Xian was covered with dark, glistening fabric that billowed with every move he made. It also, Rafael noted, seemed to do an excellent job of stopping projectiles from reaching his body. The fabric glowed briefly when a needle struck it but held the silver fast. As quickly as he could fire, the fabric moved, swirling in a protective pattern in front of that powerful body. It captivated him at the same time as it frustrated him, and that frustrated Rafael even further. Furiously he worked his way closer, trying to force the elusive figure toward less stable footing, but somehow he found himself being maneuvered in a circle, drawn into a dance he didn’t have control of.
Realizing what was happening, Rafael jerked his eyes away from the mesmerizing figure that kept evading him and tried to regain some control of the situation. He stepped backward, back toward his own shadows and a chance to regroup. He found a flaw in the stonework instead, and the marble, one moment so solid beneath his feet, crumbled to nothingness in the next. Rafael twisted serpentine-like in midair and stretched to catch himself, losing his grip on the forgotten dart gun in his effort to find purchase, but there was nothing, nothing but a hungry emptiness beneath him that would swallow him whole.
Suddenly he was flying in the opposite direction. It happened so fast that he barely had time to register the change in his circumstances and the pain of whiplash in his neck before he crashed into a stone pillar. This one held, but he had barely regained his feet before the apparition he had been chasing suddenly became all too real. The heavy cloak was gone, and in its place Rafael could clearly distinguish the long limbs and broad torso of his former master. He was still swathed from head to foot with the black fabric, but within the folds he could discern the pearlescent glitter of white eyes. It was like a knife to the heart. His master was looking at him, seeing him for the first time in five years, and it filled Rafael with an inexplicable rage. Why now? Why like this, when the circumstances couldn’t have been any worse? Why only when he forced him to violence did his master care enough to come for him?
Driven by demons that had been festering inside him for a lifetime, Rafael launched off the pillar, drawing his sabers and attacking with a speed that surprised even him. The ferocity of his attack caught Xian off guard, and now it was he who was forced backward, driven to defensiveness under the insane onslaught. Rafael was beyond caring about the contract, who he had killed, why they were here or whether he lived or died. His pain was given life in the form of his blades, and it sliced deep. He cut and was rewarded with a pale flash of flesh opening up over Xian’s left arm. He cut again, was parried, and traded blows that nearly numbed his arm before he forced another opening. The slash was high on his opponent’s chest this time, and he barely saw skin before the wound welled with that thick, precious magical blood. He could smell it, like something out of his dreams, and the scent of something he’d been denied for so long just incensed him further.
Rafael pressed the attack, oblivious to where they were headed or whether the ground was safe or not. He didn’t actively block or protect himself. Every movement was aggressive, every strike an attempt to cut. He left openings, he had to, but his master didn’t capitalize on them. Rafael attacked and Xian defended, block for strike and parry for thrust, until a flicker-fast edge cut his opponent high across the forehead. Thick cloth parted, hair tumbled down like a silver wave and Rafael was suddenly staring into the pale, blood-streaked face of his master.
The cut was small, hardly more than a scratch. The blood ran in a slender rivulet down the inside of Xian’s brow, past his right eye and onto his cheek. His face was so similar to the one Rafael had seen two nights ago, but it was so
Realizing what was happening, Rafael jerked his eyes away from the mesmerizing figure that kept evading him and tried to regain some control of the situation. He stepped backward, back toward his own shadows and a chance to regroup. He found a flaw in the stonework instead, and the marble, one moment so solid beneath his feet, crumbled to nothingness in the next. Rafael twisted serpentine-like in midair and stretched to catch himself, losing his grip on the forgotten dart gun in his effort to find purchase, but there was nothing, nothing but a hungry emptiness beneath him that would swallow him whole.
Suddenly he was flying in the opposite direction. It happened so fast that he barely had time to register the change in his circumstances and the pain of whiplash in his neck before he crashed into a stone pillar. This one held, but he had barely regained his feet before the apparition he had been chasing suddenly became all too real. The heavy cloak was gone, and in its place Rafael could clearly distinguish the long limbs and broad torso of his former master. He was still swathed from head to foot with the black fabric, but within the folds he could discern the pearlescent glitter of white eyes. It was like a knife to the heart. His master was looking at him, seeing him for the first time in five years, and it filled Rafael with an inexplicable rage. Why now? Why like this, when the circumstances couldn’t have been any worse? Why only when he forced him to violence did his master care enough to come for him?
Driven by demons that had been festering inside him for a lifetime, Rafael launched off the pillar, drawing his sabers and attacking with a speed that surprised even him. The ferocity of his attack caught Xian off guard, and now it was he who was forced backward, driven to defensiveness under the insane onslaught. Rafael was beyond caring about the contract, who he had killed, why they were here or whether he lived or died. His pain was given life in the form of his blades, and it sliced deep. He cut and was rewarded with a pale flash of flesh opening up over Xian’s left arm. He cut again, was parried, and traded blows that nearly numbed his arm before he forced another opening. The slash was high on his opponent’s chest this time, and he barely saw skin before the wound welled with that thick, precious magical blood. He could smell it, like something out of his dreams, and the scent of something he’d been denied for so long just incensed him further.
Rafael pressed the attack, oblivious to where they were headed or whether the ground was safe or not. He didn’t actively block or protect himself. Every movement was aggressive, every strike an attempt to cut. He left openings, he had to, but his master didn’t capitalize on them. Rafael attacked and Xian defended, block for strike and parry for thrust, until a flicker-fast edge cut his opponent high across the forehead. Thick cloth parted, hair tumbled down like a silver wave and Rafael was suddenly staring into the pale, blood-streaked face of his master.
The cut was small, hardly more than a scratch. The blood ran in a slender rivulet down the inside of Xian’s brow, past his right eye and onto his cheek. His face was so similar to the one Rafael had seen two nights ago, but it was so
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