Young Writers Society

Actually, what Aiden meant to say was that was the third night that week that Mike had called us in a drunken stupor, prank calling us, his best friends, who knew his voice anywhere, even with a dozen or so beers in his gut.

the you got the victory kegger bash on Saturday night

In comparison, Aiden and I looked like tiny—it was like comparing the hobbits to the Cave Troll in Tolkien’s famous trilogy.

devout followers of the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints—commonly known as Mormons--and boy did they hate us ungoldy folk...

.....

“Well, your parents can kiss my--”

“That was beautiful, Mike,” I told him, crinkling my nose in distaste.

Short and compact, he moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, but radiated the sheer power and ferocity of a cage fighter.

I planted my palms on the ground, pushing myself to my feet. Looking to my left, I saw Aiden move to help Mike to his feet. Mike shrugged Aiden away, putting his feet under him and standing tall.

“You’re just a child! What are you!”

Hunter wrote:Mike Reynolds, star of the Dorrison High Varsity Team, was scared out of his mind. Lol, good beginning. Scared that Aiden’s injury might be fatal, scared of the wiry bastard that had overpowered the both of them so easily; and perhaps most of all, scared of Hunter, who was obviously not himself. Hunter, who was usually so timid, who always avoided confrontation, who had, mere moments ago, placed a sword to Mike’s neck and drawn blood.

He let his hand drop onto the side of Aiden’s neck. There was a pulse, and it was strong under his fingertips. He wasn’t sure what it meant, exactly, but to his untrained touch it felt like Aiden would pull through. As Hunter stepped forward after ignoring his last question, Mike stood up from Aiden. When Hunter’s blade clashed with the other man’s, Mike jumped–he’d barely noticed that either of them had moved. The smaller fighter retaliated, and Hunter took a short step backward to parry the blow before pressing the attack again.

As the two fought, Mike inched his way toward the girl, who had been all but forgotten by the other occupants of the alley. As he looked from the girl, back to the duel being fought before him, her saw the man with the long knife glance his way with those eyes that glinted with maniacal delight, as if he intended to break away from Hunter and go for him, instead. The look was not unnoticed by Hunter, though, who seemed more perturbed by the fact that man was not focused on him, rather than that Mike was in danger. Mike’s long time friend bared his teeth and uttered a guttural growl, then pressed his attack forward, drawing the smaller man’s full attention.

In all the years Mike had known Hunter, he’d never known him to be aggressive. To Mike’s knowledge, he’d never been in a fight; Hell, Mike would have been surprised if Hunter had ever done anything that could be perceived as aggressive. The Hunter standing before him was not the guy Mike had grown up with. Something in Hunter’s eyes, the way his brow had dropped into a permanent scowl, or the way his lips were curled back in a snarl, an expression that seemed so alien to his normally soft features.

And the way he fought! The two men were moving almost too quickly for Mike to follow, and much too quickly, he was sure, for him to react to, were he in Hunter’s position. The more Mike watched, mesmerized, the more confused he became. Hunter’s hobbies consisted mostly of video games, women, and pool, not bloodsports and knife fighting. Hunter, who to Mike’s knowledge had never held a sword in his life was throwing chops, thrusts, cuts, and a dozen other maneuvers Mike couldn’t begin to name, like he’d been doing it all his life. Run-on sentence. Even as he watched, Hunter deftly batted aside the smaller man’s weapon, and turned his parry into a thrust, moving to impale his opponent, who nimbly jumped back just out of Hunter’s reach. The scowl on Hunter’s face melted, then, and a smile formed. His adversary danced away from him for a moment, and glanced down at his chest, where a small tear in his shirt was quickly filling with crimson. The two men exchanged a few hushed words that Mike didn’t catch, then the smaller man jumped forward with renewed ferocity, driving Hunter back a step.

The smile on Hunter’s face (for it was not Hunter’s smile) remained, even when he was pushed back by the sheer intensity behind the attacks. Hunter’s smile, as Mike knew it, was often seen, and it warmed the heart of everyone around him. The smile itself was expressed using every feature of Hunter’s face, but most prominently in his eyes, which sparkled with delight. His smile was as contagious as it was warming, and everyone around him could not help but follow suit. The grin that sat perched on his face at that moment, however, did not belong to the normally amiable young man standing in front of him. In fact, it was more akin to that of the psychopath standing opposite him; predatory, blindly confident, and utterly mirthless.

“Dude, that party was awesome!” Michael said for the third time that night, his speech slurred by a few too many beers at a local kegger. He stumbled along the sidewalk, my hand on his shoulder to help keep him walking in a straight line.

Aiden let out an exasperated sigh. “Mike, you’re such an idiot sometimes,” he said. I smiled a little at Aiden’s discomfort with the situation. “I’m really getting tired of this, Hunter—it’s the third time this week he’s called us to come get him!” Actually, what Aiden meant to say was that was the third night that week that Mike had called us in a drunken stupor, prank calling us, his best friends, who knew his voice anywhere, even with a dozen or so beers in his gut. [This flows a little awkwardly. Perhaps ‘Actually, what Aiden meant to say was that it was the third night that week that Mike had called us in a drunken stupor…’]

“Well yeah dude, think about it--you’ve got the beginning of the week party, the pre-game party on Friday, [s]the[/s] then you got the victory kegger bash on Saturday night—come on Aiden, everyone knows these things,” I explained, counting the parties off on my fingers as I went. Mike was the star center of the Dorrison High varsity football team; at six feet, five inches tall and three hundred pounds of pure muscle, he certainly fit the part. Mike stumbled away, leaning on a fire hydrant as he shook with laughter. He nearly engulfed the thing; the hydrant looked like a toy next to his hulking form. In comparison, Aiden and I looked [s]like[/s] tiny—it was like comparing the hobbits to the Cave Troll in Tolkien’s famous trilogy.

“Plus…who could ignore a party with the entire cheerleading team attending?” I finished with a wink to Mike.

Mike’s face split into a stupid grin, his dull brown eyes taking on an uncharacteristic spark. “I’ll give that a hell yeah!” [s]He[/s] he said, a little too loudly. I looked around [s]the street[/s] and found it uncomfortably deserted, even for three in the morning. A sudden breeze swept through the street, stirring up refuse and sending a chill up my spine despite my cozy fleece pullover. [The repetition of street stands out a little roo much but that first sentence makes sense without it.] Everything about the street seemed to loom over me, the wide spread street lights casting sinister shadows that threatened to spring to life any second. I shook my head a little and smiled despite myself: you’re starting to sound like Mike after he’s had a few drinks, Hunter.

“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!” Mike slurred, his hand still raised high. I chuckled at his drunken antics, then slapped him five, having to reach high to meet his hand. Doing my best to shake away the lingering sense of impending danger, I looked back at Aiden. He was staring at me, his judgemental, hazel eyes full of disapproval. [Good characterization so far.]

“Why do I even bother associating with you two?” Aiden said, raking a hand through his hair. It was a question that he had asked and had answered countless times before.

“Probably because we’ve known you since you were born,” I said, my typical reply to his question. Aiden was a year younger than us, and our parents had all known each other for years.

“That’s not the point—Mike’s a drunk, and YOU [I’m not sure that I like the use of full caps. I think bold or possibly italics would be just as effective.] support him! What would my parents say?” Aiden said. He and his family were devout followers of the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints—commonly known as Mormons--and boy did they hate us [s]ungoldy[/s] ungodly folk; Mike was an atheist and myself, agnostic.

“Well, your parents can kiss my--” Mike’s insult was cut off as I punched him hard in the shoulder. I was sure I felt two of my knuckles break against his deltoids; it was akin to punching an Abrams tank.

“To each his own, I suppose. He’s my buddy, just like you; I back you up, no matter how stupid you act,” I said, referring as much to Aiden as to Mike. “You could always NOT [Again, bold or italics. Save the full caps for when you need a real impact if you must use them at all. But I think you‘re a good enough writer to not need to.] hang out with us, right? It’s not like you’re obligated to keep an eye on us, you know.”
“Besides, dude--how could you resist a dude with these guns!” Mike said, flexing a massive bicep.

“…But he’s just so DUMB [Bold/ italics =)] sometimes!” Aiden said, ignoring Mike. Through our exchange, Mike had been walking between us, turning his head to each speaker. He cut me off when I opened my mouth to respond to Aiden.

“Hey guys, I may be pretty drunk, but I can still hear you, you know…” he mumbled half-coherently. All three of us shared a laugh, and for the moment all our troubles ceased to exist—it was just the three of us having a good time out on the town.

Then Mike decided it was a good time to be sick. Mid-laugh, he suddenly doubled over and heaved all over the pavement.

“That was beautiful, Mike,” I told him, crinkling my nose in distaste.

Aiden opened his mouth, presumably to say something snide about Mike’s drinking habits, but her never got the chance.

A scream split the night’s eerie silence.

***

Jessica sat on the cold, crummy ground of the alley, staring wide eyed in horror at her captors, her face contorted in a mask of absolute terror. They stood before her, the smaller of the two nearly dancing with anticipation. His black hair hung over his face, concealing his features from her, making him all the more frightening. Short and compact, he moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, but radiated the sheer power and ferocity of a cage fighter.

She vaguely recalled when he had punched her in the gut, knocking her senseless, and then throwing her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a child. She had met the two of them only hours before, in a night club she frequented. He had introduced himself as Mal, buying her a drink. Slightly drunk, she had been enamored by his wit and entranced by his looks, and foolishly followed the two onto the streets. [Normally I’d say yuck info dump but you actually managed to make it pretty interesting and it flows quite nicely with the bulk of your story. Good work.]

The tall one said little, his head topped by a wide-brimmed fedora and his body covered by a long overcoat. Jessica had yet to determine the color of his eyes or the color of his skin, the man hid so well in [s]ths[/s] this clothing.

“Mal” [Hmmm. Maybe use ’Mal’ instead so that it can’t be mistaken for speech.] wore a tight black t-shirt and baggy black cargo pants. A tattoo ran down the length of his left arm, ending in a starburst that traversed his fingers. A crimson crescent moon was tattooed onto the back of his hand in the center of the starburst. [I think the last sentence could be said in a more imaginative way. Something a little less neutral and observant. Maybe ’A crimson crescent moon littered the back of his hand, grasped in the center of the starburst.’] On his right arm [Comma here.] he wore a leather gauntlet, held together by five thick buckles. He had large eyes, a pale[s] commplexion,[/s] complexion and a strong, jutting jaw.

“Tasty,” he muttered lustily.

“This isn’t wise, Malnere,” the other muttered to his companion.

Jessica pushed herself along the dirty cement until she felt the cold brick of the alley wall at her back. Her head still swam from the alcohol, and her stomach hurt from Mal’s blow.

“If you’re so worried, watch the bloody street and I’ll do her myself,” Mal snarled, as if he was enraged at the mere thought of someone disagreeing with him. Jessica whimpered and drew her knees up to her breast; she knew his type well. [s]Mel[/s] Mal pushed his companion toward the mouth of the alley and turned back to Jessica. The more cautious of her captors, the tall man in the coat, looked out from under his hat and glanced at her before turning away. His eyes, cold and black, held no compassion within them, no sympathy for this young lady. She watched in horror as he turned his back on her and walked to edge of the alley.

“Be quick—sunrise is in two hours,” was all he said as he left. [s]Melnere’s[/s] Malnere’s eyes flashed, gleaming with malice. With a flick of his wrist, a long knife slipped from his gauntlet and into his waiting hand. The steel caught a beam of moonlight and bent it, glinting in Jessica’s eyes.

“This will hardly take that long, mate.” The corners of Mal’s mouth tugged into a wide grin. Jessica found her voice and screamed.

***

It was a markedly feminine scream, a scream of utter terror.

As one, we looked down the street. I swore under my breath.

“’The fuck was that?” I said.

“Let’s check it out,” Mike said. He spit on the cement and wiped his mouth. He no longer seemed drunk. A determined glint came into his dark eyes. That feeling of impending doom once again overtook me.

“No!” I barked, before I could begin to stop myself. Both Mike and Aiden drew back a little, not used to hearing such fervor in my voice.

“What the Hell, Hunter!” Mike said.

“So…what, you think we should just leave?” Aiden asked. I stared blankly at both of them.

“What are we supposed to do? We’re just kids,” I said, defending my position without knowing why. That probably would have worked on anyone but Mike—according to him, a kid of seventeen was ready to take on the world.

Mike shouldered past me and strode quickly down the street. Aiden looked at me, shrugged, then followed Mike.

I stood there for a moment, the rank smell of vomit invading my nostrils. Why was I so intent on staying out of whatever was going on? Somehow, I couldn’t rid myself of that nagging sense that something greater than a trio of high school kids was happening.
“I’m going to regret this,” I muttered, taking off after my friends. I quickly caught up to them, for they were only a few steps away.

“Why did you stop?” I asked.

“Don’t know where to go,” Mike said. “Can’t see a thing in this fog...” Indeed, he was right. A thick fog had materialized seemingly out of nowhere, [Maybe this would read more smoothly as something like ’A thick fog had gathered out of nowhere…’] covering the streets until we could only see a few steps in front of us.

A second shriek, just as terrified and pain-filled as the first, cut me to the bone. It was more distant this time, farther away than the first.

“Come on!” Mike said, taking off at a run.

“We don’t know where we’re going!” I yelled, sprinting after him. I heard Aiden’s surprised shout behind us, but was intent on keeping up with the more hot headed (and not to mention drunk) of my friends.

“Come on Mike, don’t be an idiot!” I huffed, my legs pumping and my breath quickly growing short.

“I’ll quit being an idiot when you quit being a little bitch,” he grunted back, glancing about furiously, trying to find the source of the scream. The fog seemed to be thickening before our eyes; within seconds it was so thick I could barely make out Mike’s hulking form beside me.

“The things I do for you,” I muttered, focusing on keeping track of the determined Center. I quickly began to tire. Thin as I was, but totally out of shape. Even with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, my breath grew ragged and my shouts grew hoarse. I was distinctly aware of my Nikes slamming on the ground and my fingertips cutting the air as my arms pumped. But the texture of the air was somehow different than usual. I would swear that I could feel the grain of the oxygen, touch the individual dust particles in the air. I could hear Mike’s perfectly conditioned lungs take in great gulps of air effortlessly and expel a burst of carbon dioxide just as efficiently, powering his muscles like a river through a waterwheel. A quick, steady knocking sound echoed in my ears, nearly drowning out the rest of the world.

Suddenly, the pungent scent of body odor concealed by deodorant was thick as the fog in the street, entering my nose, and nearly making me choke. Mike’s cologne was even worse; the spicy scent I barely noticed earlier now stung my nostrils, taking my breath away. I stopped in mid-stride, overtaken by the sudden sensory overload. I gasped for breath, great gouts of air spewing from my throat. My throat was on fire! Smog, dirt, sweat and saliva mingled in my mouth, setting it ablaze with unfamiliar flavor.

The onslaught of sensory detail dropped me to my knees. I tried to call out to Mike, but my voice left me. I could still hear his footsteps keenly, and the other, louder thunderous pounding at my ears continued. I closed my eyes and concentrated on catching my breath. Slowly, slowly, I was able to draw a weak breath into my lungs without my scorched throat thrusting the air away. The blacktop beneath my fingertips felt completely different than it had ever before. It was so much more complex; before, it was merely rough to the touch. At that moment, it was much more than that. It was hundreds of thousands of rocks, embedded in a smooth, dry tar, and I could feel every individual rock, and every space between the tiny pebbles. I raised my hand to my face, and opened my eyes.

I could see every line of my palm. Each and every [s]miniscule[/s] minuscule ridge of skin was perfectly defined, creating dazzling patterns along the flesh of my hand. Barely visible through my skin, I could make out veins of blood carrying the blue cells through my circulatory system. Making my hand into a fist, I could see the blood rush to the muscles of my arm to clench my fingers together. I dropped my hand back down to the pavement, again marveling at the texture of it. Slowly, I turned my gaze up, back onto the street. The fog had vanished. Mike was still running, about thirty feet ahead of me, though I could see him as clearly as if he were standing right beside me. Every detail of the street was clear to me. Nothing was unseen; not the mouse scurrying across the pile of trash near a dumpster at the mouth of an alley, nor the beetle it was chasing after. I followed the mouse with my eyes a moment, crawling over the bag of trash, then dropping down onto the sidewalk, quickly darting across the alley, climbing up onto the shiny leather of a finely polished boot…

My eyes snapped up to catch the burning red eyes of a tall, thin man in a black fedora. [I thought his eyes were black when the girl described them?]

His eyes widened in surprise as my eyes met his.

“Shit,” I heard him whisper, even from fifty feet away. He immediately ducked back into the alley, hissing to someone unseen.

“Mal! Someone’s coming, damn it!” his voice, barely audible from down the alley, echoed in my ears. Growling, I pushed myself to my feet and stalked toward the alley. My fists, clenched at my side, stung as my fingernails dug into my palms. Every muscle in my body was coiled and ready to spring. A fiery fury boiled up inside me at the sight of this man in black. The sound of his voice infuriated me, as did the crimson tone of his eyes. Something about him was oddly familiar—and I despised it.

Out of nowhere, a hand fell onto my shoulder. I whirled about, raising my fist in outrage.

The intruder raised his hands to his face in a pitiful defense.

“Hunter, it’s me!” he cried out. Aiden stood before me, cringing in fear. I slowly lowered my hand, astounded by my reaction to his touch.

“Jesus Aiden, you scared the Hell out of me,” I whispered, trying in vain to justify my reaction.

“Sorry…are you okay? I saw you fall…” he asked me, slowly putting his hands down.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I told him quickly. “There’s an alley over there. That’s where the scream came from,” I continued, gesturing in the direction of the alleyway.

“You sure?” he asked, squinting into the gloom of the fog. I flinched, realizing the fog had returned. I could no longer taste the air, or smell everything in the area. Once again, I could barely see Aiden beside me.

“Positive.” I nodded to my friend. “Go get Mike; he headed that way. Bring him back to the alley. I’ll do what I can do help right now.” I pointed in the direction Mike had been running. When Aiden paused to regard me, I pushed him toward Mike. “Go!” I hissed. “If something’s wrong, we might need Mike’s muscle!”

Reluctantly, and with a glance back at me, Aiden jogged down the street, calling Mike’s name. Watching him for a moment to make sure he did not double back, I turned and walked slowly toward the direction of the alley I had seen. Stepping lightly, I squinted into the thick fog and moved as quickly as I dared, my shoes not even making anything small as a scuffle on the damp blacktop.

“Stupidest thing ever…” I found myself muttering, probably in reference to what I was doing. Quite suddenly, I found myself staring at the brick wall of a nearby building. It was mere inches from my face. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I whispered. I put my hand on the wall, allowing my fingers to lightly drag across the expertly hewn bricks as I walked along the wall. I came to the opening of the alley, and paused. I listened intently, willing myself to hear what I had heard earlier. This is stupid. You SURE [Bold/ italics. In fact, the thought itself should be in italics so have the word in bold.] you haven’t been drinking with Mike? I asked myself silently. I strained to hear anything from the alley, but nothing issued from the pitch black void I stood at the mouth of. As I started to lean over to look down into the alley, I heard a heavy footstep behind me. Stepping back onto the relative safety of the sidewalk, I turned to see Mike running straight toward the alley.

There is no way he’s that stupid, I thought. I was wrong. He barreled straight into the alleyway, shouldering me aside.

“Move your ass, Hunter—“ he started to say. I heard a sharp impact and a grunt of pain as Mike literally flew back into the street, landing hard on the blacktop. Remembering the distinctly rough texture of the tar, I winced as I saw his face scrape along the [s]miniscule[/s] minuscule stones. Even as Mike skidded to a halt, nearly bowling over Aiden, I heard a series of near-silent footfalls as someone ran down the alley, toward Mike’s prone form. On an instinct, almost uncontrollably, I swung my arm hard as the man strode out of the alley. There was a blur of motion, a firm hand clamped onto my wrist, and then suddenly I was skidding along the pavement alongside Mike. A sharp pain flared up on my hip where I had struck the pavement, and my cheek scraped painfully across the gravel. I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the red leather of Aiden’s sneakers.

“If you value your lives, you will leave now.” The man’s gravely voice echoed through the street.

I planted my palms on the ground, pushing myself to my feet. Looking to my left, I saw Aiden move to help Mike to his feet. Mike shrugged Aiden away, putting his feet under him and standing tall.

“Who the Hell are you?” Mike demanded, taking a menacing step forward. The man didn’t even blink. Mike was at least six inches taller and outweighed the man by a hundred pounds, but if he was intimidated, he gave no sign.

“It is none of your concern,” the man said. Mike’s fists clenched at his side, and he strode toward the man.

“Stay back,” I said to Aiden, putting a hand on his shoulder as I walked after Mike.

“No problem; you guys are crazy,” he muttered in reply. Mike stepped up to the man until he was breathing in his face.

“Step back, child. If you value your life, you will back away, and go about your business,” the man said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of a threat. Mike gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists. I could see the muscles in his jaw tightening as he struggled to contain his anger.

“Child—I’m not a kid, you little bastard. If you don’t step aside, you’re going to get a beating you’ll never forget.” Mike reached out to push the guy with one hand, but he stepped back and Mike’s hand fell short of his target. Mike growled in outrage and raised his other hand to hit the guy. With unbelievable speed, the man reached into his coat and, with the grating sound of metal on metal, pulled forth a short, thin bladed sword. In the blink of any eye, he [s]has[/s] had the tip nestled against Mike’s neck.

Mike froze, his hand still suspended in the air.

“Shit,” I said under my breath.

“This is your last chance, child. Step back. If you make me ask you again, I’m going to kill you.” Mike took a slow step back, away from the man. The tip of the blade traveled with him, until the man’s arm was fully extended in front of him.

“Okay, we’re leaving. We’re going,” Mike said. He was still glaring at the man from under his bushy eyebrows, but at least he was under control. He turned to leave, then suddenly threw himself at the man, who dodged nimbly to the side and dropped the flat of his blade onto Mike’s exposed back.

“You test my patience. You are brave, but stupid. Since you cannot be convinced to leave by my words, you will leave…in death.“ The second he raised his arm to stab Mike, I ran at the man, moving faster than I ever had in my life. Adrenaline shot through my body, and I was in front of the man in a flash. I grabbed his descending wrist and held it, preventing him from finishing the stab.

Mike spun on his heel, standing up to help me.

“Go, Mike—get in there and see what’s going on,” I growled through gritted teeth.
The man struggled to free himself from my grasp, but I managed to hold his sword arm in place.

“Impossible,” the man said, his eyes widening in disbelief. He snarled in frustration, revealing long [Comma here.] sharp fangs. His eyes narrowed, and flared a furious crimson.

Vampire. Unbidden, the word floated into my sub-consciousness. I stared into the man’s raging eyes; he seemed to glow with a fiery aura of red. I could feel the power of this being radiating from him like heat form a blaze. This was no mere man.

Mike looked at me a moment, then beckoned to Aiden and headed into the alley without a word. Aiden followed reluctantly, with a worried glance back at me. I met his gaze, and the man took advantage of my temporary distraction. He kicked me in the chest and I stumbled back a step, releasing his sword arm.

Persistent fool, I thought. A rage was boiling up inside me, an uncontrolled hatred for this being in front of me. The fact that he was trying to kill my friends and I had not crossed my mind. There was something else about him that triggered a severe and pure loathing for him. Something about him made me want to grab him by the throat and lift him into the air…grab him by the throat and squeeze…Squeeze the life from the traitor. Hear him try to draw breath to curse me, try to raise his weapon to strike me down, while I grab his wrist and snap it. I wanted to crush his vocal cords so he could not utter a sound; crush his windpipe so he could not draw breath into un-breathing lungs; tighten my grip until I hear his vertebrae snap out of place and his corpse goes limp in my hand—

The traitor’s blade whistled past my eyes, my instincts having taken my body well out of the path of the sword. I nearly laughed aloud at the fool’s clumsy attempts to strike me. Who was this bumbling idiot! I could only assume he was one of their pawns—nothing but a scapegoat, a minion to do their dirty work. So like them, sending a lackey to do a job that even an Elder could not complete.

“You’re just a child! What are you!” the neophyte demanded. “Answer me!” My only response was an amused chuckle. I bared my teeth at the thug and growled,

“Your demise, traitorous, bastard son of a man,” [A full stop would be more fitting.] I wished I had had my blade, for I would have slaughtered him where he stood. He would have tasted my steel just as all the others had. Those weak bodied mortals…countless had fallen by my hand, and this fool would have been no different. I would have bathed in his blood as I had for decades, until those closest to me had driven the blade into my back—

The idiot drove his pathetic blade toward me again. I easily turned it aside with a quick flick of my wrist, but felt the keen edge draw a line of blood on my palm. With his attack foiled, I clenched my wounded hand into a fist, dripping blood onto the cement. Waiting for the right moment, I delivered a punch to him that would have felled a man twice his size. That should teach the traitorous, good-for-nothing—

My fist exploded into a torrent of pain as the man flew backward and slammed into the brick wall behind him. What the Hell was that! [Put the thought in italics.] I wondered silently. The man’s blade clattered to the ground as he crumpled to the concrete. I was momentarily stunned by the ferocity that had overtaken me, the thoughts in my mind that had sounded like the arrogance of a medieval warlord…or the rantings of a madman. Then, taking advantage of his temporary incapacitation, I snatched up his fallen sword and ran into the alley after my friends. [Maybe have him hesitate a little first. The change in personality is good but it would be even greater if you could make a stronger difference between the two. And he hesitated once before so why not again…]

The first thing I saw was Aiden sprawled out on the ground, face down. The back of his head was marred by crimson blood, though not much. The wall closest to him was spattered with his blood. Beyond Aiden, a small man dressed in black leather was perched atop Mike, [s]stradling[/s] straddling him with a leg on either side of Mike’s bulky chest. Mike had managed to keep both arms free, and had grasped the man’s wrists in each of his. One of the man’s hands held a six inch knife.

“Little help would be nice, Hunter—“ Mike said through gritted teeth. The veins in his neck and arms bulged mightily, but he could not overpower the wiry man who sat atop him. His assailant looked up at me. Inch long fangs glinted as his lips parted in a cruel smile. As I took a step forward, brandishing a sword I had no idea what to do with [s]it[/s] beyond cutting things, he let go of Mike with his legs, planted both feet on his Mike’s chest, and exploded upward into a flying leap that took him toward the back wall of the alley. Mike’s breath exploded out of him in a great burst of air, but he recovered quickly and climbed shakily to his feet.

“Strong fucker,” he said to me as I rejoined him at his side.

The man was still smiling, [s]depite[/s] despite the odds he faced. Every motion oozed confidence. From the bounce in his step as he paced back and forth from one wall to the other, to the wink he shot me when I caught his eye. His presence angered me. I barely noticed the young woman sitting on the ground behind him, her blouse shredded and her skirt hiked up.

“Get Aiden and go—I’ll handle this,” I said in a voice that I barely [s]reognized[/s] recognized as my own. Mike looked at [s]my[/s] me incredulously for a moment, and I raised my stolen blade to his neck.
“Go.” He looked even more confused.

“Hunter, don’t be stupid—“

“Go, before the other guy comes back. If we all die here, no one can call the cops.”

As we spoke in [s]hsuehd[/s] hushed tones, I kept my gaze on the pale man with the knife. He ran his tongue over his teeth, pausing at each fang. He winked again, and I felt a familiar blind rage building up inside me. He tossed his blade from one hand to the other, catching it by the tip and sending it spinning back into the air like some sort of juggler in a freak show at the carnival.

The bastard son of a goat thought he could defeat me. Defeat ME. [Bold =)]

“GO, Bold.] you damnable fool,” I said again, pressing the blade harder against the idiot’s neck. He pulled away, as I knew he would, and moved over to the other youth, who was sprawled on the ground. Hoisting him up onto his shoulders, he started to move to the end of the alley.

“…What about the girl?” he asked.

“I could not care less. Save her if you must,” I said. Then I strode forward to deal with the brigand who thought himself so skilled with a blade. The muscle bound youth walked behind me, setting his companion on the ground gently. [I love how the change in one direction is slow and starts subtly while going back to normal seems to be a [color=red][s]suddden[/s] sudden jerk. You pull it off well.][/color]

“…What about this freak with the sword? No offense,” the boy said. I chose to ignore him and raised my blade in a challenge to the pathetic excuse for a warrior that stood in front of me. He imitated my salute, and before he could begin to bring his blade into a proper block, mine was headed in to take out this throat. He turned his head to the side and out of my reach, then moved forward to get behind my defense.

As I retracted my sword to keep him at arm’s length, one word floated into my mind, which was otherwise blank. …traitor…

Mike Reynolds, star of the Dorrison High Varsity Team, was scared out of his mind. Scared that Aiden’s injury might be fatal, scared of the wiry bastard that had overpowered the both of them so easily, and perhaps most of all, scared of Hunter, who was obviously not himself. Hunter, who was usually so timid, who always avoided confrontation, who had, mere moments ago, placed a sword to Mike’s neck and drawn blood. [The change in view point by the way is very effective.]

He let his hand drop onto the side of Aiden’s neck. There was a pulse, and it was strong under his fingertips. He wasn’t sure what it meant, exactly, but to his untrained touch it felt like Aiden would pull through. As Hunter stepped forward after ignoring his last question, Mike stood up from Aiden. When Hunter’s blade clashed with the other man’s, Mike jumped–he’d barely noticed that either of them had moved. The smaller fighter retaliated, and Hunter took a short step backward to parry the blow before pressing the attack again.

As the two fought, Mike inched his way toward the girl, who had been all but forgotten by the other occupants of the alley. As he looked from the girl, back to the duel being fought before him, [s]her[/s] he saw the man with the long knife glance his way with those eyes that glinted with maniacal delight, as if he intended to break away from Hunter and go for him, instead. The look was not unnoticed by Hunter, though, who seemed more perturbed by the fact that man was not focused on him, rather than that Mike was in danger. Mike’s long time friend bared his teeth and uttered a guttural growl, then pressed his attack forward, drawing the smaller man’s full attention.

In all the years Mike had known Hunter, he’d never known him to be aggressive. To Mike’s knowledge, he’d never been in a fight; Hell, Mike would have been surprised if Hunter had ever done anything that could be perceived as aggressive. The Hunter standing before him was not the guy Mike had grown up with. Something in Hunter’s eyes, the way his brow had dropped into a permanent scowl, or the way his lips were curled back in a snarl, an expression that seemed so alien to his normally soft features.

And the way he fought! The two men were moving almost too quickly for Mike to follow, and much too quickly, he was sure, for him to react to, were he in Hunter’s position. The more Mike watched, mesmerized, the more confused he became. Hunter’s hobbies consisted mostly of video games, women, and pool, not bloodsports and knife fighting. Hunter, who to Mike’s knowledge had never held a sword in his life, was throwing chops, thrusts, cuts, and a dozen other maneuvers Mike couldn’t begin to name, like he’d been doing it all his life. Even as he watched, Hunter deftly batted aside the smaller man’s weapon, and turned his parry into a thrust, moving to impale his opponent, who nimbly jumped back just out of Hunter’s reach. The scowl on Hunter’s face melted, then, and a smile formed. His adversary danced away from him for a moment, and glanced down at his chest, where a small tear in his shirt was quickly filling with crimson. The two men exchanged a few hushed words that Mike didn’t catch, then the smaller man jumped forward with renewed ferocity, driving Hunter back a step.

The smile on Hunter’s face (for it was not Hunter’s smile) remained, even when he was pushed back by the sheer intensity behind the attacks. Hunter’s smile, as Mike knew it, was often seen, and it warmed the heart of everyone around him. The smile itself was expressed using every feature of Hunter’s face, but most prominently in his eyes, which sparkled with delight. His smile was as contagious as it was warming, and everyone around him could not help but follow suit. The grin that sat perched on his face at that moment, however, did not belong to the normally amiable young man standing in front of him. In fact, it was more akin to that of the psychopath standing opposite him; predatory, blindly confident, and utterly mirthless.