Knight's Quest

Chapter XXVII: The Ninja

The ninja stares back at you from across the room. His arm reaching for the mirror. You didn’t care much for the mirror before, but it now seems to take on a whole new value. You can’t allow this possible threat take away a possible treasure. You must act fast, he is a ninja after all. These thoughts rush through your mind in less than a second, because that might be all the time you have with this guy.

I waste no time and tear the towel off of my waist. I use it like a whip to snatch the mirror towards myself, catching it as it flies to me.

The ninja is startled by your quick moves with the towel and by your nudity. However, being a ninja, with ninja reflexes, he quickly pounces on you with a blade in hand.

I whip my towel again, this time grabbing his wrist holding the blade and throw him at the wall behind me.

The blade cuts the towel, so it fails to properly grab him. However, it does cause the ninja to lose his accuracy and miss you. He lands next to you and rolls on the floor.

I jump over to him and put one of my feet on his neck and the other on his wrist holding the blade.

You are standing over to him naked. He swings his free left hand at your leg on his neck, knocking you over. You land next to the blade. Your head clothe has loosened a little, draping lower on your head.

I punch his right arm, hoping to loosen his grip and take the knife from him.

One perfectly placed punch causes his hand to release the knife and you are able to quickly snatch it. It hurts your wrist to do this, but the adrenaline masks the pain.

I climb onto his chest, my legs pressing down his arms. I hold the knife to his throat. “Who are you?” I breathe heavily.

Sweat drips off your forehead, over the head clothe, and onto him. He remains silent.

I pull off his mask.

He still says nothing, not even a grumble. His face is unfamiliar, with a scar across his mouth.

“Can you speak?”

He does not respond. Sweat coming from his face as well.

“Just nod or shake your head.”

He squints his eyes. They are hard to read, but you can make out anger and frustration.

“You’re so unhelpful.”

He looks you dead in the eye, as if to intimidate you are scare you away.

“What’s so great about this?” I shove the mirror in his face.

His eyes change to that of worry or hope. He stares into the mirror as if looking for a lost loved one, or a puppy searching for his master. He seems to not know what to do.

“What is so special about this that you would sneak in here for it?”

He is still silent, determined and strong.

“Tell me, or I break it.”

He looks at you with fright, true fear, or is it just panic? He breathes rapidly, thinking, and then he says nervously. “I’ll… talk.” His voice is young and scared.

“Okay, then talk. What is special about this mirror?”

“That mirror… is…. is.” He is shaking and sweating even more than before.