Thunder Rider's Ascension

The sound of clashing steel filled the room as my adversary and I exchanged attacks. I found ways to parry each thrust and stroke he delivered, and he ways to counter mine. We danced the deadly dance of the swordsman, each seeking the right of first blood. Thrust and parry, attack, defend, strike counterstrike, the battle continued. My actions became more and more fluid with each exchange. My opponent continued his attacks, but his bravado was beginning to wane. Our battle had begun with him having the decided advantage, the tide was beginning to turn and my adversary found himself more and more defending rather than attacking.

“Daviot must be short of great swordsman, if you’re the best they got!” I taunted. His response was no more than a grunt followed by an off balanced attack that carried him stumbling over the unconscious bodies of his fellow club members. Derrick caught him by the collar of his shirt and flung him back in my direction.

“Harley, catch!” Derrick shouted.

As Basoria passed me tumbling in the other direction, I caught him on the side of his face with the tip of my blade. First blood was drawn and it was mine!

Basoria screamed and clutched his face. “You bastard!” He looked at the blood on his hand and then to the stain forming on the front of his shirt. He charged me in a rage, his blade swinging wildly before him.

I deflected the strike and pivoted as he passed. Again using only the tip of my blade, I caught Basoria behind his right knee and severed his hamstring. His leg gave way and he fell to the floor. His sword spun from his hands and clattered as it slid into the corner. Basoria crouched in a puddle of blood and began to sob. I stepped in front of him and looked upon the miserable excuse of a man, an evil man without so much as one redeeming quality as I could figure. He was a molester of children, a murderer, a pompous, arrogant and selfish man.

“Don’t hurt me please, I beg you!” he cried. “I’ll give you anything you want; I have money, lots of money. It’s yours. I have three homes, take them. I beg you. My wife and daughters, take them, do as you will with them just don’t kill me.” He sobbed.

The son of a bitch had offered his wife and daughters in exchange for his life. What kind of sick and perverted individual would make such an offer? I had only recently chosen to spare the life of one evil man. I had been having reservations about that decision from the moment it left my mouth. I wasn’t going to have those reservations again.

“To hell with you, you sick bastard!” I screamed. With all the force I could muster, I brought the Sword of Braelor swiftly and fatally across his neck, severing his head from his body and forever ending his despicable existence. You’re probably noting my seeming affinity to “go for the throat” so to speak. You’ll never accuse me of taking a knife to a gunfight. Way I figure it, only a fool leaves a fight unfinished. My business with Basoria was done.

About the Author

Growing up reading Tolkien, Brooks and King, Chris Madonia learned the love of story telling. This is his first published work, reflecting his love of heros, motorcycles, magic, and monsters. Chris lives in middle America and works as a Transportation Security Officer.