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Was a blur of motion, and the shadow was closer. Still a shadow, despite the light. Leo thought he saw
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limbs, unnaturally long, and gleaming knives.
Oh no, he thought. Not again. But Hernando was dead. Did he believe in |
his own abilities enough to fight another ocotopus swordsman, this one looking decidedly less intoxicated? Wait, no, an octopus knife-juggler!
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His answer came with the sudden punch to his shoulder, followed by stinging pain and the trickle of cooling blood.
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"Oh this is not--" cut short as a flurry of flagrantly-flung flipping daggers flew toward him, and he had to
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swing a fist towards the Octopus shade. It went through the juggling knife fiend like smoke. His mouth gaped at
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his empty hand and the multiple hilts protruding from his torso. No, he was not a warrior. He was
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Quite surely slain, bleeding out like a decapitated ox, his vision flashing with the colors of death. Leo died, and
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woke up to a hangover from last night's drought on mind numbing liqueur. He recalled drowning his sorrow over his
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lost job, but... something was wrong. Many somethings. Many holes in his torso, the sodden crimson stain where he lay.
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It wasn't a hangover. It was unconsciousness, and in his near catatonic state he wondered at the footprints that led
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nowhere. His lifeless bleed out in the sand, and the octopus warrior stood impassive above.
"Long live Hernando," he said. |
Dying words, and he couldn't tell if the octopus was smiling or not. Better not to think about it. Better
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to just rest...
A light hung above him, and there was a piercing pain in his chest and back. Alive... |
until a knife slid into his heart.
"Stubborn runt" the octopus uttered as he wiped his blade clean. He squinted I should get around to posting a compiled version soon. |
, never failing to find human blood pathetic in its watery scarlet. He sheathed the knife and set about finding his
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