Scene 2
Ghelfunn stood his ground. No more running. If the demonlord chased him into the alley for a showdown, so be it. The dark, wet, and crusty alley floor was dirty with garbage, mostly tossed from the windows overlooking it. A pile of old shells was stuffed into one corner near the entrance, a broken gate hung loosely on its hinges creaking in the wind. The smell of rotten food filled the air.
The rains have subsided at least, Ghelfunn thought. He didn't mind a fight in the rain, but he preferred to stay dry during a fight. The battle with this demonlord was going to be tough enough. He didn't need the rain adding to the mess.
Cilghor the Infected stood in front of him twenty feet away. Cilghor had been chasing Ghelfunn for days but could not catch him. As a swiftfoot from the hills, Ghelfunn ran like a deer. Cilghor was slow, like an oxbeast. Cilghor knew he must trap Ghelfunn in a place like this, in an alley with no exit. The two enemies knew each other from the Old Days when they fought on opposite sides of the Pilgrim Wars. Cilghor hated Ghelfunn's guts and wanted to spill them out and take a bite, as was the manner in which demonlords celebrated a victory. Eating a piece of one's enemy was sacred duty.
"You have decided to fight," Cilghor said. "Tired of the chase?"
"Not tired. Just bored," Ghelfunn said, stiffening his muscles. "I'm hungry, but I don't mind killing a demonlord before dinner." He offered Cilghor a smile.
"The others I killed were not smiling," Cilghor said. "They were not bored, either. They died under my gaze like slaughtered pigs."
Slowly, methodically, the demonlord raised his four arms and took an aggressive posture that Ghelfunn had seen many times. Cilghor showed fisted claws at the end of each upper arm. He was ready to punch, like a fighter entering the arena. His two lower arms were outstretched, each hand holding a blade. The knives glistened in the darkness of the alleyway from the shining lamps nearby. Ghelfunn had seen knives like this before, but usually much larger. Cilghor's blades were smaller and seemed more dangerous. Demonlords were known for their skill with the blade. Their four hands could expertly handle swords and knives of every kind. The blades were made of the finest metal.
Cilghor began to swing his lower arms, cutting the putrid air with each blade as if swatting flimens. The blades moved so fast Ghelfunn could hardly see them. A blur of steel and wood protruded from Cilghor's lower arms as his upper arms tightened and bulged with blood pouring into his large veins, making them pulsate with each heartbeat.
Ghelfunn did nothing. He stood his ground like a stone statue. The smile left his lips, but that was the only sign he was ready for a fight.
At that moment, Cilghor stepped forward quickly and began his assault. The demonlord's clinched fists targeted Ghelfunn's upper body and face. His bladed lower arms were aimed at the waist and below, hoping to critically carve a thigh tendon or perhaps slash the groin. In the old days as a soldier, Cilghor quickly overcame an enemy this way, by pounding the head, strangling the neck, stabbing the lower extremities, using his four arms to punch, grip, strangle, slash, and stab an enemy from head to toe.
Ghelfunn knew these tactics. He was ready.
As Cilghor came forward, Ghelfunn immediately hit the ground in a slide. Using the wet surface to move smoothly and quickly like a snake, Ghelfunn slid under the demonlord's lower arms and their knives. Cilghor harmlessly slashed through the air making no contact. Cilghor's upper arms were also useless, having nothing to punch. Ghelfunn's slide took him straight through a path between Cilghor's enormous legs. Once through, now behind Chilghor, Ghelfunn swung to his feet facing the back of Cilghor's agitated body.
The entire movement took Ghelfunn seconds to execute.
Ghelfunn quickly reached for a circlespar hanging on his belt. He had to hurry. With his right hand, Ghelfunn tossed the circlespar like an arrow tip directly at the back of Cilghor's neck. Before the demonlord could turn around and face Ghelfunn, the circlespar entered Cilghor's neck and sliced its way through the throat, completely separating the demonlord's head from his torso. Cilghor crumbled to the ground in a heap of sweaty bewilderment. Ghelfunn had moved so fast, with such confidence, Cilghor never had a chance. The fight was over in less than thirty seconds.
The small, thin, cylindrical circlespar took a reverse path to Ghelfunn's waiting right hand. Ghelfunn placed the deadly serrated blade back on his belt. Cilghor's blood dripped from the blade staining Ghelfunn's pants.
Ghelfunn stood over the dead carcass of the demonlord Cilghor the Infected. He removed the two blades firmly gripped by Cilghor's lower hands; the tendril-like claws still wrapped around the hilts. Ghelfunn placed the blades in the small of his back beneath his cloak, snuggly using his belt to hold them in place. He smiled at his old enemy.
"Time to eat," Ghelfunn said.
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