The air cracked with the sound of gunfire. Square fired three quick shots from his Colt pistol, his movements swift and fluid. Each bullet sliced through the red dust hanging in the air, but Circle was already gone. His body twisted unnaturally, dodging in a blur of movement. His single open eye glowed with sharp focus, tracking Square's every twitch.
Then, he closed the distance.
Square barely had time to shift his stance before Circle's fist came flying toward his ribs. He twisted at the last second, the punch grazing his side, but before he could retaliate, Circle's knee shot up, aiming for his jaw.
"Shit—" Square ducked, rolling backward and firing another round mid-motion.
The bullet tore through Circle's sleeve, missing his skin by a hair.
Square grinned. "Almost got ya there."
Circle remained unfazed. With a flick of his wrist, he unsheathed a short, curved blade from his waist. It gleamed under the crimson sky.
Square sighed dramatically. "Oh, great. Knives. That's just fantastic."
Without warning, Circle dashed forward.
Square swung his vintage rifle, using the wooden stock to parry Circle's first strike. The force of the impact rattled up his arms. Circle twisted, slashing again—a blur of steel aiming for Square's side.
Square spun his rifle, knocking the blade away at the last moment. "Y'know, if you wanted to carve me up, you coulda just asked nicely."
Circle didn't respond. Instead, he pressed forward with relentless efficiency. Every move was precise, calculated—his footwork perfect, his strikes merciless.
Square was fast, but Circle was faster.
Another swipe. Another block. Sparks flew as blade met rifle barrel.
Then Circle vanished.
Square's eyes widened—he barely had a second to react before a sharp kick slammed into his back. He stumbled forward, coughing as dust kicked up around him.
"Heh," he muttered, wiping his mouth. "That all ya got?"
Circle's open eye narrowed. Without hesitation, he lunged again, blade flashing in a downward arc.
Square, grinning wildly now, spun his rifle like a staff, deflecting the blow with practiced ease. He shifted his grip—then suddenly flipped the rifle around and slammed the butt of the stock into Circle's gut.
For the first time, Circle faltered.
Square wasted no time. He pressed forward, jabbing the rifle toward Circle's jaw. The martial artist barely managed to dodge, twisting his head at the last second, but Square followed up with a sharp kick to his ribs.
Circle staggered back.
Square twirled his rifle and tipped his hat back with a cocky smirk. "C'mon, partner. I know you can hit harder than that."
Circle straightened, breathing slowly. Then, for the first time, he spoke.
"You're holding back."
Square blinked. "Well, yeah. I was tryin' to make this fun."
Circle's gaze darkened. "Don't."
Then, before Square could react, Circle was on him.
Faster. Harder. More vicious than before.
The blade whirled in lethal arcs, slicing through the air as Circle's attacks became a flurry of strikes. Square barely kept up, parrying each blow with his rifle. But for every block, Circle was already moving to the next attack.
Square dodged left—too slow. A cut appeared on his shoulder.
He spun right—another slash nearly grazed his throat.
"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, buddy!" he huffed, backpedaling fast.
But Circle wasn't stopping.
A sharp roundhouse kick slammed into Square's chest, sending him skidding backward.
The cowboy coughed, gripping his rifle tight. His playful smirk was still there, but his eyes had changed.
"Alright," he murmured. "You asked for it."
In a flash, he flipped the rifle in his hands and fired.
Point-blank.
Circle's eyes widened. At this range, dodging was impossible.
But he didn't dodge.
Instead—he moved toward the bullet.
Square's shot grazed Circle's cheek—but in that instant, Circle's blade was already swinging down.
Square raised his rifle just in time.
CRACK.
The sound of shattering wood and metal echoed across the plains.
Both warriors froze.
Then—Square's rifle snapped in half.
A long silence stretched between them.
Square looked down at the broken weapon in his hands.
"Well, shit."
Circle exhaled, lowering his own weapon slightly.
Square whistled. "Alright, I admit it—you got me there."
He tossed the broken rifle aside, rolling his shoulders. "Guess we're doin' this the old-fashioned way, huh?"
He cracked his knuckles.
Circle flipped his knife, then tossed it to the ground.
Square raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Fists only?"
Circle nodded.
Square chuckled. "Now we're talkin'."
Then, with no more weapons left between them, they charged at each other once more.
---
To Be Continued..