Chapter 17: Cornered

Alfred and his gang all slashed at Ronan from different angles, but Ronan felt magic flow to the soles of his leather boots.

He leapt up and into a backflip, then landed on his feet. He was far enough away to ready his sword out in front of him, and the Mark of the Butterfly attached to his serpent glowed a strong black. Ronan understood that he may be outnumbered, but that he had an advantage; serpent magic cast fire and was offensive, whereas the butterfly magic allowed him to jump great heights and make himself lighter, making it the perfect magic for defensive maneuvers.

The gang sneered and Alfred held his sword outwards, leading the women into a charge. Freya took Ronan’s right and Clove took his left.

Suddenly Runes appeared along Ronan’s arm, extending farther up than they had ever before to his bicep.

The many voices of The Shroud whispered, “Every successful Nightblade must follow The Way of the Myrmidon— to be a swordmaster capable of holding one’s own against multiple enemies. The Myrmidon uses a swift eye to identify the techniques of an attacking group, and then disperses them quickly with the very sword techniques we taught you in basic forms.”

Alfred was still far enough away from Ronan for Ronan to focus solely on the movements of the women. He searched their faces, postures, and motions for clues. He determined that the brown-haired Freya was far faster and more aggressive than Clove, and that Clove held her sword too high, leaving her legs open for attack.

This information kicked through Ronan’s mind like instinct, and he thought that The Shroud in their many hushed whispers might be helping him see and understand things more clearly.

Freya lashed at Ronan with a sword thrust, but Ronan deflected it quickly with an upwards swing of his Hellblade. He pirouetted towards Clove, and blocked her horizontal swing. The two swords clanked loudly, and Ronan could tell by the looks on Clove and Freya’s faces that the women had not expected for Ronan to move so quickly.

Ronan shoved Clove’s sword away with his own.

“I don’t want to fight any of you,” he said. He twirled the sword in his wrist, then readied it back at his hip. Clove and Freya took a step back when Ronan reached his second hand across his chest to grab the Hellblade’s hilt.

Alfred jumped into the air, far over Clove and Freya. Smoke streaked from his marking, and he moved so fast that his hair blew all the way back, revealing his forehead. Alfred spun into an acrobatic frontflip, and using the force of the flip went for an overhead slam on Ronan.

A gust of wind from the collision of Alfred and Ronan’s swords made Clove and Freya fight to keep their feet planted to the ground.

Past the two locked blades, his own black and the other an elegant steel, Ronan saw the fire in Alfred’s eyes. Any handsomeness Alfred once exuded was lost, and his snarl carried the bloodlust of a madman. Even Alfred’s cobalt blue eyes had lost their sheen.

“It’s the duty of a Nightblade to eliminate monsters,” Alfred sneered, pulling his sword back from Ronan. He walked a slow half-circle around Ronan while Ronan remained on the defensive. “So when I see you with your dual-markings and black veins, I know I must fulfill my duty and kill the monster that’s invaded my sacred temple.”

“You sound like a lunatic,” Ronan laughed.

Alfred paused, stood with his shoulders straight, and held out the tip of his sword in the moonlight.

“What’s lunacy,” Alfred said, “Is that you’ve brought your evil magic here and haven’t been eradicated yet.”

Ronan nodded, scoffed, and scratched at his chin. “It’s true, I’m cursed, but the magic isn’t evil. It’s just something that somebody as simple and pretentious as yourself would never understand.”

“Shut your mongrel mouth you wandering waif!” Alfred snapped, his hair bouncing in front of half his face. His teeth were exceptionally white in the darkness. “I come from the blood of legacy! You are a haunted drifter who comes from filth and mud!”

Ronan smirked at how furious Alfred was growing. “I think you’re upset that I’m stronger than you.”

Alfred’s hand clenched his sword’s hilt so hard Ronan thought Alfred might break it.

Freya sighed and said, “Alfred just end him already. Stop playing with your food.”

Not nearly as loudly, Clove insisted, “We’ve got better things to do than mess around here, Alfred.”

Alfred swept the hair from his face, stood nonchalantly, and with his typical arrogance declared, “Ronan, I’ll cut you down before you even realize I’ve moved. What do you think of that?”

Ronan glared at Alfred, studying him. This wasn’t just a bully, it was a man saying he would take his life. Ronan placed his sword in front of him, so its pommel was near his stomach. That way, no matter the angle, he’d be prepared to defend.

“What do I think of you cutting me down?” Ronan asked sarcastically. Black veins extended down to his wrist. “I think that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

And with that insult, Alfred was too angry to come up with another response. He growled and made his move.

Alfred’s Mark of the Butterfly steamed and he rushed at Ronan with a second, cocky overhead strike. Ronan recalled his basic forms and blocked Alfred’s attack by positioning his sword at a diagonal angle in front of him. The two exchanged blows one after the other, leaving behind trails of sparks from their weapons. Freya cheered Alfred on while Clove debated running to get a Master to break the fight up.

The Shroud entered Ronan’s ear, overpowered the sounds of clashing blades, then whispered, “A Myrmidon does not falter, he does not surrender, and he does not show compassion in a fight. He does not lose control of his emotions, for he knows doing so will slow his strikes. This is how the Myrmidon lives on to fight another day. Now, defend yourself.”

Ronan kept his calm, and followed The Way of the Myrmidon. Alfred’s strikes were vicious and fueled by cruelty. Dribble leaked from Alfred’s mouth as he attacked with feral strikes. Ronan continued to block and parry, though he could see he needed to put an end to the fight. Alfred was coming at him with the intent to severely harm him, aiming for Ronan’s neck, throat, wrists, and head.

But Ronan refused to die at the hands of the dishonorable.

“We need to attack him all at once,” Freya shouted. Her foot bounced up and down and she crossed her arms. Alfred’s poor footing and aggressive hits worried her.

“I’ve got him!” Alfred yelled. “I will do this. There’s none stronger than me!”

Freya rolled her eyes. She loved Alfred but hated his attitude. “Don’t let your arrogance get the best of you!”

Alfred’s thin sword clashed against Ronan’s Hellblade, and both weapons glittered in the bright moonlight. Ronan slid Alfred’s sword to the Hellblade’s spiked hilt, and in a swooping motion slammed Alfred’s sword to the dirt. He kicked Alfred in the chest and Alfred fell to the ground, losing grip of his sword entirely.

“That’s enough,” Ronan said, stepping on Alfred’s sword. “Now we go about our own ways.”

Clove inched her way closer and said, “Alfred you’ve made your point. It’s time to leave.”

Alfred’s anger faded into a wild laugh. Ronan remained on guard.

“Time to go, yeah,” Alfred chuckled. “You’ve bested me, Ronan.”

Alfred rolled onto his knees and feigned as if he was going to stand up. When Ronan started to lower his sword, Alfred shot out a throwing knife from his sleeve at lightning speed.

The black veins covered most of Ronan’s arm, and his Mark of the Serpent glowed. Moving completely out of instinct and automatically, Ronan pulled a hand up in front of him, right before the throwing knife could make contact with his face. White flames stormed out from his palm, incinerating the flying knife.

Alfred screamed out, and the blood inside Freya and Clove curdled.

Embers from the white flames danced on Alfred’s face, and he kicked his legs in the dirt, patting his hands near his eyes.

“Oh gods,” Ronan said. “Alfred I didn’t mean to!”

In the very back of Ronan’s ear, he heard the The Shroud cackle.

After tossing and turning in the dirt, the flames on Alfred’s face went out. He was breathing heavily, and he touched a shaking hand to where the fires had been on his skin. Half of his face was pink and raw and severely burned, almost to the bone. Alfred blinked, and his eye near the burned flesh was completely white.

He screamed out again. “You’ve blinded me, you evil scum!”

Freya ran to his side. Tears fell from her eyes. “I’ll make him pay. I will!”

“We need to go!” Clove shouted. “Before this gets any worse.”

Ronan kicked Alfred’s sword far away from the group.

“No, Clove,” Alfred muttered. His face stung and each word pained him to speak. “We attack all as one.”

Alfred ripped the sword out from Freya’s hand, then yanked on her arm to get to his feet. Freya pulled a dagger out from behind her back, and Clove prepared her sword in her shaking hands.

Ronan set the Hellblade above his head with both hands in a half-arc, and readied himself for whatever would come next.

Then from a tower and while in a meeting with the Butterfly Nightblade Elders, Maritza looked down at the fight.

For a second, she watched as Ronan put on a spectacular display. He raced to block one sword strike after the other, and did so with lightning efficiency. There was thunder of metal against metal, and then Ronan made attacks of his own, moving perfectly in sync with The Way of the Myrmidon. Ronan cut Alfred at the arm, Clove at the shin, and Freya at the shoulder. Ronan moved so quickly Maritza struggled to trace his strikes.

Alfred and his gang dropped, clutching their wounds and bleeding.

“Lady Maritza,” a regal Butterfly Nightblade Elder said. He had a long grey beard that was waxed and trimmed, and a bed of grey hair that fell before his chest and purple robe. “Is there something occurring out there that demands your attention more than our conversations about the young Serpent?”

Maritiza snapped her sight to the Elder, and Lord Wallace tried to hide his disgust in her. Wallace had seen Maritza hold Ronan’s hand, and therefore Wallace suspected her to be working with The Black Snake on something dastardly.

This of course was information he planned to report to the Elders in private.

“No sir,” Maritza said firmly to the Elder. “You have my full attention.”

And for a minute, hers words to the Elder rang true.

Until, curiosity and even a bit of joy caused her to peer out the window again, this time only from the corner of her eye.

Outside, Ronan swatted his the round pommel of his sword into Clove, Freya, and Alfred, knocking them all to the ground. They lay sprawled in the dirt, grasping their wounds.

Ronan stood over the three, tall, strong, and victorious.