Farren
gritted his teeth at the incessant, maddening ringing of the bell. Each jangling of the monstrous instrument made it feel as if hundreds of figures, each a silhouette clad in aureate hues, stood at the very periphery of his vision. If he twisted his head or shifted his eyes they would recede or vanish or flash in a streak across his vision. A low sound rumbled in his throat, half growl and half a pained moan, but Victor—despite the sound—acted. At least…he thought it was probably victor….Really, all Farren perception was the twisted figure of what might once have been a man swing a misshapen hunk of crudely shaped metal—more a bludgeon than a greatsword or any proper weapon. Yet, the distinct thunderous SLAM and THUD of the implement against the ground…and the faint sparking where-longsword-joined-greatsword caught at his vision and tore at the torrid heat of his delusions.
The sparks seemed almost to ignite the golden light that had crept even further into his vision, the vibration of the massive blade’s crash against the ground sent ripples throughout and disrupted the sound of the bell. If only for a moment, his mind cleared and Farren recalled that he was moving.
His body—having acted entirely on hunter’s instinct—had continued its forward path and as the haze cleared ever-so-slightly the azure eyed hunter saw the opening…and dashed again. His muscles burning, teeth gritted so hard his jaw hurt with hot regeneration—teeth almost cracking—Farren nearly closed the entirety of the distance between himself and that Pallid whore.
Somehow, with the ringing of the bell, the black-eyed sallow pale-skinned skeleton of a man had become even more daunting to look upon. There was a white-gold-red sheen cast across his visage, refracting from his eyes. Part of Farren recoiled, but his fingers coiled instead, gripping the handles of his curved blades so tightly that he felt the material strain. He swung, and that first attempt at a strike was wild and unrestrained, his muscles twisting and bulging and nearly snapping as he unconsciously tried to replicate the sheer force of Torquil’s swing some time ago. Wild as it was, the slash could land anywhere between Pallid’s neck and mid-abdomen a foot or half above his right hip. That was, of course…if the man didn’t block.
Even so, there would always be his other blade.