The Old City

0.61: Timoleon vs Marcus Part 1

Something new ... no, something old approached the edge of Krylladenelo's consciousness. It had been many years since anyone worth noting had come to his city. If he'd had a heart, it would have begun to pound with excitement. Instead, he began to quiver.

Something new ... no, something old would now step into his trap.

Something new ... no, something old would play his game.

He relished the thought. It would be more fun than he'd had in centuries.

The Rooftop with Seneca and Firkaan

Firkaan didn't know the woman standing before him, but he didn't like the way she held that fishing rod, like a weapon, like a threat.

She wasn't in the reports he'd been given.

"What are you doing here?"

She ignored him and knelt next to the man he'd slashed, administering some ointment across the wounds. She looked down at his hand and grabbed something from it.

Firkaan stepped forward. If she was a medic, he didn't want her healing the man again. He'd been enough trouble.

"Stay away," the woman said, pointing the tip of her rod in his direction.

What can she possibly do with that? he wondered.

With a small flick of her wrist, the hook came flying toward him. It wasn't very fast, but the subtle motion caught him off guard and he didn't start moving until it was nearly upon him. He dodged to the right and watched the hook sail past, then looked back at the woman with a hint of curiosity.

Did she think that would hit me?

Then he felt something prick his back. It dug beneath his fur and into his skin, sinking until it pierced his flesh. The woman smiled and flicked her wrist once more.

Firkaan was suddenly suspended high in the air, his head bent forward at an awkward angle from the momentum. It was as though he were trapped within a tornado, captive and unable to move on his own. After what felt like minutes being thrown about, he was slammed into the rooftop again and could finally catch his breath. He reached behind him, desperately trying to find the fishing line, but it was too much in the center of his back, and with his new bulk, he could not reach it.

He flailed furiously and tried to rise but was thrown again several yards away.

"It doesn't matter how fast you are. With that hook in you, I can toss you like a fish the second you start to move.

The woman now stood above him, and she seemed to be drenched in red. He wanted to claw her at the ankles, but every time he tried to make a move, he lost his footing again.

What's that? he realized. His senses flared again. He could see this woman standing in front of him, but he couldn't perceive her. She didn't smell human. His ears were ringing and he couldn't hear her heartbeat or even her steps.

Then she dropped a small parcel, another scent bomb. Firkaan's eyes rolled back as he breathed in the horrible fumes. So close this time, he felt like it would suffocate him.

"He said this would keep you distracted."

Another figure arrived at the rooftop. Firkaan couldn't get a good look at him through his blurry vision, but he knelt over the man he'd fought, then shouted something at the woman.

"I don't know how to kill you without gettin' close enough for you to actually get me first. But the next time we meet, I'll pay you back for what you did to him."

She stepped back toward the others, briefly talked with the newcomer, then gently heaved the man over her shoulders to begin limping away. They left him there, choking on the air and pressed into the roof.

Find me, he fumed. A deep growl erupted low in his throat as he thrashed against the fishing line. Please. I'll be waiting. Then I'll kill you all. Marek will be avenged.

***

Timoleon's Rooftop

Marcus didn't understand it.

He swung Schnitter one more time and it flew to the right. Again.

Timoleon was like a thycklefish, slippery and uncatchable. Every time Marcus got close, Timoleon curved out of the way.

He wore a long, sleeveless coat of deep crimson, which billowed in the wind, and a curious smirk upon his face. His face was longer than Marcus had expected, with eyes that were full of wisdom and quick of thought and seemed to glide over his body as though reading a book.

He pulled back and sighed. "You are the Peacebringer, yes? An ironic name, given your proclivity for that weapon."

Marcus laughed. "The people gave me that name."

"The 'people' are like sand. Pliable, if you know how to mold them. Let's not insult each other. It's propaganda. You merely wanted the city to approve of your violence, to see this not as another gang war, but as liberation."

"That's a pretty cynical view."

"I prefer to call it realistic. We both lost our naivete in the war."

How does he know I fought? It doesn't matter. I just have to keep him distracted. Hell, if I can beat him now I might save myself some trouble down the line.

Marcus brought Schnitter back and breathed in deeply. The world came into focus and he felt the surge of Schnitter's energy rush over him. It filled him with confidence and power. He loved this part.

"Pierce, Schnitter!"

Nothing happened. The halberd remained exactly the same, except its aura evaporated. It disappeared more quickly than it had come over him.

What the Hell went wrong?

"How unfortunate," Timoleon said. "I'd hoped to see this Ancient Weapon for myself. But I suppose it can't be helped. A weapon like that must know when its outmatched."

"How do you know about Schnitter?"

"You thought you could bring an Ancient Weapon into this city, and no one would notice? There were only four in the city, and I personally know two of the other wielders. A fifth is rather conspicuous."

Timoleon took slow, confident steps forward, each one landing with a careful mix of grace and power. His eyes betrayed no worry, no concern. Merely curiosity and perhaps a dash of disappointment.

Marcus was transfixed. He couldn't move in the presence of this man. This man was a killer. Surely Timoleon had slain hundreds of foes personally and thousands with his mind. What chance did Marcus have to stand against him?

Timoleon was now at the edge of Schnitter's range. He casually walked past its blade, eyeing its wicked edge. Marcus knew he should move. He should have struck him while he was close, but he somehow knew that doing so would be a mistake. His instinct, honed over years at war, screamed at him.

I have to run.