Snippets and Stories: (R) Snuffed (1 of ?)

It doesn't feel as though the flame burns brighter, if anything dying down to a flicker.

The light cast scarce peers into the gloom, and there he stands, hair indiscernible from the shadows. One could little tell where one began and another ended. Or perhaps it was all a part of him.

One may run their whole Life, but it is impossible to outrun oneself.

His eyes are smoldering embers and his jagged grin one of conceit and arrogance.

The candle I hold closer still to my breast, a warmth I could scarce feel in the skin prickling chill that had settled around us.

We both knew what circumstances brought us here.

"Come now. No sense putting off the inevitable."

He draws out his rapier, metallic scrape of the blade against its sheath purposefully done.

"Draw." He demands, and when I fail to comply, his eyes narrow.

A flick of the wrist and there's fire on my face, a paradoxical slick running from it.

"Be grateful it wasn't your good eye. Now draw."

And I do so, and when he sees manifests, he's laughing.

In one hand I cradle the candleholder, in the other is a large oriental brush.

"Is this a jest? You think the pen mightier than the sword?"

I hadn't intended so. What had materialized for me was but a projection, a manifestation, and he knew the same.

There was barely any Time to lift the bamboo as the air flashed. The blow was enough to send me sprawling, the candle clattering to the ground, landing upright. Miraculously it glowed still. Faintly, but glowing nonetheless.

Scrabbling to my feet I run for it, only to be intercepted by another flash of silver.

"Unfortunately you have not the qualities of the 'pen' you so desire to be."

And indeed, I had not. The rapier suited him well. A weapon that was as sharp as his tongue, fast enough to match his wit, and that which was highly versatile.

Swirling the brush above, there came a stream of jet black ink.

The murkiness was difficult to discern from the gloom, but by will, took on the form of the blackbird.

"Feng heed my call!" But the voice carried not the power to summon the oriental avian king, and the ink burst in a splatter.

"Pathetic."

The swish of his sword was enough to send one running, but legs of stone had not the power to run.

"Just like your predecessor."

"..."

A roll of the eyes, "I speak not of your blood."

Light dawned and he grinned, "So you realize. Good."

"You know Cheshire?"

"Of course."

Cheshire was gone, and I had succeeded him as his protege.

He who had come before me came, and went, with nary a word.

All that was left to mark his presence, and passing, was his ever present shadow.

But shadows couldn't smile.

And this one was no exception.

He raises his blade of silver, and my body tenses in anticipation.

"En garde." Is the only warning, before he rushes towards me, a mere blur.