The Grounds Keeper

CHAPTER 4 Off The Deep End

Chapter 4: Off the Deep End

"Pardon me. I'm sorry - I wasn't looking where I was going."

Eathon extended a hand to help up the young man he'd accidentally bowled over. Pale-skinned, brown hair slicked back with too much gel, and dressed in a green robe like his own. The guy grinned as he took Eathon's hand - and that's when Eathon noticed the tattoo.

A stylized, snarling three-headed dog on the back of his hand.

Before he could comment, the guy raised two fingers and flicked Eathon in the face.

A shockwave hit like a crashing tide. Eathon flew backward, slamming into the ground hard enough to rattle his teeth.

Laughter echoed above him.

"I knew I'd catch you out here. Still, didn't think you'd be this weak. Can't even block a basic strike." The man chuckled like it was all a game. "Lucky for me I was standing outside the infirmary when you had that little chat with Michelle. Thought I'd be stupid not to take the chance and kick your ass while you're clueless."

Eathon stood shakily, bringing a hand to his face. Blood was streaming down his throat - not out of his nose. That meant it was broken, and the bone was blocking the flow.

He grunted, reset the cartilage with a violent twist, and let a stream of thick, clotted blood pour from his nostrils. It stung like hell, but he'd done it before - once when his adoptive father had split a log so hard it smacked him square in the face.

He looked up at his attacker. Lean. Not particularly muscular. And yet he hit like a train.

The man crouched, took a sprinter's pose, and then launched like a cannonball. Too fast to react.

Both fists hit Eathon square in the gut, driving the air out of him. They crashed together, and the attacker twisted, using Eathon's own momentum to flip him like a ragdoll. Eathon spun in the air - then crack - something smashed into his leg mid-flight.

He screamed as pain lit up his world. His leg had snapped. A right angle where there shouldn't be one.

He's going to kill me, Eathon thought. Why? What did I ever do to this guy?

The man leapt twelve feet into the air, feet pointed straight down, aiming to stomp the broken leg.

Instinct took over.

Eathon shot his arms forward, grabbed the bastard by the collar, and with every ounce of strength left, drove his forehead into the guy's nose.

Except - it didn't land.

A force field deflected the blow, bouncing Eathon back like his head had struck a trampoline.

But the hit did something. The man stumbled, wiping blood from his face.

That was Eathon's moment.

He kicked out with his good leg - hard and direct - straight between the guy's legs.

This time, it connected.

The protective spell must have dropped when the guy's focus broke.

He crumpled.

Eathon didn't hesitate. He grabbed the guy's neck in a tight chokehold and squeezed with everything he had. The guy flailed, striking back, his punches like cannonballs - to the ribs, the gut, the broken leg. The pain was unbearable, but Eathon held on. The blows weakened.

Then stopped.

The attacker went limp in his arms.

Eathon didn't get a chance to breathe.