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The monument was beautiful.
A single, jet-black obelisk some twenty foot high, clawing at the sleeping sky. Silver veins ran through the marble, twisting delicately upwards to the pointed silver cap. A simple golden plaque remembered the lost ones.
It retained it’s beauty even after being ripped from the ground and thrown down the high street in an effortless action. It travelled the two-mile stretch of road without slowing - a blurred shape reflected infinitely in the thousands of mirrored windows of hundreds of skyscrapers lining the vacant pavements.
An arrow could not have flown straighter.
The silver cap of the monument spun gently, glowing red as it ripped through the silence. The square sides, catching the sun’s dying rays, winked orange lashes at the buildings it past - all empty, all dead.
The target stepped easily to the side, caught the solid spear of marble in one hand, spun it in his hands and drove it down through the street with a smile. He wiped his hands and turned back down the two-mile stretch.
She gathered up the sharpest shards of marble scattered around the monument’s plinth and hurled them, in the same easy movement, towards the figure two-miles distant. Then she ran.
Speed incomparable.
She pushed on, passing the marble shards thrown seconds before, feet touching the shocked, cold road every hundred meters. The fine film of dust, covering every surface in the city, was sucked up into the vacuum left behind her, exposing the blackness beneath for the first time in years.
Two miles in two seconds.
Again, the target simply stepped aside, grabbed her arm, spun and released. She soared upwards - half a mile into the darkening sky, perfectly in control. As she alighted on top of a skyscraper the marble shards thudded into his back, one shooting right through his stomach.
He smiled at her little prank and jumped, thin legs sending him easily up to join her on the towering building. The dead city stirred.
He pulled an antennae from the roof - a thin, barbed thing three times his height - and lunged towards her.
She jumped over him, landed neatly and ripped off a satellite dish just in time to deflect a sweeping blow from the antennae. A hundred blows followed in a split second, the metal pole a blur, bending and arching through the lazy air, each strike deadly.
Her actions any slower and she would have been shredded to bits. But the satellite dish moved with equal speed and grace, sweeping and thrusting in every direction in a beautiful dance.
The fight, a million strikes, a million deflections, lasted under a minute.
He had slowly inched his grip up the antennae, staring only into her eyes for any sign that she’d noticed.
Nothing.
He spun, slashed, swiped and stabbed; with each backward stroke moving his hand a fraction of a millimetre upwards. Finally in reach he purposely lunged wide of her body. She pushed out with her shield, knocking the sword away.
Her face turned away from him, he dropped the antennae and let loose a punch, striking her perfectly on the jaw.
Before the used antennae hit the floor, gravity too slow, she recovered - spinning in the air to throw the satellite dish back in his direction then flipping again her eyes went wide and she just managed to grab the edge of the building.
He smiled.
She was shocked - his punch had been much stronger than she’d expected, sent her too far. The city rose gently from it’s slumber, gaining interest.
If the punch was too strong for her, the building stood no chance. As she hit the lip of the roof, a horrible crack echoed drearily in the dull atmosphere. The skyscraper sheared in two.
With a fait chuckle he leapt from the roof to the building directly opposite, moving to the edge to witness her fall.
The top half of the skyscraper stayed intact as the crack widened, falling in a beautiful arc towards the lonely road. She gathered her senses as it fell, still shocked by his strength, now in doubt as to the fight’s final outcome.
A thousand tonnes of rubble cascaded across the street. She sprung out sideways from the roof, away from the spray of glass and metal. Rolling, she stood up, looked up and saw that smiling face directly above her.
The swirling dust of destruction blurred him to a ghost, then blocked out the figure entirely. She lifted her arm up to shade her eyes against the stinging dust, straining to see through the shroud.
The city blinked awake, intrigued, wounded.
High above, he could still see her perfect shape under the dust cloud, illuminated by the orange rays of the still setting sun. He reached over the edge of the skyscraper and plunged his hands deep down into the concrete. Thin fingers clasped around the metal he sought.
He strained for a second, the shards of marble still imbedding his back disappeared inside him as the muscles contracted. Then, with a flick of his arms, the steel framework supporting the front face of the building, swung out easily from it’s fixings. He lifted it up above his head, the unthinkably heavy grid of girders, and hopped back from the skyscraper’s edge.
All she saw now, through the choking dust, was flash after flash of orange light.
Ten thousands windows, free of their steel prison, plunged downwards through the dust.
The glorious sound of shattering glass filled his ears. He switched the framework to one hand and moved cautiously back to the edge of the now open-fronted skyscraper.
The dust cleared.
The city strained to see.
She lowered her arm, red and slick, from her eyes.
Along her arm, down her side and leg, from chest and back, stood whole sheets of glass. Imbedded inches down into her skin, the knife-blade edges scored her bones, sliced her tendons.
Each window five foot long, two across. Their mirrored fronts shot orange light to the ground, illuminating the vast pool of blood running red trails through the dust.
A wound.
The first in years.
She was an easy target, ringed in red, and still staring at her scars in disbelief. He let the vast metal frame swing back down from above his head, at the last second thrusting downwards at her figure half a mile below.
She crumpled under the weight, immeasurable tonnes of steelwork now pressed down on her chest. The glass not protruding from her skin had smashed all around, and now jagged spears raked her back, sending more blood into the glistening pool.
But it was still just a wound.
A scratch.
She still lived, and she would still fight.
She pushed out with her legs, jerked up with her shoulders, and in one motion stood solidly holding the framework above her own head. It was all he could do just to hang on, with a smile. Things, he thought, were about to get interesting.
The city, wide awake, held it’s breath, shrunk back at the destruction it foresaw.
She flipped the mass of girders around ninety degrees in her grip and swung downwards a mighty sword stroke. The building was cut vertically, beautifully in half. Either side of the ragged gash, the two split sections stood in tact.
Framework still lowered, she waited.
The sides collapsed inwards.
She waited.
Until the sound of falling rubble ceased, she waited.
Then, slowly, she raised the steel from the wreckage.
He still clung, smiling no longer, to the other end. Bruised, bleeding, white with dust.
Not enough.
Her eyes narrowed and she spun furiously on her heel, dragging the steel frame up to speed. She didn’t stop, faster and faster, into and way past a blur - the thick, bolted girders a faint shimmer as the sun crept further over the horizon.
If it weren’t for the total destruction, they may have been completely invisible.
All around, in a half-mile radius, skyscrapers were sliced off at the base, left to topple or implode down onto empty streets. Tears of the city, raining glass and metal.
She moved down the two-mile stretch steadily, a inescapable circle of ruin.
Still he did not die.
She ripped him through a hundred buildings. Smashing windows, snapping girders, exploding through concrete he was as much a part of the destruction as the cause of it.
But still he did not die.
She could feel him, a living weight on the end of her scythe.
With a angry grunt she stopped dead, halfway through a rotation and shoved the framework out in front of her. He was pinned against the only solid structure in the area.
But not helpless.
His fingers closed around his end of the framework. Half a mile away, hers did the same.
Stalemate.
The end was near.
He moved first, every cut on every inch of his skin screaming for revenge, for her blood, for the victory. He pulled outwards, ripping the framework clean in two and out of her grasp.
Two metal wings. He swung them behind him, levelling the last remaining structure. He did not smile.
She had no shield now. Just one good hand.
The plates of glass, smashed shorter, still stood out from her flesh, crusted with blood.
He snapped the wings shut. A thousand scissors.
She brought up her arms, the wings stopped dead against them. With her good hand she reached up, slowly, and ripped off a section of the frame, throwing it to the ground.
He pulled away, turned sideways on his toes and thrust again. One wing high, one wing low.
She grabbed the first with her good hand, ripped a piece off; stamped on the second, kicked a section into the surrounding rubble.
He struck again.
She did not block the strike this time, but made her own attack.
A punch.
A kick.
Steel sheared off, flying in all directions.
He struck again, parallel stabs to the chest.
She turned sideways, between the wings, punched out and sent whole vertical columns to the ground.
His weapon was disappearing.
He beat his wings again. They came back shorter by far.
The battle gained pace, a furious fight now, no sign of grace or control. No style, just intent.
The half-mile long wings beat again and again, flapping uselessly against her efficient counterattacks.
Nothing touched her. She chose when to make contact, and for only one reason.
Now a constant stream of broken metal flew into the sky as the brightest stars dared to show themselves - the sun a broken arc on the horizon. She closed her eyes against the attacks, senses flared, limbs moved of their own accord, every movement natural, efficient and perfect.
She struck out again and again.
Then he was gone.
She opened her eyes. Alone.
Was this the victory?
High above, his jump ended. The decent began.
Now he only held two short lengths of steel, his wings torn to shreds.
He spun the spikes in his hands and speeded his fall.
She looked around, at every shadow in the twilight. Alone.
Completely alone.
He rammed the steel prongs, four foot long, down through her shoulders - closer now to her than he’d ever been. She fell face-first to the road and he drove the prongs in deeper, through her shoulders, into the ground.
She was staked there, breathing in the age-old dust on the deserted road, unable to move.
He stepped back off her, breath now coming heavily, the first sweat he’d broken in years stinging in his eyes.
She wouldn’t give up now. Victory so close.
With one last spasm of her tired body, she pushed upwards from the ground, ripped herself off the spikes. She flipped a tight, controlled circle in the air, right over his head.
Coming down behind him, she reached out her cold hand and grasped at his neck then, the somersault complete, brought her feet hard into his back and pulled.
The crack was beautiful in the heavy atmosphere. His head fell back from his body, a splinter of spine protruding from his neck.
She sighed.
But, now clinging to a dead weight, she fell.
She twisted in the decent, trying to get on top, in control.
The steel spike ripped through her chest, tearing and pushing her heart right through her rib cage into the open air.
Her legs scrabbled over the ground, turning her a sorry circle around the spike. But her heart had already stopped beating.
The sun winked out of view, bidding all a good night.
The city, scarred, sunk back into a fitful slumber.
A single, jet-black obelisk some twenty foot high, clawing at the sleeping sky. Silver veins ran through the marble, twisting delicately upwards to the pointed silver cap. A simple golden plaque remembered the lost ones.
It retained it’s beauty even after being ripped from the ground and thrown down the high street in an effortless action. It travelled the two-mile stretch of road without slowing - a blurred shape reflected infinitely in the thousands of mirrored windows of hundreds of skyscrapers lining the vacant pavements.
An arrow could not have flown straighter.
The silver cap of the monument spun gently, glowing red as it ripped through the silence. The square sides, catching the sun’s dying rays, winked orange lashes at the buildings it past - all empty, all dead.
The target stepped easily to the side, caught the solid spear of marble in one hand, spun it in his hands and drove it down through the street with a smile. He wiped his hands and turned back down the two-mile stretch.
She gathered up the sharpest shards of marble scattered around the monument’s plinth and hurled them, in the same easy movement, towards the figure two-miles distant. Then she ran.
Speed incomparable.
She pushed on, passing the marble shards thrown seconds before, feet touching the shocked, cold road every hundred meters. The fine film of dust, covering every surface in the city, was sucked up into the vacuum left behind her, exposing the blackness beneath for the first time in years.
Two miles in two seconds.
Again, the target simply stepped aside, grabbed her arm, spun and released. She soared upwards - half a mile into the darkening sky, perfectly in control. As she alighted on top of a skyscraper the marble shards thudded into his back, one shooting right through his stomach.
He smiled at her little prank and jumped, thin legs sending him easily up to join her on the towering building. The dead city stirred.
He pulled an antennae from the roof - a thin, barbed thing three times his height - and lunged towards her.
She jumped over him, landed neatly and ripped off a satellite dish just in time to deflect a sweeping blow from the antennae. A hundred blows followed in a split second, the metal pole a blur, bending and arching through the lazy air, each strike deadly.
Her actions any slower and she would have been shredded to bits. But the satellite dish moved with equal speed and grace, sweeping and thrusting in every direction in a beautiful dance.
The fight, a million strikes, a million deflections, lasted under a minute.
He had slowly inched his grip up the antennae, staring only into her eyes for any sign that she’d noticed.
Nothing.
He spun, slashed, swiped and stabbed; with each backward stroke moving his hand a fraction of a millimetre upwards. Finally in reach he purposely lunged wide of her body. She pushed out with her shield, knocking the sword away.
Her face turned away from him, he dropped the antennae and let loose a punch, striking her perfectly on the jaw.
Before the used antennae hit the floor, gravity too slow, she recovered - spinning in the air to throw the satellite dish back in his direction then flipping again her eyes went wide and she just managed to grab the edge of the building.
He smiled.
She was shocked - his punch had been much stronger than she’d expected, sent her too far. The city rose gently from it’s slumber, gaining interest.
If the punch was too strong for her, the building stood no chance. As she hit the lip of the roof, a horrible crack echoed drearily in the dull atmosphere. The skyscraper sheared in two.
With a fait chuckle he leapt from the roof to the building directly opposite, moving to the edge to witness her fall.
The top half of the skyscraper stayed intact as the crack widened, falling in a beautiful arc towards the lonely road. She gathered her senses as it fell, still shocked by his strength, now in doubt as to the fight’s final outcome.
A thousand tonnes of rubble cascaded across the street. She sprung out sideways from the roof, away from the spray of glass and metal. Rolling, she stood up, looked up and saw that smiling face directly above her.
The swirling dust of destruction blurred him to a ghost, then blocked out the figure entirely. She lifted her arm up to shade her eyes against the stinging dust, straining to see through the shroud.
The city blinked awake, intrigued, wounded.
High above, he could still see her perfect shape under the dust cloud, illuminated by the orange rays of the still setting sun. He reached over the edge of the skyscraper and plunged his hands deep down into the concrete. Thin fingers clasped around the metal he sought.
He strained for a second, the shards of marble still imbedding his back disappeared inside him as the muscles contracted. Then, with a flick of his arms, the steel framework supporting the front face of the building, swung out easily from it’s fixings. He lifted it up above his head, the unthinkably heavy grid of girders, and hopped back from the skyscraper’s edge.
All she saw now, through the choking dust, was flash after flash of orange light.
Ten thousands windows, free of their steel prison, plunged downwards through the dust.
The glorious sound of shattering glass filled his ears. He switched the framework to one hand and moved cautiously back to the edge of the now open-fronted skyscraper.
The dust cleared.
The city strained to see.
She lowered her arm, red and slick, from her eyes.
Along her arm, down her side and leg, from chest and back, stood whole sheets of glass. Imbedded inches down into her skin, the knife-blade edges scored her bones, sliced her tendons.
Each window five foot long, two across. Their mirrored fronts shot orange light to the ground, illuminating the vast pool of blood running red trails through the dust.
A wound.
The first in years.
She was an easy target, ringed in red, and still staring at her scars in disbelief. He let the vast metal frame swing back down from above his head, at the last second thrusting downwards at her figure half a mile below.
She crumpled under the weight, immeasurable tonnes of steelwork now pressed down on her chest. The glass not protruding from her skin had smashed all around, and now jagged spears raked her back, sending more blood into the glistening pool.
But it was still just a wound.
A scratch.
She still lived, and she would still fight.
She pushed out with her legs, jerked up with her shoulders, and in one motion stood solidly holding the framework above her own head. It was all he could do just to hang on, with a smile. Things, he thought, were about to get interesting.
The city, wide awake, held it’s breath, shrunk back at the destruction it foresaw.
She flipped the mass of girders around ninety degrees in her grip and swung downwards a mighty sword stroke. The building was cut vertically, beautifully in half. Either side of the ragged gash, the two split sections stood in tact.
Framework still lowered, she waited.
The sides collapsed inwards.
She waited.
Until the sound of falling rubble ceased, she waited.
Then, slowly, she raised the steel from the wreckage.
He still clung, smiling no longer, to the other end. Bruised, bleeding, white with dust.
Not enough.
Her eyes narrowed and she spun furiously on her heel, dragging the steel frame up to speed. She didn’t stop, faster and faster, into and way past a blur - the thick, bolted girders a faint shimmer as the sun crept further over the horizon.
If it weren’t for the total destruction, they may have been completely invisible.
All around, in a half-mile radius, skyscrapers were sliced off at the base, left to topple or implode down onto empty streets. Tears of the city, raining glass and metal.
She moved down the two-mile stretch steadily, a inescapable circle of ruin.
Still he did not die.
She ripped him through a hundred buildings. Smashing windows, snapping girders, exploding through concrete he was as much a part of the destruction as the cause of it.
But still he did not die.
She could feel him, a living weight on the end of her scythe.
With a angry grunt she stopped dead, halfway through a rotation and shoved the framework out in front of her. He was pinned against the only solid structure in the area.
But not helpless.
His fingers closed around his end of the framework. Half a mile away, hers did the same.
Stalemate.
The end was near.
He moved first, every cut on every inch of his skin screaming for revenge, for her blood, for the victory. He pulled outwards, ripping the framework clean in two and out of her grasp.
Two metal wings. He swung them behind him, levelling the last remaining structure. He did not smile.
She had no shield now. Just one good hand.
The plates of glass, smashed shorter, still stood out from her flesh, crusted with blood.
He snapped the wings shut. A thousand scissors.
She brought up her arms, the wings stopped dead against them. With her good hand she reached up, slowly, and ripped off a section of the frame, throwing it to the ground.
He pulled away, turned sideways on his toes and thrust again. One wing high, one wing low.
She grabbed the first with her good hand, ripped a piece off; stamped on the second, kicked a section into the surrounding rubble.
He struck again.
She did not block the strike this time, but made her own attack.
A punch.
A kick.
Steel sheared off, flying in all directions.
He struck again, parallel stabs to the chest.
She turned sideways, between the wings, punched out and sent whole vertical columns to the ground.
His weapon was disappearing.
He beat his wings again. They came back shorter by far.
The battle gained pace, a furious fight now, no sign of grace or control. No style, just intent.
The half-mile long wings beat again and again, flapping uselessly against her efficient counterattacks.
Nothing touched her. She chose when to make contact, and for only one reason.
Now a constant stream of broken metal flew into the sky as the brightest stars dared to show themselves - the sun a broken arc on the horizon. She closed her eyes against the attacks, senses flared, limbs moved of their own accord, every movement natural, efficient and perfect.
She struck out again and again.
Then he was gone.
She opened her eyes. Alone.
Was this the victory?
High above, his jump ended. The decent began.
Now he only held two short lengths of steel, his wings torn to shreds.
He spun the spikes in his hands and speeded his fall.
She looked around, at every shadow in the twilight. Alone.
Completely alone.
He rammed the steel prongs, four foot long, down through her shoulders - closer now to her than he’d ever been. She fell face-first to the road and he drove the prongs in deeper, through her shoulders, into the ground.
She was staked there, breathing in the age-old dust on the deserted road, unable to move.
He stepped back off her, breath now coming heavily, the first sweat he’d broken in years stinging in his eyes.
She wouldn’t give up now. Victory so close.
With one last spasm of her tired body, she pushed upwards from the ground, ripped herself off the spikes. She flipped a tight, controlled circle in the air, right over his head.
Coming down behind him, she reached out her cold hand and grasped at his neck then, the somersault complete, brought her feet hard into his back and pulled.
The crack was beautiful in the heavy atmosphere. His head fell back from his body, a splinter of spine protruding from his neck.
She sighed.
But, now clinging to a dead weight, she fell.
She twisted in the decent, trying to get on top, in control.
The steel spike ripped through her chest, tearing and pushing her heart right through her rib cage into the open air.
Her legs scrabbled over the ground, turning her a sorry circle around the spike. But her heart had already stopped beating.
The sun winked out of view, bidding all a good night.
The city, scarred, sunk back into a fitful slumber.
Page:
The monument was beautiful.
A single, jet-black obelisk some twenty foot high, clawing at the sleeping sky. Silver veins ran through the marble, twisting delicately upwards to the pointed silver cap. A simple golden plaque remembered the lost ones.
It retained it’s beauty even after being ripped from the ground and thrown down the high street in an effortless action. It travelled the two-mile stretch of road without slowing - a blurred shape reflected infinitely in the thousands of mirrored windows of hundreds of skyscrapers lining the vacant pavements.
An arrow could not have flown straighter.
The silver cap of the monument spun gently, glowing red as it ripped through the silence. The square sides, catching the sun’s dying rays, winked orange lashes at the buildings it past - all empty, all dead.
The target stepped easily to the side, caught the solid spear of marble in one hand, spun it in his hands and drove it down through the street with a smile. He wiped his hands and turned back down the two-mile stretch.
She gathered up the sharpest shards of marble scattered around the monument’s plinth and hurled them, in the same easy movement, towards the figure two-miles distant. Then she ran.
Speed incomparable.
She pushed on, passing the marble shards thrown seconds before, feet touching the shocked, cold road every hundred meters. The fine film of dust, covering every surface in the city, was sucked up into the vacuum left behind her, exposing the blackness beneath for the first time in years.
Two miles in two seconds.
Again, the target simply stepped aside, grabbed her arm, spun and released. She soared upwards - half a mile into the darkening sky, perfectly in control. As she alighted on top of a skyscraper the marble shards thudded into his back, one shooting right through his stomach.
He smiled at her little prank and jumped, thin legs sending him easily up to join her on the towering building. The dead city stirred.
He pulled an antennae from the roof - a thin, barbed thing three times his height - and lunged towards her.
She jumped over him, landed neatly and ripped off a satellite dish just in time to deflect a sweeping blow from the antennae. A hundred blows followed in a split second, the metal pole a blur, bending and arching through the lazy air, each strike deadly.
Her actions any slower and she would have been shredded to bits. But the satellite dish moved with equal speed and grace, sweeping and thrusting in every direction in a beautiful dance.
The fight, a million strikes, a million deflections, lasted under a minute.
He had slowly inched his grip up the antennae, staring only into her eyes for any sign that she’d noticed.
Nothing.
He spun, slashed, swiped and stabbed; with each backward stroke moving his hand a fraction of a millimetre upwards. Finally in reach he purposely lunged wide of her body. She pushed out with her shield, knocking the sword away.
Her face turned away from him, he dropped the antennae and let loose a punch, striking her perfectly on the jaw.
Before the used antennae hit the floor, gravity too slow, she recovered - spinning in the air to throw the satellite dish back in his direction then flipping again her eyes went wide and she just managed to grab the edge of the building.
He smiled.
She was shocked - his punch had been much stronger than she’d expected, sent her too far. The city rose gently from it’s slumber, gaining interest.
If the punch was too strong for her, the building stood no chance. As she hit the lip of the roof, a horrible crack echoed drearily in the dull atmosphere. The skyscraper sheared in two.
With a fait chuckle he leapt from the roof to the building directly opposite, moving to the edge to witness her fall.
The top half of the skyscraper stayed intact as the crack widened, falling in a beautiful arc towards the lonely road. She gathered her senses as it fell, still shocked by his strength, now in doubt as to the fight’s final outcome.
A thousand tonnes of rubble cascaded across the street. She sprung out sideways from the roof, away from the spray of glass and metal. Rolling, she stood up, looked up and saw that smiling face directly above her.
The swirling dust of destruction blurred him to a ghost, then blocked out the figure entirely. She lifted her arm up to shade her eyes against the stinging dust, straining to see through the shroud.
The city blinked awake, intrigued, wounded.
High above, he could still see her perfect shape under the dust cloud, illuminated by the orange rays of the still setting sun. He reached over the edge of the skyscraper and plunged his hands deep down into the concrete. Thin fingers clasped around the metal he sought.
He strained for a second, the shards of marble still imbedding his back disappeared inside him as the muscles contracted. Then, with a flick of his arms, the steel framework supporting the front face of the building, swung out easily from it’s fixings. He lifted it up above his head, the unthinkably heavy grid of girders, and hopped back from the skyscraper’s edge.
All she saw now, through the choking dust, was flash after flash of orange light.
Ten thousands windows, free of their steel prison, plunged downwards through the dust.
The glorious sound of shattering glass filled his ears. He switched the framework to one hand and moved cautiously back to the edge of the now open-fronted skyscraper.
The dust cleared.
The city strained to see.
She lowered her arm, red and slick, from her eyes.
Along her arm, down her side and leg, from chest and back, stood whole sheets of glass. Imbedded inches down into her skin, the knife-blade edges scored her bones, sliced her tendons.
Each window five foot long, two across. Their mirrored fronts shot orange light to the ground, illuminating the vast pool of blood running red trails through the dust.
A wound.
The first in years.
She was an easy target, ringed in red, and still staring at her scars in disbelief. He let the vast metal frame swing back down from above his head, at the last second thrusting downwards at her figure half a mile below.
She crumpled under the weight, immeasurable tonnes of steelwork now pressed down on her chest. The glass not protruding from her skin had smashed all around, and now jagged spears raked her back, sending more blood into the glistening pool.
But it was still just a wound.
A scratch.
She still lived, and she would still fight.
She pushed out with her legs, jerked up with her shoulders, and in one motion stood solidly holding the framework above her own head. It was all he could do just to hang on, with a smile. Things, he thought, were about to get interesting.
The city, wide awake, held it’s breath, shrunk back at the destruction it foresaw.
She flipped the mass of girders around ninety degrees in her grip and swung downwards a mighty sword stroke. The building was cut vertically, beautifully in half. Either side of the ragged gash, the two split sections stood in tact.
Framework still lowered, she waited.
The sides collapsed inwards.
She waited.
Until the sound of falling rubble ceased, she waited.
Then, slowly, she raised the steel from the wreckage.
He still clung, smiling no longer, to the other end. Bruised, bleeding, white with dust.
Not enough.
Her eyes narrowed and she spun furiously on her heel, dragging the steel frame up to speed. She didn’t stop, faster and faster, into and way past a blur - the thick, bolted girders a faint shimmer as the sun crept further over the horizon.
If it weren’t for the total destruction, they may have been completely invisible.
All around, in a half-mile radius, skyscrapers were sliced off at the base, left to topple or implode down onto empty streets. Tears of the city, raining glass and metal.
She moved down the two-mile stretch steadily, a inescapable circle of ruin.
Still he did not die.
She ripped him through a hundred buildings. Smashing windows, snapping girders, exploding through concrete he was as much a part of the destruction as the cause of it.
But still he did not die.
She could feel him, a living weight on the end of her scythe.
With a angry grunt she stopped dead, halfway through a rotation and shoved the framework out in front of her. He was pinned against the only solid structure in the area.
But not helpless.
His fingers closed around his end of the framework. Half a mile away, hers did the same.
Stalemate.
The end was near.
He moved first, every cut on every inch of his skin screaming for revenge, for her blood, for the victory. He pulled outwards, ripping the framework clean in two and out of her grasp.
Two metal wings. He swung them behind him, levelling the last remaining structure. He did not smile.
She had no shield now. Just one good hand.
The plates of glass, smashed shorter, still stood out from her flesh, crusted with blood.
He snapped the wings shut. A thousand scissors.
She brought up her arms, the wings stopped dead against them. With her good hand she reached up, slowly, and ripped off a section of the frame, throwing it to the ground.
He pulled away, turned sideways on his toes and thrust again. One wing high, one wing low.
She grabbed the first with her good hand, ripped a piece off; stamped on the second, kicked a section into the surrounding rubble.
He struck again.
She did not block the strike this time, but made her own attack.
A punch.
A kick.
Steel sheared off, flying in all directions.
He struck again, parallel stabs to the chest.
She turned sideways, between the wings, punched out and sent whole vertical columns to the ground.
His weapon was disappearing.
He beat his wings again. They came back shorter by far.
The battle gained pace, a furious fight now, no sign of grace or control. No style, just intent.
The half-mile long wings beat again and again, flapping uselessly against her efficient counterattacks.
Nothing touched her. She chose when to make contact, and for only one reason.
Now a constant stream of broken metal flew into the sky as the brightest stars dared to show themselves - the sun a broken arc on the horizon. She closed her eyes against the attacks, senses flared, limbs moved of their own accord, every movement natural, efficient and perfect.
She struck out again and again.
Then he was gone.
She opened her eyes. Alone.
Was this the victory?
High above, his jump ended. The decent began.
Now he only held two short lengths of steel, his wings torn to shreds.
He spun the spikes in his hands and speeded his fall.
She looked around, at every shadow in the twilight. Alone.
Completely alone.
He rammed the steel prongs, four foot long, down through her shoulders - closer now to her than he’d ever been. She fell face-first to the road and he drove the prongs in deeper, through her shoulders, into the ground.
She was staked there, breathing in the age-old dust on the deserted road, unable to move.
He stepped back off her, breath now coming heavily, the first sweat he’d broken in years stinging in his eyes.
She wouldn’t give up now. Victory so close.
With one last spasm of her tired body, she pushed upwards from the ground, ripped herself off the spikes. She flipped a tight, controlled circle in the air, right over his head.
Coming down behind him, she reached out her cold hand and grasped at his neck then, the somersault complete, brought her feet hard into his back and pulled.
The crack was beautiful in the heavy atmosphere. His head fell back from his body, a splinter of spine protruding from his neck.
She sighed.
But, now clinging to a dead weight, she fell.
She twisted in the decent, trying to get on top, in control.
The steel spike ripped through her chest, tearing and pushing her heart right through her rib cage into the open air.
Her legs scrabbled over the ground, turning her a sorry circle around the spike. But her heart had already stopped beating.
The sun winked out of view, bidding all a good night.
The city, scarred, sunk back into a fitful slumber.
A single, jet-black obelisk some twenty foot high, clawing at the sleeping sky. Silver veins ran through the marble, twisting delicately upwards to the pointed silver cap. A simple golden plaque remembered the lost ones.
It retained it’s beauty even after being ripped from the ground and thrown down the high street in an effortless action. It travelled the two-mile stretch of road without slowing - a blurred shape reflected infinitely in the thousands of mirrored windows of hundreds of skyscrapers lining the vacant pavements.
An arrow could not have flown straighter.
The silver cap of the monument spun gently, glowing red as it ripped through the silence. The square sides, catching the sun’s dying rays, winked orange lashes at the buildings it past - all empty, all dead.
The target stepped easily to the side, caught the solid spear of marble in one hand, spun it in his hands and drove it down through the street with a smile. He wiped his hands and turned back down the two-mile stretch.
She gathered up the sharpest shards of marble scattered around the monument’s plinth and hurled them, in the same easy movement, towards the figure two-miles distant. Then she ran.
Speed incomparable.
She pushed on, passing the marble shards thrown seconds before, feet touching the shocked, cold road every hundred meters. The fine film of dust, covering every surface in the city, was sucked up into the vacuum left behind her, exposing the blackness beneath for the first time in years.
Two miles in two seconds.
Again, the target simply stepped aside, grabbed her arm, spun and released. She soared upwards - half a mile into the darkening sky, perfectly in control. As she alighted on top of a skyscraper the marble shards thudded into his back, one shooting right through his stomach.
He smiled at her little prank and jumped, thin legs sending him easily up to join her on the towering building. The dead city stirred.
He pulled an antennae from the roof - a thin, barbed thing three times his height - and lunged towards her.
She jumped over him, landed neatly and ripped off a satellite dish just in time to deflect a sweeping blow from the antennae. A hundred blows followed in a split second, the metal pole a blur, bending and arching through the lazy air, each strike deadly.
Her actions any slower and she would have been shredded to bits. But the satellite dish moved with equal speed and grace, sweeping and thrusting in every direction in a beautiful dance.
The fight, a million strikes, a million deflections, lasted under a minute.
He had slowly inched his grip up the antennae, staring only into her eyes for any sign that she’d noticed.
Nothing.
He spun, slashed, swiped and stabbed; with each backward stroke moving his hand a fraction of a millimetre upwards. Finally in reach he purposely lunged wide of her body. She pushed out with her shield, knocking the sword away.
Her face turned away from him, he dropped the antennae and let loose a punch, striking her perfectly on the jaw.
Before the used antennae hit the floor, gravity too slow, she recovered - spinning in the air to throw the satellite dish back in his direction then flipping again her eyes went wide and she just managed to grab the edge of the building.
He smiled.
She was shocked - his punch had been much stronger than she’d expected, sent her too far. The city rose gently from it’s slumber, gaining interest.
If the punch was too strong for her, the building stood no chance. As she hit the lip of the roof, a horrible crack echoed drearily in the dull atmosphere. The skyscraper sheared in two.
With a fait chuckle he leapt from the roof to the building directly opposite, moving to the edge to witness her fall.
The top half of the skyscraper stayed intact as the crack widened, falling in a beautiful arc towards the lonely road. She gathered her senses as it fell, still shocked by his strength, now in doubt as to the fight’s final outcome.
A thousand tonnes of rubble cascaded across the street. She sprung out sideways from the roof, away from the spray of glass and metal. Rolling, she stood up, looked up and saw that smiling face directly above her.
The swirling dust of destruction blurred him to a ghost, then blocked out the figure entirely. She lifted her arm up to shade her eyes against the stinging dust, straining to see through the shroud.
The city blinked awake, intrigued, wounded.
High above, he could still see her perfect shape under the dust cloud, illuminated by the orange rays of the still setting sun. He reached over the edge of the skyscraper and plunged his hands deep down into the concrete. Thin fingers clasped around the metal he sought.
He strained for a second, the shards of marble still imbedding his back disappeared inside him as the muscles contracted. Then, with a flick of his arms, the steel framework supporting the front face of the building, swung out easily from it’s fixings. He lifted it up above his head, the unthinkably heavy grid of girders, and hopped back from the skyscraper’s edge.
All she saw now, through the choking dust, was flash after flash of orange light.
Ten thousands windows, free of their steel prison, plunged downwards through the dust.
The glorious sound of shattering glass filled his ears. He switched the framework to one hand and moved cautiously back to the edge of the now open-fronted skyscraper.
The dust cleared.
The city strained to see.
She lowered her arm, red and slick, from her eyes.
Along her arm, down her side and leg, from chest and back, stood whole sheets of glass. Imbedded inches down into her skin, the knife-blade edges scored her bones, sliced her tendons.
Each window five foot long, two across. Their mirrored fronts shot orange light to the ground, illuminating the vast pool of blood running red trails through the dust.
A wound.
The first in years.
She was an easy target, ringed in red, and still staring at her scars in disbelief. He let the vast metal frame swing back down from above his head, at the last second thrusting downwards at her figure half a mile below.
She crumpled under the weight, immeasurable tonnes of steelwork now pressed down on her chest. The glass not protruding from her skin had smashed all around, and now jagged spears raked her back, sending more blood into the glistening pool.
But it was still just a wound.
A scratch.
She still lived, and she would still fight.
She pushed out with her legs, jerked up with her shoulders, and in one motion stood solidly holding the framework above her own head. It was all he could do just to hang on, with a smile. Things, he thought, were about to get interesting.
The city, wide awake, held it’s breath, shrunk back at the destruction it foresaw.
She flipped the mass of girders around ninety degrees in her grip and swung downwards a mighty sword stroke. The building was cut vertically, beautifully in half. Either side of the ragged gash, the two split sections stood in tact.
Framework still lowered, she waited.
The sides collapsed inwards.
She waited.
Until the sound of falling rubble ceased, she waited.
Then, slowly, she raised the steel from the wreckage.
He still clung, smiling no longer, to the other end. Bruised, bleeding, white with dust.
Not enough.
Her eyes narrowed and she spun furiously on her heel, dragging the steel frame up to speed. She didn’t stop, faster and faster, into and way past a blur - the thick, bolted girders a faint shimmer as the sun crept further over the horizon.
If it weren’t for the total destruction, they may have been completely invisible.
All around, in a half-mile radius, skyscrapers were sliced off at the base, left to topple or implode down onto empty streets. Tears of the city, raining glass and metal.
She moved down the two-mile stretch steadily, a inescapable circle of ruin.
Still he did not die.
She ripped him through a hundred buildings. Smashing windows, snapping girders, exploding through concrete he was as much a part of the destruction as the cause of it.
But still he did not die.
She could feel him, a living weight on the end of her scythe.
With a angry grunt she stopped dead, halfway through a rotation and shoved the framework out in front of her. He was pinned against the only solid structure in the area.
But not helpless.
His fingers closed around his end of the framework. Half a mile away, hers did the same.
Stalemate.
The end was near.
He moved first, every cut on every inch of his skin screaming for revenge, for her blood, for the victory. He pulled outwards, ripping the framework clean in two and out of her grasp.
Two metal wings. He swung them behind him, levelling the last remaining structure. He did not smile.
She had no shield now. Just one good hand.
The plates of glass, smashed shorter, still stood out from her flesh, crusted with blood.
He snapped the wings shut. A thousand scissors.
She brought up her arms, the wings stopped dead against them. With her good hand she reached up, slowly, and ripped off a section of the frame, throwing it to the ground.
He pulled away, turned sideways on his toes and thrust again. One wing high, one wing low.
She grabbed the first with her good hand, ripped a piece off; stamped on the second, kicked a section into the surrounding rubble.
He struck again.
She did not block the strike this time, but made her own attack.
A punch.
A kick.
Steel sheared off, flying in all directions.
He struck again, parallel stabs to the chest.
She turned sideways, between the wings, punched out and sent whole vertical columns to the ground.
His weapon was disappearing.
He beat his wings again. They came back shorter by far.
The battle gained pace, a furious fight now, no sign of grace or control. No style, just intent.
The half-mile long wings beat again and again, flapping uselessly against her efficient counterattacks.
Nothing touched her. She chose when to make contact, and for only one reason.
Now a constant stream of broken metal flew into the sky as the brightest stars dared to show themselves - the sun a broken arc on the horizon. She closed her eyes against the attacks, senses flared, limbs moved of their own accord, every movement natural, efficient and perfect.
She struck out again and again.
Then he was gone.
She opened her eyes. Alone.
Was this the victory?
High above, his jump ended. The decent began.
Now he only held two short lengths of steel, his wings torn to shreds.
He spun the spikes in his hands and speeded his fall.
She looked around, at every shadow in the twilight. Alone.
Completely alone.
He rammed the steel prongs, four foot long, down through her shoulders - closer now to her than he’d ever been. She fell face-first to the road and he drove the prongs in deeper, through her shoulders, into the ground.
She was staked there, breathing in the age-old dust on the deserted road, unable to move.
He stepped back off her, breath now coming heavily, the first sweat he’d broken in years stinging in his eyes.
She wouldn’t give up now. Victory so close.
With one last spasm of her tired body, she pushed upwards from the ground, ripped herself off the spikes. She flipped a tight, controlled circle in the air, right over his head.
Coming down behind him, she reached out her cold hand and grasped at his neck then, the somersault complete, brought her feet hard into his back and pulled.
The crack was beautiful in the heavy atmosphere. His head fell back from his body, a splinter of spine protruding from his neck.
She sighed.
But, now clinging to a dead weight, she fell.
She twisted in the decent, trying to get on top, in control.
The steel spike ripped through her chest, tearing and pushing her heart right through her rib cage into the open air.
Her legs scrabbled over the ground, turning her a sorry circle around the spike. But her heart had already stopped beating.
The sun winked out of view, bidding all a good night.
The city, scarred, sunk back into a fitful slumber.
Ahem
Heheh, I was just about to comment on this after reading it yesterday.
Loved the details. You explained every single moment which was great! Even though I still don't get it.. I still enjoyed it! ;) It's like, the skyscapers were having a little brawl, is that what was happening?!
Loved the details. You explained every single moment which was great! Even though I still don't get it.. I still enjoyed it! ;) It's like, the skyscapers were having a little brawl, is that what was happening?!
Why thankyou : )
To be honest, it's open to interpret however you want to interpret it - I didn't have any set 'secret meaning' in mind when I wrote it.
To be honest, it's open to interpret however you want to interpret it - I didn't have any set 'secret meaning' in mind when I wrote it.
That was DEEP
Oh feck off you little scrot.
I didn't spend 3 days writing this to have a moronic little cockshag drool s!itty pyramid schemes all over it.
At least take the time to think, a little bit.
What's the web addess?
Why it's UKchatforums!
Where's that - in the UK?!
Well, stab loopy's mother repeatedly in the eyes with knitting needles and call her a cretin-breeding hussy, so it is.
Last time I checked, we don't buy things with US dollars.
Bloody hell, you really need to die drowning in someone else's bodily fluids.
ROAR
I didn't spend 3 days writing this to have a moronic little cockshag drool s!itty pyramid schemes all over it.
At least take the time to think, a little bit.
What's the web addess?
Why it's UKchatforums!
Where's that - in the UK?!
Well, stab loopy's mother repeatedly in the eyes with knitting needles and call her a cretin-breeding hussy, so it is.
Last time I checked, we don't buy things with US dollars.
Bloody hell, you really need to die drowning in someone else's bodily fluids.
ROAR
Oh feck off you little scrot.
I didn't spend 3 days writing this to have a moronic little cockshag drool sh!tty pyramid schemes all over it.
At least take the time to think, a little bit.
What's the web addess?
Why it's UKchatforums!
Where's that - in the UK?!
Well, stab loopy's mother repeatedly in the eyes with knitting needles and call her a cretin-breeding hussy, so it is.
Last time I checked, we don't buy things with US dollars.
Bloody hell, you really need to die drowning in someone else's bodily fluids.
ROAR
I didn't spend 3 days writing this to have a moronic little cockshag drool sh!tty pyramid schemes all over it.
At least take the time to think, a little bit.
What's the web addess?
Why it's UKchatforums!
Where's that - in the UK?!
Well, stab loopy's mother repeatedly in the eyes with knitting needles and call her a cretin-breeding hussy, so it is.
Last time I checked, we don't buy things with US dollars.
Bloody hell, you really need to die drowning in someone else's bodily fluids.
ROAR
The Lepor wrote:
> That was DEEP
>Not you, obviously, the gay below you : )<
> That was DEEP
>Not you, obviously, the gay below you : )<
ok, now it takes a stupid special kind of t*** to fall for a pyramid scheme, did you ever think about all the people who are gonna get ripped off- go to america and take your stupid dollars with you
So, anyone gonna actually read this?
Y'know, over 2000 words, three days' work - a few comments would be nice. Even the old 'waa! It's too long' by a moron would brighten up my day.
Y'know, over 2000 words, three days' work - a few comments would be nice. Even the old 'waa! It's too long' by a moron would brighten up my day.
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