Morgan right now?” she asked, hefting her weapon.

            “Please don’t,” Eddie said, pushing the barrel of her weapon down, “We’ll cut you in on the bounty, okay?  Is that enough for you?”

            “How big a cut?” the Huntress asked, her eyes narrowing.

            “Say…one fifth?”

            “One third,” she said, crossing her arms.

            “A quarter,” Eddie said.

            Bridget pretended not to here him, and walked to the stairs going above deck.

            “Okay…okay…a third.  God.”

            “Feeling better?” Lena asked him, as he awoke once more.

            “Yeah.  A bit,” he responded.

            “I’m glad to hear that,” she said, quietly.

            “Listen…I never got the chance to thank you for coming and rescuing me,” Ulaist said, finally managing to sit up.

            “Oh, that’s alright.  I still owed you for coming and getting me in Pocen.”

            “Don’t worry about that.  It was nothing.  I was going to visit Corrin anyway,” Ulaist said.

            “But still.  I owed you.  How was I going to pay you back, with you dead?” she said, placing one hand on his foot.

            “You didn’t need to pay me back.  So…now I owe you one,” he said, studying the ground.

            “I’m telling you, it’s nothing.  I still owe you,” she said.

            “No.  I’ve thought of a way to pay you back,” Ulaist smiled.  A genuine smile.

            She paused, her brow furrowing.

            “Ulaist, are you feeling alright?  You’re acting a bit odd…” she said, concerned.

            “Better than ever,” he responded, “and I think you’re going to like it here.”

            “What?” she responded, surprised.  Had he just inferred what she thought he did?

            “I would appreciate it if you could stay, Lena,” he said, his smile growing broader.

            She sat down on the couch, and looked at him.

            “Do you really mean that?” she asked, sounding unsure.

            “Of course I do.  You’ve been a great help, and you seem to like it here.  Besides, it’s not like you have an actual ship to go back to…”

            She lunged at him, and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing as tightly as she could.  He was serious, she couldn’t contain herself, even if he was injured.

            “Lena?”

            She wouldn’t have to go back to her studies, she could actually hone her skills in the field.  She could stay here, with Ulaist and Eddie, as an equal, instead of a burden.

            “Lena?” Ulaist asked again.

            “Hmm?” she responded.

            “I’m bleeding,” he said, simply.

            She drew back, finally realizing what she had been doing, and the condition he was in.

            “I’m sorry!” she said, pressing down on the offending wound, his left shoulder, “I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to…”

            “It’s alright,” he said, putting his hand over hers, “Just don’t squeeze me to hard.”

            She smiled sheepishly.

            “Could you help me get back to my bed?  I’m feeling very tired, right now,” he said.

            “Of course,” she responded, still nervous that he would tell her she couldn’t stay, since she had hurt him.

            She draped his arm over her shoulder, and stood, supporting his solid, yet surprisingly light frame, as she half-carried him to the cabinet that he slept in.

            “Never thought I’d see that,” Lucent said, sitting down on the couch, followed closely by Bridget.

            “An entire city go up in flames?” she asked, turning the screen on.

            “No. Ulaist and Lena,” he said.

            “Feh.  Whatever.”

-Author’s notes:  Two chapters in one day.  A record.  I would like to thank everyone who read this story, (including my friends, whom I sorta forced into reading.)  Thank you all for putting up with my poor writing skills.

Also, I would like to thank Auren Tras (a friend of mine) and Dhiammara (My former pre-reader.)  Go check out their writing, it’s good.  Also I’d like to thank “Social misfit” for actually displaying an interest in something I wrote (I don’t know her, so it’s impossible for me to have bribed or otherwise instigated her to read my work.)