Chapter II

  Dirt Cheap

  “DUSK!” Franz’ voice tore through the rain as he drew his sword. Before he could take a step towards his comrade, his angel swung in front of him. Two shots from Luka’s pistol compressed and came to a stop at its wing, followed by a third a moment later, then a fourth. His gun wouldn’t damage the angel, but he could keep Franz behind it for as long as possible if he spread out his shots.

  Dusk hauled himself off of Oswald’s blade and wrapped a hand around his wrist. His resonance roared to life not as a gently harmony or a discordant cry, but as a chorus of eight deep voices that soared to a crescendo. In his hand was a jade green orb, half a foot wide. As soon as it was fully formed, he turned and chest-pressed the ball towards Franz, who snuck an arm out from behind his angel to catch it. As Dusk started to run, Oswald came in hot pursuit.

  Like Dusk, Chelone flared his resonance to life. Like Luka, his call came in discord, three voices at three opposing pitches. A four large, metal swords came to life at his back. Grabbing the northern and southern ones, Chelone joined Oswald in the chase, shepherding Dusk back towards the centre of the yard.

  Luka finally ran out of ammo. Pulling the trigger twice, he heard it click and tutted in frustration. As soon as the shots stopped ringing, Franz set his angel to action, flying to intercept Chelone. As it left, he tore towards Luka with a vengeance. Luka whipped two long daggers out from behind his back and crossed them over his head, just in time to block a one-handed slash from Franz. Metal clashed against metal.

  “What the fuck are you doing man?” Franz hissed out in seething rage. Both men struggled against one another. Franz slid one leg back as Luka tried to stomp on his knee cap, then their lead legs collided as they attempted to knee one another in the cut. Franz brought an elbow up, releasing the weapons from their struggle and clipping Luka across the chin. The traitor stumbled backwards. Franz threw the jade orb across the yard.

  As the orb spiralled through the rain, Dusk dodged a descending cut from Chelone and, one hand on his wound, kicked the Vellichi turner in the gut. Seeing the orb, he leapt into the air and caught it. As soon as it touched his hand, it began to crackle with power and light. The game had begun. Franz angel intercepted a tail swipe from Oswald, then turned and extended a wing to block a stab from Chelone. The sword pierced through the stone, stopping short an inch from Dusk before getting torn back out.

  Oswald dove atop Franz’ statue, raking into it with its claws. Dusk vaulted over the two constructs and kept the pressure on Chelone, every slash against the Guardian Angel would only increase its defences against that form of attack, and Oswald didn’t have the firepower to blow it away in one hit. What commanded Dusk’s concern was Chelone, who took two steps back, away from the clashing summons.

  To Dusk, Chelone’s resonance was an unknown entity. As he filled the space left by the swordsman’s retreat, he slid low beneath a high slash and slammed his heel forward, connecting with his opponent’s gut and launching him backwards. There was no way to ascertain what Chelone’s resonance did right now, so Dusk had no choice but to pour the pressure on thick and never give him a chance to use it.

  Chasing him down, Dusk bowled the jade orb forward, straight into Chelone’s face. Stunned for a moment, Chelone watched the orb bounce into the air, then felt Dusk press his boot into his chest and leap up after it. As the detective caught the ball, the light and noise grew brighter and louder. Dusk descended with a forceful blow, an axe kick which Chelone narrowly dodged away from. For his evasive efforts, he was immediately rewarded with another kick to the stomach that drove him further into a corner.

  “Franz, swap!” Dusk turned and ran towards Franz, who rolled away from a pair of slashes from Luka and darted towards Chelone. As the two men passed each other, Dusk softly passed the ball to Franz. Sparks began to fly off of it as it exchanged bearers once more.

  “How many swaps?” Franz called as he ran.

  “Five, three more!” Dusk slid to a halt just out of range of another cut from Luka’s daggers. Winding a leg back to deliver another crushing kick, a stabbing pain shot up from his hip and he fell to one knee, clutching the wound that Oswald had given him. Before Luka could finish him off, however, Franz’ angel arrived. Swooping over Dusk’s kneeling body, it let loose another horizontal cut that shattered one of Luka’s daggers as he blocked with it. Dodging its second and third blow, Luka called out.

  “OSWALD! ON FRANZ!”

  The puppet heaved in delight and writhed across the ground towards its former comrade.

  Franz and Chelone were a flash of blades in the dark. With every step they whirled their swords in front of their bodies, searching for an avenue of attack. As he heard Oswald creeping up behind him, Franz found his silver thread first. Shifting his weight from his back leg onto his front, he threw himself forward and roared, slicing Chelone’s left arm off at the elbow. One of his long, white swords clattered against the ground and immediately shattered into an ephemeral nothingness as he roared out in pain.

  Turning to push his advantage, Franz had just enough time to sweep past Oswald’s scalpel as it slammed its mannequin-coils between him and his mark. Two clawed swipes went wide, while Franz’ riposte did nothing but send a spray of splinters coursing off of Oswald’s chest. Faced with an opponent he could not overwhelm; he leapt backwards and flicked his eyes towards the other side of the battlefield.

  Dusk had picked himself up and fished out his gun. As the Guardian Angel hounded Luka down, Dusk was content to provide ranged support, occasionally firing an uneasy shot to prevent Luka from disengaging from the stone warrior before him.

  Once Luka was driven a sufficient distance from him, he called to Franz. “Ready!”

  Crouching low, Franz dodged another tail swipe from Oswald which aimed at his legs. Leaping over it, he lobbed the orb towards Dusk. As the detective reaching out to catch it, another flare of pain shot through his body. He missed. The ball bounced once off of the gravels. Dusk dived to the floor to catch it before it hit the ground a second time, rolling to absorb the blow. Once he felt the energy within the orb spike a second time, he shouted out through the rain. “SAFE, TWO MORE!”

  His voice was drowned out by rushing winds. Chelone, knelt on the ground, staring at the stump of his shorn arm in rage. Holding the north-facing sword hih. Under his breath, he muttered. “First Concerti: Spring.” Ephemeral roses crawled out from beneath the gravels around him, spreading through the yard. Petals flew from them as they did, coalescing around his wound and taking on the structure of an arm, as though they were moulded to match his shape.

  Franz stepped left and right, trying to work his way around Oswald, but no matter where he moved the puppet blocked him by either claw or tail. Could he throw his sword? Even if he could hit Chelone, he would have to withdraw the angel and free up Luka afterwards. He took a deep breath, getting ready to raise his voice over the wind and rain.

  No words were needed. Oswald’s face jutted to the side as a black boot pressed against his chin. As Franz had danced around Oswald, Dusk had sprinted behind it and landed a firm kick to the side of its head, one arm pressing on the flat part of the scalpel blade, the other gently bowling the orb towards Franz’ open arm. It felt like Franz was holding a star. The battle was rapidly approaching its crescendo.

  Luka knew not to attack Franz’ angel. He knew that he did not have the necessary power to overwhelm its evolving defences. He knew that in this incarnation, it had adapted to bullets and assumed, after fighting Oswald, that it was nearing completion on its adaption to blades. He knew all of this. None of it made his battle any easier.

  The angel dragged its weapon through the ground as it robotically swung up. Luka nearly lost his head. In the background, he saw Dusk and Franz overwhelm Oswald, saw Chelone stood in a field of roses. Just as he stepped by another heavy blow, boils and cuts within his lungs flared up once again.

  Coughing and wheezing, he fell to a knee. He made a wild swing through the air, but felt an aberrant force hold him still. His sword had been forced to an early, harmless stop, inches away from the angel’s side. Driven to desperation by his spluttering, he had inadvertently finished the statue’s evolving defence. With its faultless defence enabled, the angel went in for the kill, slamming its stone blade into Luka’s hip and shattering it instantly, sending him falling to the ground in agony.

  A rush of exhilaration flooded Franz’ body as his angel learned once again to defend itself from slashes. Immediately, he called it back to his side. It tore through the air and drove its weapon into Oswald’s back, its scalpel still held down by Dusk.

  Oswald thrashed and slashed, harmlessly deflected by the angelic stone. Finally pulling its scalpel blade free, it launched two stabs towards Franz who parried them effortlessly.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Dusk slipped away from the puppet and raised an open hand to Franz. “Give it to me.” Franz tossed the orb to its owner, who caught it with an ugly, hateful grin on his face. As the jade landed in Dusk’s hands, the conditions were finally met. An unreal amount of power flooded into his arm, streamed through his chest and into the rest of his body. It would only last for a few seconds, he had to make them count.

  The gravel beneath Dusk’s feet erupted from the ground as he kicked off of it. Leaping into the air, he pulled his arm back and slammed his fist into Oswald’s head with all of his might. It sounded as though a thunderbolt had struck the warehouse yard. The wood and oily hair that made up Oswald’s form shattered all across its length, exploding as the force rippled through it. For a brief moment, the rain stopped falling.

  As Dusk landed, the fleeting force that flooded his body began to wane. First, he turned to Chelone, who watched idly by from his ring of flowers. His instinct was to tear the man apart, but then he saw Luka sprinting towards Franz, who stood with his hands over his ears as he endured the thunderous eruption that followed Dusk’s attack.

  Using what little time he had left, Dusk tore past Franz. Even if he were in perfect health, Luka would never have been able to defend himself from Dusk’s attack. He moved like a train, his forearm effortlessly shattering Luka’s dagger before his fist drove its way into the man’s stomach, destroying it instantly and launching him into the wall of the warehouse, smashing the brick wall and leaving Luka a broken mess, slumped within the rubble.

  Stood frozen for a moment, Dusk felt the force draining from his body. The effort of destroying Oswald and laying waste to Luka had burned through all of the energy that his resonance afforded him. Turning to face Franz, he mustered an apologetic smile before collapsing onto the floor, blood oozing out of his earlier stab wound.

  Franz froze for a moment as he turned and watched Dusk fall. Instantly, he whipped his angel around to face Chelone, racing alongside it to attack the man. As the two raced over the roses, the petals that clung to Chelone’s arm fell to the ground and revealed a new limb of flesh and bone, naked under the rain. Instantly, Chelone dropped the northern sword and whipped both arms behind his back to grab the other two.

  Taking a defensive step back and flourishing his weapons, he raised his voice once more. “Second Concerti: Summer!” The eastern sword took on a golden glow, and a heavy pressure flooded the air around Chelone. As the angel bore down upon him, he blocked its blade and pulled his knee up to his chest before kicking the angel. Though the force bore no comparison to the explosion of power that Dusk had demonstrated, it sent the angel careening backwards and cracked the stone around its stomach.

  Franz swerved around the angel as it rocketed passed him. Stepping up to bat, he swung once into Chelone, who effortlessly batted his sword away. Franz narrowly dodged a heavy swing from Chelone’s glowing blade, springing backwards to gain some space. As the Vellichi hounded him down, he brought his angel in between them to absorb the sword blow. Though his resonance had increased his physical prowess, Chelone could not overwhelm the statue’s evolving defence, tutting in frustration as his sword grinded to a halt inches away from its stone wing.

  “Any chance I can convince you to come quietly?” Franz called from behind the angel. As he did, it drove forward and pressed its blade against Chelone’s sword.

  Chelone didn’t respond, crouching slightly to absorb the force of the angel’s stone sword. At first, it seemed as though they were physically equal, but Chelone soon began to get the better of their exchange. As he started to overpower the angel, he saw a flicker of light and instinctively swept his other weapon out to his side. It swung through the air and collided with a masterless blade, swatting Franz’s thrown sword to the side.

  Chelone only had time enough to turn his head over his occupied shoulder. Crouching on the ground to his side, Franz had rolled past the angel and out of his line of sight after throwing the sword. Swinging all of the momentum from his role up, he drove his heel into Chelone’s chin.

  Immediately, one world became two. Chelone’s vision blurred and he stumbled away. The angel pulled its sword away from the clash and slashed across his torso, slamming him into the chain link fence that surrounded the warehouse yard. As Franz turned his head to follow his launched opponent, his heart fell into his stomach.

  The driver that had accompanied Chelone stood by an open door on the other side of the car, holding his umbrella out. A figure cloaked entirely in black emerged. As he turned, Franz squinted in confusion at the beaked, black mask that covered their face. The plague doctor walked silently around the car to Chelone’s side, beckoning the driver to follow him.

  “That’s quite enough roughhousing, thank you.” A man’s calm but creaky voice crept out from behind the mask. “Help Mr. Vellichi back into the car please, Tomas.” The driver nodded and lifted Chelone to his feet, walking him slowly back to the car.

  Spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor, Chelone threw the driver’s arm off of him and shakily stood to his feet. “Don’t you fucking put me in the car you pretentious twat.” Stepping forward, he fell onto a knee again. The plague doctor turned his head over his shoulder and called back. “You are severely concussed, sit back in the car and wait for me to join you. I’m not some employee for you to holster your ego upon, Mr. Vellichi.”

  “Yeah, Chelone, go sit in the car. I’ll come deal with you in a minute.” Franz whipped up a false bravado, puffing his chest out and baring his canines in a forced smile.

  “Mr. Maregold!“ The doctor’s raised a palm in offence, as though he had been offered rotten food. “Please, let’s be– “

  “Captain Maregold.” Franz interrupted, narrowing his brow in annoyance as he watched Chelone flip him off and wordlessly wander back towards the car. He would have to deal with this doctor first.

  “Captain Maregold, you know just as well as I do that those men laying behind you wont last much longer out here. Their wounds are too severe, the conditions are too harsh. Might I suggest that we peacefully withdraw? Perhaps you can still save your friends life.” The man held one hand over the other as he spoke, occasionally gesticulating with points and waves toward Dusk and the warehouse district surrounding them. “I’m sure the police will appreciate having fewer bodies to bag and identify, all parties involved benefit from our armistice tonight.”

  Stood drenched in the rain, Franz’ angel knelt upon the ground and gently scooped up Dusk, before taking flight. It soared over fences walling the warehouse, then the rooves of the surrounding buildings, flying until it became a faint speck against the mist and midnight rain. Franz grinned like a man possessed.

  “Withdraw? Armistice? You’ve got me confused with someone else. You make it sound like I have to choose between saving him and arresting you two. I don’t. I’m Franz Maregold. Body bag or handcuffs, I’m taking both of you in. What’s it gonna be?”

  “That’s disappointing to hear.” The figure nodded sadly before striding towards Luka’s unconscious form. As their resonance flourished to life, a single, polyphonic hum crackled across the yard, as though the one who sung it had not seen water in weeks. Franz picked up his sword, spinning it into a comfortable position in his hand, then sprang towards the plague doctor, who remained steadfast in his course towards Luka.

  As Franz stepped into striking range, his foot landing firmly in the man’s shadow, a sudden and creeping cold crept through his body. His fingers slipped from the blade, his arm fell limp and numb, his legs gave out beneath him. He didn’t even feel the pain of his chin splitting against the stones. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get his lungs to move, they sat inert in his chest.

  “I have never been able to tell exactly how long a person stays alive in your situation. I do so hope you can hear me, though.” The plague doctor crouched down and scooped up Luka’s body, blood pouring over his coat. “We have known for quite some time that you were coming here tonight, Luka was very diligent, the poor man, though I suppose we will never have to offer him the treatment that we initially promised, which might help us budget in other areas… Regardless, we have scapegoats willing to take the fall for your passing here tonight.”

  A boot clashed into Franz’ face, turning him over to stare into the rain. The masked face emerged, hovering over him as he felt his heartbeat slow. “You are not a martyr; your death provides nothing. Here and now, you will die alone, nothing but rain and failure to see you off. Goodnight, Captain Maregold.”

  Rain-stained Franz’ uniform as he thought of home. Somewhere behind him, he heard the car pull out and drive away. An hour later, his dim and fading senses would detect the fading life of his angel, his resonance’s duration lapsing not far from home. Commanding the angel to expend its last moments of life leaving Dusk in front of a nearby hospital, he finally relaxed and let himself sink into the cold embrace of death.