The Dead Scout's Handbook of Afterlife Survival

Chapter 47: The Trap

Cayden had done it before. Creating a wall of flames didn't challenge him, though getting the flames to surround him, that was tricky. There was always an opening where there was always a blind spot and Cayden knew this didn't offer the most effective defense against a speedster such as Famine, if it could be called a defense at all. She could run past the fire, and as long as it was far enough from Cayden, she could stand there and make a fatal strike. The trick for Cayden would be to avoid a slash which wouldn't be fixable, though a stab might not be either. As the saying goes, location, location, location.

So Cayden pressed into the store behind him. He assumed cutting through both a wall and a head or torso might take some force, even with an oscillating hellfire for a sword. This might force Famine into a jab. A line of flames erupted before him and he spread another barrier concealing his face, neck and chest.

Sergei wouldn't be there to help consistently, just enough to give Famine a sense of accomplishment when she got a blow in. A burst of wind distorted the flickering blaze as Famine cursed under Sergei's laughter. A loud buzz and a slash rang out as a fresh scar sizzled beside him. Cayden bit his lip. Then, it happened.

Cayden could barely see the flames shiver before the searing hot metal entered under his ribcage. Famine flashed into vision next to Cayden. The hot stench of rotten flesh incubating between the crevices of a dozen remaining teeth seeped around him. Cayden sputtered up blood, chased by the taste of burning meat.

Famine withdrew the blade, but her arm was frozen in place by Cayden's iron grip on her sword-wielding wrist. Cayden held out his free hand, clutching Famine's shoulder as she flashed from position to position like the afterimages under a strobe light. She shifted into a cloud of smoke, struggling to dodge whatever attack Cayden planned. It made no difference. In an all-metal suit, heat would spread everywhere it needed to.

Smoke poured from the dancing and sparking streak in front of Cayden as hot ash trickled to the ground and the streak started pausing. The familiar weight settled on Caydn's heart, replacing what once was a terrible rage. It wasn't a pathetic sort of depression, because this sadness, rather than that of a child, or a puppy who had its toy taken, was deep, profound and above all, empowering. It was more than mere sadness, for something else incubated in that melancholy.

Famine darted back and forth every few seconds, her movements growing weak, dark hood covering whatever grotesque and inhuman image waited beneath. No disgust intruded on Cayden's pure emotion, no hate encroached either. He was sorry for her, not for her nearing end, rather for her life stretching unknown lengths into the past. More euthanasia than vengeance, this was the best Cayden could do for her. After flailing to a low moan, Famine sank and collapsed in a heap of black, smoldering fabric, her suit hissing when it contacted the channeling water. Under the cloak, the body twitched and burst into millions of particles whirling about in a frenzy. Cayden's feelings evaporated to numbness as his legs crumpled, the fire flickered out, and the ground collided with his shoulder.

"Up to you now, Sergei," Cayden coughed.

The wind blasted Cayden as Sergei popped into existence. "You can trust me, I cut him limb from limb."

"No. Cut his head off... he becomes tougher if..." Sergei was already gone.

Cayden's vision blurred as Death's translucent garb braced itself for impact. A gash lacerated his stomach as Death collapsed to his knees, taking another swipe to the chest, and one to his arms. Sergei disappeared and reappeared to the flanks and from behind as a frenzy of cuts grew increasingly shallow across Death's chest and limbs.

"Sergei...cut the head off," Cayden said, in words far too feeble for Sergei to hear. He continued the flurry of lacerations and jabs into the now recumbent body which shifted from its otherwise motionless state. Sergei raised the sword high and plunged it into Death's skull, the blade stopping with a resonating buzz when it contacted the scalp. With the flutter of his cloak, Death jumped to his feet and swung at Sergei with his own needle-pointed blade. Sergei flashed to Death's left and another swipe of the sword clanged against the shoulder of the translucent cloak, eliciting nothing further than a casual shrug. Whirling around, Death jogged toward the stairs ascending to the rest of the commotion. Sergei appeared once more, taking a two-handed swing at Death. With a crack and sizzle, the fiery blade grew dim, and the humming ceased.