Dead Ends

Francis took one final swig of his ale before making his way out onto the muddy street. 

He hadn’t had a drop in years, but tonight seemed like an appropriate occasion. He’d been thinking of this moment for months and now the wait was over. It was finally time to execute. That’s what he did best. 

The town was quiet this time of night. Only distant howls of stray dogs disrupted the eerie silence. No one dared venture out at night since Licius decided to take over and lay down his law.Locals spoke of dark times. 

“All went downhill since Lucius came to town,” he’d heard the innkeeper say. “Rows breaking out for no reason, beatings on the street, people disappearing, houses burning…” 

Smoke was heavy in the air. Francis struggled to see anything more than an arm’s length away. Luckily, he knew exactly where he was going. He walked in the middle of the street - broad shoulders pulled back, hand on the hilt of his blade, eyes vigilant as always. 

What a shithole, Francis thought as his foot splashed in another puddle of water, or piss, or blood. Looking around, he couldn’t help but think this place was dead. There were no people in sight. The ramshackle houses were covered in soot and grime. The air carried a smell of corpses. It reminded him of Kingsport from years ago.  

The bastard’s left his mark, that’s for sure, Francis thought as he kept walking. He was almost marching, like the young, eager soldier he once was. He didn’t like sneaking around. It didn’t suit him. And anyway, if all went to plan it wouldn’t matter if everyone knew it was him. He’d go in, kill Lucius and leave immediately. He’d arranged everything with his crew. It was a simple, brutal plan - just the way he liked it. 

He took the third street to the right and headed for the mansion at the end of the road. Its extravagant red facade strangely seemed untouched by the dirt that piled up on everything else around here. The golden framing around the windows and door drew Francis’s eye. He wasn’t exactly a connoisseur, but even he could appreciate the beauty of this combination. 

That bastard liked his luxuries. In any town he stayed, he made sure to sully the most expensive establishment available. The gods only know how long it took after he left for the staff to clean up his messes. 

Francis walked up to the tall mahogany door and gave it two hefty knocks with the hilt of his sword. The weapon had a long flat square blade, sharpened on one side. It carried no embellishment, save for the blood runes carved along the length of its icy steel.  

The stench of death was sickening. That bastard had been poisoning the world far too long. He had to be dealt with.

The door slid open. An elderly man dressed in black peeked out. 

“Yes?” 

“Get me Lucius,” Francis grunted.

“The master has retired for the evening. Could this wait until tomorrow, perhaps?” 

Francis pointed his blade at the man’s chin. 

“Now!” he commanded with a low grunt. 

“What’s that, Francis?” a condescending voice came from inside the house. “You wouldn’t hurt a poor old man doing his job. Has it come to this, old chap?” 

A silhouette slowly made its way out of the shadows and into the moonlit doorway. The man that emerged wore a crimson velvet nightgown over a white silken shirt. He was a man in his prime, with sharp features to his youthful face. His pinkish skin was covered in tattoos - strange scribbles in an ancient language. At first unimpressive, his brown eyes carried a red spark, which made Francis shiver ever so slightly. 

There he is, that smug turd, Francis thought, noting the other man’s arrogant smirk. “I’ve come to settle our score, Lucius”, he said, carefully avoiding those hazel-red eyes. 

“Oh, really?”, Lucius smiled exposing his sharp pearly teeth. “And what might that entail exactly, old chap? Or have you not thought that far ahead?” 

“That stunt you pulled in Kingsport… You have a debt to repay and I’ve come to collect it.” 

“I see”, Lucius said, his grin even wider. “So, you decide the best thing to do is come marching up to my front door and confront me in the middle of the night? Planning was never your strong suit, was it Francis?”, he said with a demonic cackle. 

“No,” said Francis, grabbing the younger man by the collar. “But fighting is!” 

He leaned into Lucius, pulling him over his head. Lucius found himself on his back out onto the sticky street. 

With one swift move, Lucius jumped to his feet. “Well, if you insist...” 

He reached out his right hand and a dark shadow of a sword appeared in it, as if unsheathed from another plane. The blade itself, Soulbringer, was pure black. Its surface seemed to suck in all the light from around it. Next to Soulbringer, the dark of night looked like high noon. 

As the sword materialised, Lucius grew taller. His skin became a deep red - the colour of his night robe. His eyes were now completely black, red flames replacing his irises. Black wings grew from his back as his tattoos gave a faint purple glow. He looked up at Francis, exposing his fangs. “You may end up regretting this evening, old chap.”, a low guttural voice came out.  “Just remember who started it.” 

“I know full well who did!”, Francis bellowed, seemingly unphased by Lucius’s appearance. With all the courage he could muster, Francis had readied himself for the fray. 

“Your move, old chap.” 

Francis needed no further invitations. He charged headlong towards Lucius, swinging his blade with both hands. The cleaver drew a wide arc as Francis swung wildly at Lucius. One sweep, two sweeps, three - all found only air. Where Francis’s blade was, Lucius had been just moments ago. The demon seemed quicker, much more nimble. He dodged, parried and blocked with ease. 

The old fool has overestimated himself, Lucius thought.

That’s it, tire him out, draw him closer and take his soul - another voice invaded Lucius’s thoughts and he dodged another swing, forcing Francis to take a step toward him. I’m thirsty, Soulbringer hissed.

Francis took note of Lucius’s stance. He’d seen the bastard fight before. It wasn’t like him to defend. He was holding back intentionally. He’s trying to tire me out. Good! Francis smiled to himself. Keep at it, Lucius.

The flat-bladed steel of the cleaver met the shadowy surface of Soulbringer. Francis pushed Lucius away with all his might. The demon staggered backwards. Francis found it within himself to look straight into Lucius’s fiery eyes. As he stared his opponent down, he panted visibly. Come on, play with me here. 

“Getting winded, are we?”, Lucius sneered. “Maybe you should have stayed at home. This evening would have been much less painful for you.” 

Make it quick, Soulbringer demanded, I NEED his soul. 

Lucius launched himself into Francis, unleashing a maelstrom of slashes. 

While Francis’ attacks were as heavy as a blacksmith’s hammer, Lucius had the finesse of a surgeon’s knife. His movements were precise and elegant. He timed his attacks perfectly, targeting the areas most awkward for Francis to block. To deflect each blow, Francis shuffled his feet, losing precious moments in the process. He struggled to keep up with the demon’s pace. His hands numbed with every strike the cleaver absorbed. 

Sensing he had the upper hand, Lucius strengthened his push. He leaned into a heavy two-handed slash which tested Francis’s balance. The older man stumbled, his feet crossed and he fell on his right knee while still holding the cleaver above his head. Lucius smacked it out of the way with ease. The blade fell to Francis’s side. 

Yes, that’s it! Take his soul!, Soubringer demanded. I can almost taste it.

“Well, that was underwhelming”, Lucius said with pretend disappointment. He was going to enjoy this kill more than usual. “I always thought the great Cleaver would give me more of a challenge. I guess time has not been kind to you, old chap. Oh well…” 

Lucius raised Soulbringer above his head with both hands. His grip tightened as he launched into his final strike. Gotcha!, Francis thought. With the speed of a trained acrobat, he rolled to the side, picking up his cleaver along the way. Soulbringer’s blade found only mud. 

As Lucius struggled to pull his blade free, Francis rolled to the side and kicked him behind the knees. The demon gasped in surprise as he found himself on the ground. 

Francis jumped to his feet and swung for Lucius’s head. His attack was smooth and powerful. Lucius arced back instinctively but was too late. The cleaver found purchase in the demon’s horn, cutting it clean off. 

Lucius yelled with rage. To be outsmarted by Francis of all people? It was embarrassing. 

“You’ll pay for this, Francis! I am going to make you bleed.”, Lucius said, his voice blending in with that of Soulbringer, echoes filling the empty street. 

The abyssal combination froze Francis in his place. For the first time this evening, doubt crept into his mind. He took a deep breath and readied himself for what was to come. No backing down now… 

Lucius thrust his blade forward. Francis pulled back just in time, dropping his left shoulder. The demon swung right with frightening speed. Soulbringer cut deep into Francis’s right hand before vanishing. 

The old soldier groaned as Lucius’s boot hit him in the stomach. Soulbringer materialised again in Lucius’s other hand, only this time it was in the form of a bladed staff. The demon swung with its blunt end and cracked Francis’s ribs. The sound reverberated in the space around them. Francis struggled to take a breath, reeling from the pain. 

“Now you’re mine!”, Lucius yelled out as Soulbringer morphed into a shadow copy of Francis’s cleaver. He brought his blade down onto Francis’s face with fury. The strike was not meant to kill, it was meant to maim. The shadow blade cut straight across Francis’s face, barely missing his right eye. 

Francis staggered back, his yell stifled by sharp stabs of pain in his chest. His face was burning. As a veil of blood obscured his vision. He struggled to keep focus on his foe. He could hear Lucius’s fiendish cackle as the demon paced around him. “Now, I get to have some fun.”, he said. 

At least I tried, Francis thought, readying himself for his slow, excruciating end. 

Suddenly, a loud sound came from above. A bright beam of light shone down on Lucius. Francis looked up and saw a familiar shape in the sky. A large wooden vessel supported by two oval balloons on either side was floating mid-air. It was Javelin - Francis’s airship. Took you long enough… 

While Lucius was shielding his face from the light, Francis did his best to focus. He grimaced as he wiped some of the blood from his eyes with the back of his hand. With a squint, he managed to make out the rope that hung from the side of his ship. The only thing that stood between him and his escape was the distracted demon in front. Francis picked up his cleaver and took a deep, painful breath. 

With one final burst of strength, Francis charged at Lucius, pushing him out of the way. He sprinted and jumped to catch the rope, wrapping it several times around his good arm. 

“We’ve got him!”, a yell came from above. 

Francis felt himself get lifted higher as the ship above him creaked into motion. He would be carried away from this place. 

I’m still alive at least, Francis thought, watching the raging demon on the ground get smaller. But so is that bastard… 

This was the closest anybody had gotten to taking Lucius out. But Francis realised that close was not good enough. He may have missed the best chance he would ever have to get the job done. 

With one final look at this damned town, Francis grunted under his breath: “Another dead end.”

With Lucius, it was nothing but dead ends.