Sunday, August 30, 2009

"Sword Gods," Awakening, pt. 4, 396 words

He lay on the ground, surrounded by a deadly obstacle course of fallen debris. The god leaped down from the a gap burned in the ceiling and the floor above, his blade descending inexorably toward the smith. In desperation, the smith kicked and rolled away, the falchion crashing down mere inches away from his head. His back stopped up against a burning timber, and he reflexively rolled back aside and scrambled to his feet.

The smith's knee screamed in pain as he rose, but he gritted his teeth and forced a stumbling, hurried trot to put more of the fallen debris between himself and the god. Slowly, slowly the pain abated as the smith moved, until he could almost hobble at his normal pace.

Rising to his feet, the god came at the smith once more. His blade swept out and high, drawn back for a decapitating blow, and the smith held his place just long enough to commit the god to his attack. At the last moment, the smith dove back and to the side, and the falchion clove into a support beam. Driven by the god's might and will, the blade passed through the wood as if it were mist.

The smith smiledlaughedmockedhahaHAgotyounow and smacked the cloven timber aside with the flat of his blade. A normal sword should have broken before it could have moved the thick support beam, even sliced through as it was, but the beam slipped aside anyway. The god recovered from his wild blow just in time to glance up as the ceiling above, deprived of support, gave way. Fire and rubble descended, pinning the god to the ground. If only briefly.

In a fit of spite and malicious joy, the smith clambered atop the flaming rubble, trusting his boots and the thick leather of his clothing to protect him from burns, and stomped hard. The god below screamed in fury and pain, fighting to get up and out from beneath the burning wood and hot stone.

The smith looked down at his trapped foe, quelling the urge to gloat. The god's head, neck and right arm and shoulder were still exposed, not completely pinned but still immobile. The smith sheathed his short sword and took the longsword in two hands, point angled down. He raised it incrementally, then plunged it downwards, to jab clean through the god's neck.

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