Just a Man

Just a Man

Markus spat out a mouthful of blood, and one of his teeth wanted to follow. Standing with a grunt, he checked himself. Limbs, check. Arteries, check. Bones? A few ribs were out, but nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own. All in all, he had survived.

He checked his surroundings, and thought about changing his mind. The scene more closely resembled hell than anything Markus could think to compare it to, corpses more numerous than blades of grass on the mountain pass. Forcing down the bile rising up the back of his throat, he turned, trying to get an understanding of what had happened. He was met with a tall, bald man in shimmering blue robes.

“A survivor? I’m sure I was thorough enough with the enchantment. Well no matter, I suppose someone has to spread the rumors in the end. Go on, shoo shoo. Run back to your commander, and tell him of what happened here.” The man said, a sneering lilt to his every word. Markus hated the arrogant above all else, because most couldn’t back that arrogance up in the slightest.

“Stuff it already, will ya? Trying to figure out which ear is ringing over here.” Markus replied, eyes squinted. He concluded that it was both ears. Perfect, he thought. Things could only get worse.

“Excuse me?” said the man, eyebrows coming together in a scowl as his sneer fell off his face.

“You heard me. Shove off, unless you want to fight me,” Markus said. His sabre was still at his hip, as were his other standard supplies and weapons. He wasn’t bad at swordplay, but he preferred simpler and quicker methods to ending a fight.

“Why you little…” The robed man spat, raising both hands to level with his chin, palms up, as if he were holding a large platter.

His hands began to spark, and his eyes gleamed with malice. Slowly, he lifted off the ground, hovering just a few inches from the bloody soil. His hands were crackling now, bolts of electricity arcing from one finger to another. A shiver went down Markus’ spine, but he couldn’t pin what for. It certainly wasn’t fear.

With a heavy sigh, he drew his weapon. The edge was a gleaming steel, not being used since it was last used to cut a man down. Markus readied his thin blade, taking up a defensive stance. He was ready to fight, and likely die trying.

“Ha! You think you can defeat me? With magic like mine? You humor me, mortal,” The robe man said, barking out a laugh. He leveled one of his crackling palms towards Markus, bald head gleaming from the generated light.

With a shout, the robed man released the bolt of electricity. Markus took a step to the right, the electricity whipping by him. The spell was concentrated into a spear of power, and it only raised the hairs on his head as it passed by harmlessly. He took the advantage, rushing forward, sabre ready to pierce the man’s heart.

A little slowly, the man saw his spell fail, and stumbled backwards, the spell keeping him hovering failing. Just as Markus’ blade was to meet its target, a thin wall of stone erupted from the dirt, and his weapon glanced off of it. Not missing a beat he tugged a dirk from the scabbard attached to his leg, dropping his sabre. Before the weapon hit the ground, Markus was back on track to killing the bald man.

The spell caster let out a cry, releasing the other hand of lightning in panic. The electricity exploded out, and while stunning Markus, it did little good to kill him. The dirk, though, fell from his hands as the spell hit. In a flash, the robed man had him by the throat, arm glowing a deep blue similar to his robe. Markus’ gave an internal sigh, as currently his windpipe was occupied with something else.

“Insolent fool!” The bald man spat. “You think you can kill me? I’m basically a god!” he shouted, jostling Markus. He, in turn, gurgled nonsense, which was very unfortunate. He had an excellent insult prepared, but it couldn’t get past the man’s hand.

Markus closed his eyes for a moment, thinking in the brief few seconds he had left. Something came to him, and he mentally smacked himself for forgetting. With a jerk of his right arm, he grabbed the handle of the weapon concealed within his coat, snugly waiting for it’s time to shine. There was barely enough room to aim the weapon at the robed man’s chest.

Goodnight, you arrogant bastard, He thought as he pulled the trigger of his pistol.

The gun’s hammer struck the pan filled with a trickle of powder, first collecting sparks as it glanced off the frizzen of the weapon. A breath passed as the powder ignited, travelling through the small hole in the side of the barrel. The pistol belched out black smoke, and a burning ball of lead, directly into the caster’s chest.

The ball of lead burst from the man’s back, the exit hole at least twice the size of the entrance hole. The grip on Markus’ throat loosened, and he fell back, gasping for that sweet, sweet air. He fell to the dirt, just as his opposite did. Only one of them stood.

Markus bent over the body, examining it for any signs of life. He only realized his pistol was still in a death grip in his hand when he bent over to close the corpse’s eyes. He stuck it back into its spot in his coat as he stood. He turned back to the carnage of the ambush, and to the dozens of men slain. Much to his surprise, about a quarter of them were either sitting or standing up, checking various wounds. As it were, the spell caster’s enchantment wasn’t as thorough as he had thought.

“Captain Briggs!” shouted a man. Markus recognized him as a scout by the name of Jeremy. A good kid, if a little too formal. Just as he had this thought, the boy stiffened, saluting.

“At ease,” Markus rasped. “And get me a canteen of water.”

“Yes sir!”

“And you two, check the bodies for any other survivors,” Markus barked after a swig from watered down wine, letting his voice carry for all of his squad to hear.” Ethan, check the wounded, save as many as you can. The rest of you that can walk, either make camp or collect bodies! This is war, not boot camp, and I’ve got a date with whoever sent this bald bastard.”

Here’s hoping he isn’t more than just a man.

End.