Prytaneum
Interlude
The Flame
Part 5
As he fought, he could see Lili in his peripheral vision, crouched down at Percy's side, working to save his life. He wanted to rush over to her, wanted to see how Percy was doing, to help, to—he hoped to the gods—brush away his fears. He wanted this to be over so he could move on to more important things, like his friends and their wellbeing.
But Zanis seemed to have caught his second wind. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was fear, maybe it was simple desperation, but he was fighting harder now—fighting like the madman he was. It wasn't as though he'd suddenly gotten better at swordsmanship or recovered from his wound or anything like that, but there was something to be said for single-minded focus. Welf scored a cut on his side that he barely even tried to avoid, choosing instead to bring his sword down in blow that he had to abort his next attack to block, and even then it sent flashes of pain through his arms and made his sword shake in his hands.
He slipped a step back to buy a moment before stepping towards Zanis weak side, moving into the blind spot of his closed eye and circling him quickly. By far his greatest advantages were his enemy's weaknesses—the closed eye, the missing hand, the bad leg. Zanis wasn't in any condition to compete on terms of maneuverability and if he turned this fight in that direction, he had the advantage. At the same time, however, he had to stay close, simply because if he didn't, there was no one else to stand between Zanis and his friends, and that seemed to be a fact he was more than willing to take advantage of. If he ventured too far away, Zanis would move towards them and advanced, but if he drew too close, he'd be subjected to increasingly savage strikes.
Like right now.
Zanis turned on his good leg and swung his sword in a mighty horizontal arc, the blade connecting with his as he hurriedly raised another defense. Even so, the blow had all of Zanis' strength behind it—if only one of his arms—and it hit him like an Orc, draving him several paces to the side before lifting him until only the tips of his toes touched the water, tossing him away.
He landed in the water several yards from Zanis and saw the cripple hobbling towards his friends again, and so he didn't hesitate to raise a hand at his back.
"Burn out, illegal work!" He murmured quickly, a small rush of flames flying from his fingertips with enough force that it made Zanis stumble a step forward as it collided with his head. He rushed forward in its wake, but paused for a moment, just a step out of reach. Zanis swung at him and came up short, leaving him an opening to step forward and take a shot himself. The soon to be former head of the Soma Familia released a choked grunt and very nearly tripped backwards as he put some of his weight on his bad leg, but he escaped the attack with just a long, bleeding gash from shoulder to hip, instead of something worse.
"Bas…tard…" Zanis said between huffing breaths, giving him a loathsome glare with his one good eye. Between the bloodloss and the poison arrow, he must have been suffering, even as hard as he continued to fight.
Good.
"You might as well give up and die right now," He mocked, deciding to buy some time for things to continue running their course. Even as weakened as he was, Zanis was putting up a hell of a fight and he wouldn't mind if the piece of shift bleed out a little more while he caught his breath. "In a minute, Percy will be fine—and pissed off, in all likelihood, which doesn't mean anything good for you. Assuming you're still alive by then, that is, which is looking increasingly less likely. My not make things easier on yourself and just let me put you out of everyone's misery."
He wasn't anywhere near as confident about Percy's recovery on the inside and it took all he had not to glance in his friend's direction—but Zanis didn't need to know about that. He could tell the man was worried from the glances he kept giving in that direction, as if expecting Percy to stand up and come right after him again; he probably knew he didn't have a chance in hell in a fight with no magic swords involved.
"Fuck you," Zanis spat anyway, eyes blazing with fury. "He's dead. He's a fucking overcooked piece of meat and nothing else. And even if he wasn't, it doesn't matter—I'll fucking chop his goddamn head of and leave him for the dogs."
"Yeah, about that," He replied, smiling at the man smugly. "You think you've got a chance in hell of doing that? Even if you could somehow get passed me, well…you're lucky Mrs. O'Leary's too busy to bother with you right now. But if you want to go over there and put your head in biting distance of her mouth, be my guest. I'd say something about fitting deaths for a piece of shit like you, but even that's too good for you, honestly."
Except he honestly had no idea why Mrs. O'Leary wasn't over here tagging him out right now. He knew the giant Hellhound well enough that he was about a hundred percent sure Zanis wouldn't have a chance against her in a fight and she had plenty enough reason to show the man her displeasure, but she wasn't even looking at him, simply circling Percy steadily, as if tracing the line of an invisible circle or cornering something. He wasn't sure about how shadowy she looked either, but then, he had no idea what was normal or not for her. What mattered in this case was the simple fact that he couldn't take her strength or help for granted here.
"I'm not scared of either of your dogs," Zanis said with a scowl, but his missing hand was clutched close to his chest.
"Suit yourself, idiot," He answered. "But if you ask me, I think you're fucked. Lili already got back here; how much longer do you think it'll take the other Familias to arrive? And I'm betting they'll want to know what happened. Your big plan to beat Percy and walk away got snuffed out along with your best shot…you know you're doomed at this point, right?"
"Shut up," He growled.
"How does it feel, seeing everything come down around you?" He asked. "You must feel pretty stupid right now, with all your horrible decisions catching up to you. Well, at least it's not going to be a long-term problem for you."
"Shut up!" Zanis shouted again, this time throwing himself forward. He knew it was coming before he even tried and pointed his sword at Zanis—but he was surprised when, instead of even trying to dodge, the man just kept on coming. He felt his sword pierce flesh and saw as it slide straight through the man's body, impaling him cleanly, but Zanis hardly seemed to notice as he tackled him.
They went down in a heap, both of them fighting. Zanis raised an arm, bringing down the pommel of his sword, and left with no other choice but to take the blow on his head, he brought up his left arm to protect himself. He couldn't help but grimace as his arm broke, but he turnit into a snarl, twisting the sword Zanis was impaled on with his other hand and jerking it around roughly inside the wound.
That seemed to get a reaction, because Zanis released a sudden scream of agony—and then the man punched him in the face hard enough to smash his head into the ground and stun him for a moment.
"I am not going to die!" Zanis shouted. "I'm not going to lose, not to the likes of you! You bastards, you think you amount to anything!? I've dealt with hundreds of people like you—you're nothing—"
He managed to leverage himself enough to smash his forehead into the man's nose, shutting him up for a second. As he did, he drew back his sword as far as he could while on the ground and then pushed it back in, literally sawing back and forth. Zanis screamed again and then brought down his fist—and this time, he didn't stop at just one punch. Blow after blow rained down, stunning him anew each time.
"See!?" He shouted, spittle and blood flying from his mouth as he stopped, leaning over him such that his stump was against Welf's throat. "You're nothing! I could crush you like an ant, you fuck!"
Surprising even himself, Welf laughed.
"Aw, I'm hurt Zanis—I thought you needed me?" He answered weakly, sure his face must be covered in bruises. Still, he tried to sneer derisively at the scumbag. "Something about an uncomfortable obsession with my magic sword?"
"Shut up!" Zanis screamed in his face, raising his sword again before apparently thinking better of it. Instead, his face twisted and he lowered his sword until the point touched his navel before dragging it slowly lower. "Make your fucking jokes, but don't forget you're a weakling—and you'll do what I say, no matter what I have to do to make you. You're going to give me all the potions you have, help me explain this mess, and then you're going to do your job and make me magic swords. Or you're going to lose your 'magic sword.'"
Welf stared at the madman above him, already knowing the man was long since gone. A lot of that was probably the blood loss and poison, but he meant it—he'd do what he was saying; might even kill him at this point, if he was obstinate.
It was a chilling thought. He wasn't fearless, however driven he could be, and even his own lingering rage couldn't completely hide the fear of death or pain. As a man especially, his current there was a little nerve-wracking.
But that was just an emotional, knee-jerk response. This wasn't about courage. It wasn't even really about fear. It was about why he was even here to begin with. It was about the reasons he'd sworn off making magic swords, the reason he'd run away from his family—because of people of people who'd use them like Zanis would, because his craft and his gifts weren't for helping people like this. It was about the beauty of blacksmithing that he'd learned when he was just an aide in his father's and grandfather's forge. It was about all the people Zanis had already hurt, about what he'd done to Lili, and about the promises he'd made.
And more than any of that, it was about Percy. His friend who had literally burned alive to protect innocent people, to defend them from a weapon he'd made, and who even now was in danger. Who'd pushed himself to the limit to protect others. And he was supposed to be intimidated by this?
It wasn't about courage or fear—he'd just rather die than give this asshole anything. In fact, he laughed in the man's face, then and there.
"You know…I thought that might have been the reason for all of this. You're jealous," He said, managing to smile at the man. Even when his face was getting beaten in, he'd managed to hold onto his sword and that was what mattered; if Zanis wanted to focus on something that wouldn't kill him, let him. The moment he was busy doing that, he'd strike and kill the motherfucker. "I guess I can't blame you too much. Life must be pretty tough when you have such. A small. Dick."
Zanis opened his mouth at that, apparently stuck speechless for a moment, but then he grit his teeth and sneered.
"Well, I guess someone like you wouldn't even know enough to miss it, huh?" He spat—literally and figuratively, the former ending up on Welf's face. "Must be nice being born rich enough that you can just throw things away though."
As one, both of them tensed, ready to take their shots—and then someone interrupted.
"Tch. So you're the cause of all this?" A voice said, causing them both to look away. A werewolf was standing where nothing had been moments before, looking at them with a scowl on his face. That alone was enough for Welf to recognize him, even dazed as he was. "I can't believe I ran all the way over here for something like this…oi, trash. Get off of him."
"Trash…me?" Zanis asked, seeming baffled by the man's appearance and words.
"Obviously," He said with a scowl and then someone appeared beside him in a blur of golden motion. "Who else would I mean, idiot?"
"Bete," The girl said, eyes scanning the street. Her lips thinned as she saw the destruction before focusing on the two of them. At some point, between one moment and the next, she drew her sword and bared it at them. "You. Release him now."
"This is all a misunderstanding," Zanis said, eyes slowly widening. Odds were, he recognized them, too. "I just—"
"Save it," Bete said, still with a scowl. "We already got the full story and it was annoying enough the first time. Let's just get this over with."
That said, the werewolf took a step towards them, expression a mixture of pissed off and bored.
"Don't get any closer!" Zanis shouted, faux-calm shifting into true panic. "Stop or I'll—"
"Stab him?" Bete asked, actually smiling—but it was a sharp smile, filling primarily with teeth. "You want to play a game or something, is that it? Then how about…if you manage to stab him before I rip your fucking arms off, you win? Doesn't really sound fair though…do you know who I am, you piece of shit?"
"Bete…" Aiz said, tone odd even as she remained focused on the two of them. Or…something passed them?
Bete sighed.
"Yeah, I know," He answered, voice growing bored again. "I guess it's too late for that. We ran all the way here for nothing."
"What…?" Zanis wondered, sounding utterly baffled—and then a shadow fell over the both of them as a hideous, burned, misshapen figure stepped behind Zanis. In an instant, one of his thin, melted seeming hands had grasped Zanis' sword and the other arm curled around his throat.
"By the way, not dead," A horrific voice rasped, but it was music to Welf's ears. "Welf, end this."
And he did.