[Practice] Fight Scene

Scene #2

I lift my wounded right hand, the one with the knife, and run a quick eye on it.

It's a short, all-black throwing knife. The tip of the blade does not look sharp enough so as to penetrate, and the edge would probably inflict only minor damages. The dull moonlight reflects on the glossy blade as I examine the dark opaque matte-finish, flipping it from side to side.

To think he hurt my ear like this with only this thing...

Tch... doesn't matter.

"Enough playing around."

Before tossing away the light blade, I sneak a glance at him long enough to figure out he was surprised to hear what I just said.

At last, I think to myself. Time for that rigorous martial arts training to pay off.

I shrug my shoulders to the front and grab what I can of my jacket, taking it off and throwing it as far away as possible.

My right arm throbs consistently and a searing pain shoots up. The excitement and adrenaline reduce it to a dull pounding, but I know by the look of it that it's definitely gonna leave a rather hideous scar, this one.

Extending my arms to the front, fingers interlocked, I feel my muscles loosen from the stiffness as a crescendo of popping sounds.

I finish my neck next and not-so-much surprisingly, he hasn't made a single move towards me.

Almost as if on cue, I hear that sarcastic sound go off.

"You finished yet? I'm not so much the patient type, you know.."

You don't need to tell me that. And there is no use in replying back, afterall...

What use can speaking to the dead have?

- - -

I blast off my ground and burst through the ever-dense atmosphere.

In a flash, I'm just a foot or two infront of him. Close enough to see that sickening smile of his.

*SWOOSH*

I hear the sharp sound of his blade cutting the air as I jump an inch to the back. Exactly as I suspected, If I'm fast enough, he'll stupidly attack first.

I clench the muscles of my right arm as tight as I can, morphing every fiber of hate into a fist just before launching it right to his head.

He quickly forms an impressive defensive stance and taps at my fist, moving it away, as it swooshes beside him.

Nice dodge, I'll give you that. But too bad it's far from over.

Not a second passes and I launch myself towards him. My secret to winning at in-close combat is to never give your opponent a chance, and that's just in basic sparring. I'll show absolutely no mercy to this bastard!

This time I stop just before he swiftly shoves his hand towards my face. Had I been a fraction of a second late, the tip of his blade would have inevitably become a part of my skull.

He pulls back his arm quickly, flipping the knife to its back and grabs his left fist. Seconds before he pulls back on his fist and lunges at me, I recognize this pattern of movement and before I'm shoved away, I quickly blast head first to my right. It's that elbow blow again..!

The way I dodged that was hasty and I would have crashed on my right side, had I not painfully stomped on my right leg, regaining my sense of gravity in doing so.

I don't give him time to draw back on his stance though. As fast as I can, I throw my wounded arm to the side of his head. He's still on his stance and for a moment, I think there's no way he can dodge that!

But he does.

And at a really costy price.

All of a sudden, I feel something cold run up my fist, tearing away at it. The fucking knife..!

He blasts towards me in but a mere moment. One second feels long, and it was, because it was long enough to see his bloodshot eyes twitch inhumanly as yet another smile breaks upon his face. I realize I'm still standing awestruck. As still and dumbfounded as a statue.

One, two, three.

Three consecutive slashes. Too fast to act, too fast to even feel where the hell was I cut!

I jump as far as I can to the back and hope that wasn't far enough to drop off the building. But that should really be the least of my worries now, because the pain in my right side almost makes my brain go numb.

A heavy thumping in my right arm makes me feel as if it's about to blow. Blow and rupture into a million pieces of mushy flesh. My flickering eyesight picks up plenty, however.

Two deep cuts carved onto my arm. One extends vertically from the forearm all the way to my shoulder and the second a horizontal line right before my veins.

A burst of pain explodes inside of me and I feel like clawing away at my skin, tearing it all off.

The right side of my ribcage throbs awfully and I can see a thick, dark liquid pouring down, turning the previously white shirt into muddy red.

What.. the fuck...

How... too quick..!

Did he really do that, just in that second or so? ..but It wasn't even a full second!

"Ahh.. Mr. Detective, I'm quite disappointed here."

..!

"Just what were you thinking, coming right at me like that.. I must admit, I'm rather impressed by your actions!"

"Mr. Detective-ah!, which reminds me. Could you be kind enough so as to enlighten me with your name? At the very least, you would be acknowledged before dying!"

I try to think of a plan, what I should do next, but nothing comes out. My mind is in a daze, and all that lingers is that nauseating, vile laugh of his. It goes on and on, as if it's a broken cassette, looping eternally for ever and ever.

Will I really... die here?

"Oh well... I guess you've no plans of telling me, then?" His tone of speech quickly changes into a dark, sinister, sad one. "Very well, then. I shall remember you as nothing but another foolish detective, just like the rest of you I've killed."

--

And that was all it took, to get me back on track. That hatred.. the feeling as if the pain doesn't matter. What matters, is that I kill this son of a bitch.

Right here,

and right now.