heartfire: Ash's story less dark version

chapter 13: the blacksmith's Fury

(nervous laugh) soo, I'm really bad at writing in the present tense. sorry if this is a bad chapter, but it is the best I could do in the present tense.

the smash of the anvil is relaxing, although nothing can contain my Fury when it comes to zombies. First crystal, now my leg and a load of others dead. Time to start sneaking out of bed to run the forge. Nickel needed that wound disinfected, and although not the best use of my time, dog armor would need to be made. Why had this plague seen released? who knows. Just a casual zombie outbreak. When normal life Wentdown, everything was either destroyed or consumed. The town I came from went up in flames, and Cobalt and were the only things stopping me from going and killing zombies for a living and a hobby. Why is all this is my head? Who knows? Who cares? It is in my head, and I cannot change that. Fire burns like a virus. Quick, powerful, dangerous and able to be harnessed by those willing to feel its Fury. Fire burns inside my head and is the only thing keeping my sanity alive. This familiar anger and hate. Burning through all barriers between my sanity and stability. Swing hammer, raise hammer, swing the hammer again, raise it again. Make a weapon, hope for a fight when prices are "too high" until one finds me. This choosy beggar was bad and looking for a fight. This one wanted to fight me and if he wins, he gets his skeletonized blade and a mace for free. When on top of the base's aircraft garage, he swung first. His fighting style is a little unorthodox. He was swinging his arms wildly and hoping to hit me. This was pathetic, yet a good outlet for my anger. None of us had armor, but I had my prosthetics. First, I block his downward swing, then his other arm comes down on one of the spikes of my arm. Howls of pain ripped through the whistle of the rain and wind. This is my opportunity to strike. The crack of my fist meeting his ribcage could be heard though the Howling wind. He stumbles back, stunned and shocked at how the blacksmith could hurt him. Making another run at me, he struck at my stomach this time. I caught this strike, before lifting and breaking thischoosybeggar's wrist and grabbing him by the throat with my prosthetic arm. Lifting him over the edge of the roof, he began begging for a fair fight. Having the honour to allow him to live, he then asked for a rematch. He said I could either give him a knife and keep my arm, or discard the arm. I would have chosen the latter, but I saw the flash of something sharp and metallic. Keeping the arm was a good idea, but this time it would be to the death. No mercy this time. My blade arm would have been better here, but I did not have time to change it before he attacks me. When he strikes at me, I should duck and knee him in the stomach, but instead, sidestepping the knife was the best approach. Sidestep, pick him up, break his arm over my knee, and then stab him with a spike. Grabbing him by the throat, I lifted him up and over the edge"please, have mercy" he said. My only reply was a simple " there is mercy here and elsewhere. leave now before I change my mind about sparing you." before throwing him down to the ladder.