I thought it might be more interesting to post this one in chapters as I write it as long as it doesn't get too undisciplined. And don't let the intense beginning fool you! I've been writing too many 'angsty' fictions lately, I plan to have fun with this one! ^_~
Please, read and review, tell me what you like and what you don't, what works and what flops.
Insult of the Right Hand
"This time," D crouched over the dead mutant and calmly sliced its head off, "Kindly stay dead."
"What is that, the fourth, fifth time you've had to kill him?" Left Hand asked.
"Fifth," D replied.
"You tried decapitation last time."
"Yes. I think I will eviscerate him too," D commented.
"I was going to suggest boiling oil," Left Hand chimed in.
"No pot," D responded succinctly.
"It was a joke," Left Hand protested.
"Oh," D said flatly, in the tone that usually made Left Hand shut up for a while.
D began the rather gruesome task of disemboweling the dead mutant. Even as he cut into the flesh, he could see it trying to regenerate itself. He had no idea why the mutant was so dead set on killing him, but he wished it would just cut its losses and stop. Perhaps if he took all the organs far enough away, the damn thing couldn't regenerate itself.
"YOU!" a whisper thickly curdled with hate sounded behind him.
D whirled from his crouch to an upright position with his gory sword poised to either attack or defend.
"What?! Another one?! We haven't even finished with this one yet!" Left Hand complained.
"Not my lucky day," D agreed. He didn't recognize his accuser.
He did recognize his race however. Silvery-white hair flowed down the man's back. His features were the unearthly beauty only one of vampire blood could possess. He held a gently curved sword, not as long as D's own, in a guard position. The balance and stance told D that this was indeed a puissant swordsman. D finally looked into the man's face. The dark eyes that met his narrowed, then blazed red.
"DIE!"
The attack was remarkably fast and utterly graceful. His attacker's reach was shorter than his, but D still found the sword whistling uncomfortably close before his parry caught the blade. He was fatigued, still regenerating his injuries from the cowardly ambush of the dead mutant, but still... D considered that he might have found a match for his skill in this unknown attacker.
Mentally D shook himself out of his fight against the plodding but durable mutant, to reset for this lithe, swift swordsman.
They fought in deadly earnest, but their skills were so closely matched it was almost as if they were dancing rather than dueling. Time and again D would reach forth with an attack that should have scored a hit on his opponent, only to find that the silver-haired swordsman had somehow anticipated his move and begun to dodge even as D attacked. Several times he, following the battle instincts he had trusted for years, found himself dodging attacks early too.
"What?! What is going on here?" the mysterious opponent finally asked, "It is like you know my move before I begin it! And you are so silent. I expected more taunting from you!"
He glared with frustration right into D's eyes before performing an incredible back flip, turning into mist at the top of his jump and drifting away.
"A vampire," D noted out loud, "But there are no vampire strongholds near here."
"No, that was a dhampir," Left Hand claimed, "He wasn't a full-blood."
"A dhampir?" D had met other dhampirs in the course of his centuries-long hunt. Simply because they were as he was, he remembered them all. This silver-haired swordsman was unknown to him.
"He acted like he knew me," D mused.
"Not too well if he expected you to chatter during a battle," Left Hand observed, "I think he has you confused with someone else."
D recalled the look of frustration and loathing the dhampir had given him before escaping.
"He will be back."