Recompense for a Lost Soul

[vii] Battle of Bloodied Snow - |part 2|

Pitcher was trembling from sole to crown. He hadn't been this scared in recent memory. Fear. Fear washed through him. So much so that when he went to draw Devilsbane, his hand wouldn't pull the sword free of its sheath. Here was Pitcher, the devil of the South Flags, trembling in fear. Although in truth, it wasn't all that surprising. 

Even during his early years, he had learned to distinguish between when he was in battle and when he wasn't. No one had taught him to do so, but watching his fellow mercenaries and the way they acted, gave him the feeling that if he didn't create a discrepancy between violence and peace in his mind, he would end up like them. When Pitcher didn't have to fight, he had been a generally timid and introverted child, sitting around reading whatever books he could get his hands on. So when it came to battle, he was rarely ever scared. 

But in the moments when fear would take hold completely, he would be stopped senseless in his tracks. He had coined the term: Battle fright. Over the years he had learned to reign in his battle fright. He found out through experience that the only way to counter this subliminal fear that would root him to the spot was to -

MOVE! his mind shouted at him, his eyes fixed on the hunk of solid metal crashing down, not even two meters above. The beast loomed ever-present, towering high above Pitcher, blocking out the sun, casting shadows in the daylight, its smile sending shivers down the spines of any who dare watch. MOVE! GODDAMNIT! Pitcher's hazy conscience screamed, barely aware of the other guards who were sprawled out around or running away from the falling sword. Deflect it. Just deflect it. . . come on Pitcher! Draw your sword! People are going to die! It's your fault if they die! Damnit Pitcher, just DRAW YOU'RE FUCKING SWORD! DRAW IT! DR -

He dodged. His thoughts shut off for a moment as instinct took hold and his legs moved of their own accord. He flung himself to the side, crashing headfirst into the crimson snow. It took a moment for him to register what had happened as he shook snow out of his slightly damp hair. Stumbling to his feet, Pitcher caught sight of where the sword had struck the ground. The mangled bodies of two guards were seen carelessly torn in two, blood pouring out steadily from where their bodies separated as they spasmed in their last moments, surely regretting dying so unceremoniously. The others had managed to flee, abandoning all hope, the Riplyvil guard turned tail and ran. 

Within the next heartbeat the creature had turned the blade sideways and slashed horizontally, directly at where Pitcher had just stood up. Pitcher saw the blade's trajectory slowly close in on him as his hand finally tightened on Devilsbane. It barely cleared the sheath before Pitcher dashed forward towards the oncoming blade, dropping his rear leg and skidding low to the ground. Devilsbane poised directly above his head scraped hard against the dull metal of the monster's blade as Pitcher cleared the swing. Purple tendrils of lledrith diffused from the contact point of the two swords. Pitcher launched to his feet, pirouetted and stared those soulless, white eyes down. 

Horrible memories threatened to resurface. The look in the beast's eyes hadn't changed in all these years. No. No, they had changed. There was a hint of excitement in the monster's eyes. A slight eagerness that was missing the last time they had dueled. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Pitcher saw Emily and Sylli, still tied up, struggling furiously against their captors. The sight of their insistence to go quietly amused Pitcher. When was the last time hostages fought back and survived? But it was admirable. They're better than me in every right. Pitcher smiled as the battled lulled for a few seconds. His entire body was shivering at the thought of going toe to toe with the beast in front of him. But what else am I going to do? I'll fight. I'll fight for their sakes, If I die then so be it but devil take me if i don't keep them alive. 

He sent his mind back to his previous duel with the beast in front of him, the duel at whimpering heights, where he had won, just barely and that too with a lot of help. How did we beat him the last time? I don't even remember. Pitcher turned his head to the sky and smiled. Ah. . . whatever.