"Okay I don't want any mistakes or mishaps today. I want your guns trained on
him at all times. This guy is a tricky little bastard and won't hesitate to kill whomever is in his way. Do I make myself clear?" asked the Warden.
"Yes sir," replied the prison guards.
They were transferring a dangerous prisoner that day. What they hadn't realized was that this was no ordinary day, nor was this any ordinary prisoner. This man was responsible for the death of twelve officers and numerous others on his quest of greed. His name is Martir Arceneaux and he is a revenant. An underfae capable of surviving what would normally have been lethal to other beings. He only had one thing on his mind that day and it was revenge against the man who put him in there. That man was Detective Dyson. He wanted nothing more than Dyson's head on a stick, but that would have to wait. There were more pressing matters at hand, such as escaping.
The guards escorted him into the prison convoy for transportation. He had his ankles chained down, while his hands were bound together with chains. Two guards sat opposite of him. They were weary of whatever move he would try to make. The driver started the car and sped ahead, not wanting to be caught in traffic. Any delay could mean bad news for him and the officers in back.
An hour passed by and Martir stared at the officers seated in front of him. His eyes were a disturbingly pale white, the eyes of a dead man. He looked straight at them in an attempt to make them as uncomfortable as possible. He started to rock his hands up and down vigorously, as if the chains would break.
"Stop that, right now!" a guard ordered.
"Make me stop," Martir replied.
"If you don't stop right now, I'll shoot."
"Well if you shot me right now, you'd risk a ricochet. Then you would probably endanger the life of yourself, your buddy right there and probably the driver."
"Shut up smart ass!"
"Calm down Rick, he's trying to rile you up," said the other guard.
"So your name is Rick huh? Well tell you what Rick, why don't you come over here and make me shut up or are you not man enough."
"Did you here what he just said?" asked Rick.
"Calm down, he is trying to get us upset," said Tom.
"What's your name pretty boy?"
Tom looked Martir straight into his unnerving looking eyes.
"My name is Tom and I will personally send you to fae hell, if you even remotely attempt to escape."
"Ooh. Scary Tom. Did your Mother not breast feed you as a child or what?"
"You son of a bitch. You mention my mother again and I'll neuter you."
"Yo Rickster your friend here has balls, but I'm sure you don't. You know I used to rape guys like you in prison."
"That's it!" shouted an enraged Rick.
Rick got up and lunged at Martir with his MP5 sub-machine gun in an attempt to bludgeon him with the butt of his weapon. Martir ripped the chain out of the floor and wrapped it around Rick's neck, snapping it instantly. Tom shot at Martir, frantically trying to kill him. Unfazed Martir grabbed Ricks MP5 and fired the entire magazine into the driver's window. The truck flipped over half a dozen times. Disoriented Tom opened his eyes and looked up to see Martir gazing at him. Martir raised his foot and slammed it down upon Tom's throat with great force. He stomped over and over again until bones and tendons protruded from what was once Tom's neck. Martir ripped the tactical gear off of Tom and Rick and attached it to himself. He kicked open the convoy door and opened fire at the other transport guards whom were riding in identical convoys. He killed one officer after another, while sustaining bullet wounds with no effect. He threw several smoke grenades, which engulfed the entire area with smoke. When the smoke cleared, Martir was nowhere to be seen. A search team with dogs were sent out, but what the officers had failed to realize was that Martir could not be found. He had escaped by submerging himself underneath the river. He did not need to breathe because he lacked the natural organ functions that other fae had. He was determined to kill Detective Dyson no matter what.
An alarm clock rang. Its sound is both constant and agitating. The alarm clock was met by the hand of a wolf shifter named Dyson. Dyson sluggishly got out of bed and looked at the woman he brought home last night. She was sleeping in the nude with only a blanket covering her shapely figure. Her clothing was scattered all around Dyson's apartment.
"Dyson, it's still early. Are you going to work?" asked the woman.
"I'm afraid I have to babe."
Dyson gave her a quick peck on the lips.
"I only have one key…, so do you mind getting dressed?"
"You're kicking me out already?"
"No I am certainly not."
"Yes you are," the woman giggled. "Okay Dyson. I guess I could, but you better not expect any favors from me later today."
Dyson let himself and the woman out and they went their separate ways. He drove to the police station and went inside. He was greeted by his partner Hale at his desk.
"So Dyson, I see that you brought home another girl last night."
"How can you tell?"
"I can tell because of the smug look you have on your face. So why don't you tell me about her."
"She's a water nymph that I met at the pub. Her name is Trixie, or Trish, something along those lines."
"My man Dyson. You get so many girls that you can't even remember their names."
"Who did you go out with last night Hale?"
"Unfortunately it was just me, myself, and a delicious Big Mac."
Dyson and Hale both laughed at the corny joke. Their laughter was broken by an announcement on the loudspeakers.
"All officers please report to the conference room. I repeat, all officers please report to the conference room," said the woman on the loudspeaker.
"Something's going on," said Hale.
"You're telling me," Dyson said sarcastically.
Dyson and Hale headed to the conference room.
"Okay, everyone settle down now," announced the police chief.
"I was awoken at 5:00AM this morning when I received this news. A prisoner by the name of Martin Arcendreau has escaped police custody. His profession is international arms dealing and he has been known to deal in many third world countries. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous. Many officers were killed in the line of duty attempting to detain him. An APB has been put out on him. Any news about his whereabouts is to be brought directly to me. You are dismissed."
Dyson left the room in a rush. He recognized the name as a new identity given to Martir Arceneaux, when he was incarcerated. He knew that Hale had the same knowledge in his head. Hale looked at the fearsome look on Dyson's face.
"Dyson, don't tell me that you're thinking what I think you're thinking."
"Hale, I'm going after Martir alone. Don't try to stop me."
"Are you crazy Dyson? The last time you faced him, he almost killed you. The whole deathlessness thing he has going on doesn't help either."
"Do you remember what he told me the last time I saw him. Think about it Hale, he won't just stop at killing a few officers. He will kill as many as possible until he gets to me."
"Dyson, I won't let you go at this alone."
"Fine, but if you're coming along bring a vest."
Dyson and Hale's cellphones' made a chiming tone. They realized that they had been sent a text by the Ash's secretary. It gave them orders to go directly to the Ash without any pit-stops along the way.
Dyson and Hale went into the Ash's throne room and kneeled before him.
"You may rise," said the Ash. "As you already know Martir Arceneaux has escaped. You must get to him first before the other officers do. The last time we had a mishap with him over a dozen officers were killed. This kind of attention is unneeded as it could reveal the existence of fae kind. If detaining him is impossible, then I am giving you my express permission to terminate this subject. Do you understand?"
"Yes, almighty Ash," replied Dyson and Hale.
"Fine, you are dismissed."
Dyson and Hale left the room and headed out to the car.
"So Dyson, what is the plan?"
"We find Martir and we kill him."
"Isn't that impossible?"
"Its extremely difficult, but not impossible."
"Revenants have been killed before, but preparation is necessary."
Dyson ducked behind cover. Martir sprayed bullets everywhere, and it seemed like he was never going to stop. The bodies of police officers covered the ground. Dyson breathed heavily and ejected the magazine from his pistol. It had five rounds left. He switched to a fresh fifteen round magazine. 9mm pistol rounds didn't seem like they were going to help in this situation. He looked over at Hale who was also checking his handgun.
"Dyson, do you have any mags left? I'm outta ammo!" Hale shouted over the gunfire.
"This is my last one, make it count."
Dyson tossed Hale his last full magazine. Hale loaded it into his pistol and chambered a round.
"Cover me," said Dyson.
Dyson got up, fired a few rounds and ran for cover as Hale covered him with suppressive fire. One of the criminal fae spotted Dyson and fired at him. Dyson stayed behind cover as bullets glided through the air beside him. He sticked his hand and the side of his head around the corner and shot the fae to death. He ran a few more yards and plowed into the backside of a bulldozer shovel for cover. Another fae attempted to kill Dyson, but was shot in the head by Hale. He collapsed to the ground dead as a doorknob. An angered Martir fired his heavy machine gun at Hale. Hale ducked to the ground to avoid the same fate of the deceased officers.
"DYSON! I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE, GET READY TO BE EUTHANIZED YOU FLEA BITTEN MUTT!"
Martir continued to fire until his machine gun clicked empty. He tossed his weapon into the cement beside him.
"Look Dyson, no bullets. Come and get me."
Dyson stood up and fired the rest of his magazine into the revenant without any effect. Dyson threw his gun aside and decided to face Martir on his own terms. He ran up to Martir and pummeled him to the ground. He punched Martir several times. Martir kicked Dyson in the chest with great force sending him flying back.
"Come on wolf boy, is that all you got?"
Dyson eyed turned yellow as be became filled with rage. He stood up and did a roundhouse kick against Martir's head. Martir stumbled to his side and was grabbed by Dyson. Dyson slammed his kneecap into Martir's diaphragm over and over. Martir grabbed Dyson and crushed him in a bear hug. Dyson struggled relentlessly as the air was squeezed out of him. Martir slammed a defeated Dyson onto the ground and punched him in the face over and over again. He picked up a metal rod with a horrific look of bliss in his eyes.
"I'm going to enjoy this Dyson."
Martir raised his arms. Just as he was about to impale the steel rod through Dyson's heart, he was sniped through the center of his mouth. He collapsed, seemingly dead, to the ground. Dyson coughed in pain as he looked upon Martir's motionless body. Hale ran up to Dyson and helped him back on his feet.
"Dyson, are you okay?" asked a worried Hale.
"Yeah. I just got the life kicked out of me. Is he dead?"
"No, his brain stems just been severed. He should appear dead for a while, until we can get this under wraps."
"How exactly are we going to keep this under wraps?"
"He'll be given a new identity when he is transferred to a fae prison."
"He took out so many officers," Dyson groaned.
"Well with where he's going, he'll never kill again."
It was a dark gloomy day as the bodies of the fallen officers were buried. Dyson looked at all the tearing eyed families as they wept. He was saddened by what he saw, but it was not unlike what he had seen over the entire span of his life. He had attended hundreds of funerals after comrades had fallen in battle. He wondered why such good friends had to die, while he lived on with bitterness in his heart. He honored them everyday by living on, the best he could. He approached the wife of one of the fallen officers and received a solid slap across the face.
"You told me you had John's back no matter what Dyson! How could you let this happen. Just tell me why Dyson, why did he have to die!?"
Dyson hugged the woman as she cried into his chest.
Martir walked through a dark alleyway. He had obtained clothing from a nearby dumpster. He marched with a heavy footed stride, determined to kill the wolf shifter who put him in jail. He heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw a man wearing a hoodie. The man pointed a gun at his face.
"Yo, give me your money," demanded the mugger.
"Sorry kid, don't have any."
"Are you crazy or something mista, give me your money."
Martir tilted his head back and rolled his eyes. He smacked the gun out of the mugger's hand, breaking his wrist in the process. The man screamed in pain, but Martir grabbed his neck and raised him off the ground.
"Pp-please don't kill me," the mugger said raspily.
"Mm yeah, I thought about it and I'd have to say… no."
The revenant drained the soul out of the young mugger. His body rapidly dehydrated until it looked as dry as a mummy. Martir crushed the husks neck in his hand. The head and body crumbled off and fell to the ground. He patted his hands to get the rest of the corpse dust off of them. He picked up the gun and shoved it in the rear of his pants. He spotted a pair of sunglasses on the dead mugger and took them. As he put them on he heard a man muttering in terror near the end of the alleyway. It was a homeless man that he had not seen earlier. He was inside of a cardboard box, chanting prayers to god. Martir reached into the mugger's hoodie and took out his wallet. He took the money and tossed the wallet aside. He walked up to the homeless vagrant.
"Please, I don't have anything. Don't kill me mister."
He squatted down and raised the sunglasses off of his eyes.
"Take this and may god be with you."
"Th-thank you. God bless you."
"Ah, god stopped caring about me a long time ago."
With that comment Martir left the alleyway back on his mission to get Dyson.
Dyson and Hale walked into Lauren's laboratory to examine a corpse from a fae related killing. The body was bone dry and the head was separated from the body.
"What could of done this?" asked Hale.
"It could be any number of fae," said Lauren. "Fae that dehydrate humans include Kappa, Nommo, Mermen and so on and so forth. However, what strikes me in particular is the way this man was killed. I had ran tests and it showed that there was a high amount of troponin in his body. It is much higher then any normal human body could produce."
"What's troponin?" asked Dyson.
"Well it's a chemical that causes muscle contractions, but it's also created in high amounts when a person dies. Post-mortem the calcium ions binds with the troponin proteins and the body goes becomes rigid. This state is known as rigor mortis. The fae that did this to this young man, had a high concentration of the same troponin proteins in its body."
"Have you figured out what fae could have done this?" Hale asked.
"Well I ran DNA tests with other fae DNA samples thinking that it was a jiang shi, but the tests came back negative. The only other thing that could have done this was a revenant, possibly the same one that escaped that prison convoy."
"How often do revenants feed?" Dyson asked.
"They only feed once a decade. Their organs work, but at a phenomenally slow rate. They are so idle that they appear to lack function, but that is not the case. All of a revenant's organ function is focused on their healing process, delaying their need for nourishment. Their digestive systems are incredible." exclaimed an amazed Lauren.
Dyson rushed out of the laboratory like a madman.
"Dyson wait up."
"Not now Hale."
"Dyson come on man tell me what's going on in your mind."
Dyson gave a frustrated sigh.
"Look, revenants feed once every ten years, right?" Dyson asked Hale.
"Yeah, so what?"
"Well, then it's a dead lead. The path ends there and doesn't continue."
"We can find him through other means Dyson. Like, for example, talking to all his known associates."
"Yeah, you're right. Let's get back to the station."
Dyson and Hale headed back to the station. They looked in a special file box made especially for fae. Dyson took out the file on Martir Arceneuax. He flipped to the page with known associates and skimmed through a page. He saw a name that struck him in particular.
"Tomlin McGrady, isn't this the guy who we arrested for weapons dealing?" Dyson inquired.
"Yeah, well he only does very low key deals with friends. Out of all the known gun dealers on that list, why him?"
"He has the least notorious record. This gives him the perfect alibi in helping Martir go underground."
"Well lets go ask him a few questions."
Dyson and Hale stopped outside Tomlin's house. They knocked on the door.
"Who's there?" asked Tomlin from the other side of the door.
"This is Detectives Dyson and Hale, open up," Dyson said sternly.
The door was opened by a lanky bespectacled man.
"What can I do for you today Detectives?"
"We'd like to step inside and ask you a few questions," replied Hale.
"Well, come on in."
Dyson and Hale stepped inside.
"As you may know by know, an associate of yours just escaped prison. Do you know where Martir Arceneaux is at this current moment?" Hale asked Tomlin.
"No, I don't know where he is at the moment. Marty hasn't contacted me at all since I found out what happened on the news."
"Well, thank you for your time."
"You're welcome officers."
Just as Dyson and Hale were about to head out a faint creaking noise was heard by Dyson's wolf shifter enhanced ears. He turned around and looked at a rug upon the floor. He pulled it up and saw a hidden door.
"Put your hands on your head," said Hale as he drew his weapon.
Tomlin did as he was told and was handcuffed by Hale.
"I'm going after Martir," Dyson said.
"Dyson wait!" yelled Hale.
It was too late as Dyson had already jumped down into the dark pit. He actuated his wolf eyes and saw firearms on all the surrounding walls. An iron door was left wide open in front of him. Dyson drew his weapon and kept it ready as he walked through the rusted door. The door was a passageway into the underground tunnels. A scuffling sound was made. Dyson pointed in the direction of a rat. He dismissed the creature and kept walking forward. He turned around a corner and stared down another short tunnel. No Martir in sight. Just as he is about to change direction, Martir leapt down from the ceiling onto Dyson's back. Dyson's gun is knocked out of his hand in the process. Martir put Dyson in an arm-lock, Dyson resisted and threw him off. He turned around slashed the sunglasses off of Martir's face with his claws. Martir stumbled back a few feet.
"Dyson, Dyson, Dyson. You're gonna regret doing that."
He pulled out a shiny silver knife and lunged at Dyson with it. Dyson evaded several swings, but gets slashed across the chest on the fourth swing.
"AHH!" shouted an injured Dyson.
"Hahaha, good old silver. Yah know what dyson? I think you need more of it in your diet."
Martir reversed the grip on his knife and swung his fist down at Dyson. Dyson grabbed his arm and struggled with the revenant. Martir swept Dyson's legs aside and they fell to the floor. He pushed his blade holding hand with all his might, but Dyson kept the knife a foot away from his jugular with his grip.
"You know what they did to me in prison Dyson? They experimented on me like some sorta guinea pig. They tried to find a way to kill me. They poisoned me, hung me, electrocuted me, and finally put me before a firing squad. But you know what Dyson, I put up with it knowing that I'd get out and kill you someday."
Martir put more effort into pushing the knife towards Dyson's neck.
"And you had the gall to visit me in prison for information about my friends."
The knife was nearing an inch away from Dyson's throat. All of a sudden, bullets grazed the side of Martir's head. More bullets are fired, one of them entering the back of Martir's head and exiting through his left eye socket.
"I'll see you later Dyson."
Martir got up and ran for it. Hale approached Dyson.
"Give me your gun, I'm going after that bastard."
"No Dyson you're not thinking clearly. These tunnels could lead to anywhere in the city and their built like a damn maze! You'd need a dog squad to even attempt to get him. Now that I think about it, can you sniff him out?"
"No, he doesn't had a discernible scent. I think it has to due with his peculiar organ functions."
"Oh man. You know what? Don't worry, we'll get him sooner or later. You know when you said underground, I wasn't expecting this," said Hale.
Dyson let out a big sigh of disappointment.
"Want to go get a drink?" Dyson asked.
"Sure, why not?"
Dyson and Hale arrived at Trick's pub, the Dal Riata. They headed over to the bar.
"Two please," said Dyson.
"It's a little early to be drinking, don't you think Dyson?" Trick asked.
"After what I've been through, I don't think this one mug will be enough."
"What's troubling you?"
"A goddamn revenant," said Hale.
"Goddamn isn't enough of an insult," said Dyson.
"Are we talking about the one that escaped that prison convoy and shot himself a good fifth of your police department a while back?"
"That's the one," replied Dyson.
"Well I have something that might help and it kicks a lot stronger than ale."
Trick led Dyson and Hale down into the pub basement. He looked through a cluttered mess of chests. He spotted a long thin one and pulled it out. Trick pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the dust covered chest. Within is it is a Scottish claymore.
"This is the sword of Zyragoth. It was crafted by gnomes from a fallen star. It never lost the heat from its smelting process. Legend has it that an ancient Elven king used it to slay a hydra."
"Slay a hydra? I thought they couldn't be killed."
"Technically it would be almost impossible to do so, but this sword has special properties. Every wound caused by this sword is instantly cauterized, effectively stopping any healing process. Now Dyson, I'm lending this to you in hopes that you can end Martir's reign of terror once and for all."
"I won't disappoint you Trick," said Dyson.
"I know you won't, now let's get you some more ale."
Dyson looked at his watch. It was a quarter pass four. Hale had told him that they would meet a local cafe, but he was nowhere to be seen. As he walked down the sidewalk he spotted someone familiar out of the corner of his eye. He looked at Martir who stood across the street from him. Dyson drew his weapon as he jaywalked across the road. A car stopped in its tracks to evade collision with the Detective. The driver yells at Dyson, but stopped when they saw his pistol. A distracted Dyson turns back to look where Martir had been standing. It was too late, he was already gone. Dyson holstered his weapon and walked to the opposing sidewalk. He saw Hale's hat on the ground. As he picked it up a note fell out of it. Dyson read the note. It read: "If you ever want to see Detective Hale alive again, then meet in the abandoned warehouse on Mill Street at midnight alone." An infuriated Dyson crumpled the note in his hand. This time he would be ready for his fight against Martir.
Dyson drove up to the factory, it was exactly 11:59PM. He stepped out and strapped the sword to his back in preparation for his big fight against Martir. He shifted his eyes into wolf mode, so that he could see better in the dark. As he walked in the main room of the abandoned factory, Dyson sighted Hale several dozen yards away from him. He was chained to a support beam and his mouth was gagged. Click. With that noise Dyson jumped behind cover, just narrowly avoiding a .338 Lapua sniper bullet. If it weren't for Dyson's wolf hearing, he would have been dead right now. Dyson ran and evaded three more shots.
As he fired his last round, a frustrated Martir silently cussed to himself. He pulled out a fresh magazine and reloaded his sniper rifle. He looked back through the sniper scope, but couldn't find the Detective. He heard a growling behind him and turned around to face the wolf shifter. Before he could pull the trigger, Dyson flipped the rifle out of his hands and bashed him in the head with it several times. The force of the last blow sent him flying three stories over the rails. He plummeted into the rusted iron floor with a huge thud. Martir struggled for a seconds to get up, but the floor caved in beneath him as he fell into total darkness.
Dyson rushed back down the stairs. He ungagged Hale and unsheathed his sword. He swung the sword and sliced through the chains as if they were butter. He handed Hale a pistol.
"Stay on this floor in case Martir comes back up again."
"Okay, go get him Dyson."
He left Hale and ran down the steps into the basement of the warehouse. Dyson strained his eyes in an attempt to see. The luminous glow of the sword helped greatly. He heard a footstep with his wolf hearing. He swung in the direction of the noise only to hear a Rat screech as it ran past him. Dyson was really starting to hate the rat species in general. He listened carefully and heard another faint noise. It was the sound of the wind blowing. He approached the noise and saw a door in front of him. He opened it and saw stairs leading back up to the surface. As he reached the top of the stairs, his car started up and sped hastily away. Hale ran outside and fired at the car. One bullet went through the driver window, while two more went through the driver door. The car didn't show any signs of slowing down.
"How many times is this guy going to get away?" Hale asked Dyson.
"I have a plan," Dyson replied. "Do you still have your cell phone?"
"Yeah, here it is."
A musical tone is heard by Martir as he is driving away in the car. He picked up the phone and opened it. The text reads: "I, Dyson, challenge you to a duel in the Timor Park Forest. Bring a bladed weapon, preferably a sword. There is no doubt, that I will bring my taxidermist a new trophy after my final battle with you." An infuriated Martir almost crushed the phone in his hand before reason set in.
"All right Dyson, I'll play it your way," Martir said.
It was 5:00AM, just an hour before sunrise. Dyson had waited a good five hours, but Martir had not shown up. Dyson sat patiently cross-legged with his sword on his lap. He sat in an open field away from any shrubs that could block swordplay. A crunch was heard out of the corner of Dyson's left ear.
"It's good to know you'd show up," gloated Dyson.
"Yeah well it wasn't easy finding you in all this dense brush," said Martir.
"I received your reply text."
"Well little doggie, shall we begin."
Dyson stands up and turns around. He stares Martir straight in his eyes.
"We shall," replied Dyson.
They both unsheathed their swords. Dyson's sword of Zyragoth glowed. The light reflected off of Martir's longsword causing a glimmer effect.
"The hell is that thing?" asked Martir.
"It's your maker."
"Haha, funny. Well, I don't care if you're using a goddamn lightsaber. I am still going to chop you into little tiny pieces."
"You're one to talk."
"I was one of the finest swordsman of the king himself, during the English invasion of Scotland. This sword has probably taken many Scots during its lifetime and it shall take yours as well."
"You are going to die horribly," replied Dyson to Martir's insult.
"Bring it on."
The two men walked in a circular motion. The eyed each other waiting for the others first move. Martir finally lost his patience and swung first. Dyson smacked the sword away with the side of his blade. As the blades clashed hot cinders fled all around. Dyson swung and gashed Martir's right shoulder blade open. The revenant notices his burnt wound, but shrugged it off as usual. Martir swung his blade. Dyson dodged to the side and slashed Martir's torso. Martir stumbled back. He looked at his wound and realized that it was abnormal. He sensed his organs failing to reverse the damage. Rather than growing weaker from the cuts, Martir got more brutal and struck back more furiously. Dyson had trouble keeping up, evading the swords swings the best he could. As he is stepped back his heel hit into a rock and he lost his footing. Dyson fell onto one knee. Martir grinned as he landed a powerful sword blow directly onto the edge of Zyragoth's blade. The glowing sword snapped in two. Dyson got back up and dodged Martir's attacks. He found an opening and ran in, attempting to impale the revenant. Martir grabbed Dyson's arm before he could land the lethal blow. He bashed Dyson in the head with his sword pommel again and again. Martir squeezed Dyson's wrist so tightly that he let's go of the broken sword. Dyson fell to his knees on the ground. Martir kicked him in the head, sending him onto his back.
"Looks like I'm gonna bring a wolf to the taxidermist tomorrow morning Dyson. Don't worry, your head is gonna look good on a plaque on my wall."
He raised his sword and was about to land the finishing blow. An arrow struck him through his shoulder blade causing him to lose momentum. The sword tip struck the ground next to Dyson's chest. More arrows struck Martir in the back. He turned around agrily to see who shot at him. He spotted Hale, thirty yards away.
"I should have killed you when I had the chance!" shouted a livid Martir.
He pulled a pistol out of the back of his pants and fired until Hale fell to the ground.
"Hale!" shouted Dyson.
Dyson grabbed the broken sword stood up and impaled Martir in the head vertically upwards through his lower mandible, as he had turned around in surprise. He dropped his weapons and shouted in agony, as the sword shard caused his brain tissue to become engulfed in flames. He drops to the ground as the rest of his body ignited in flames. Dyson ran over to Hale.
"Hale, Hale! You better not have died on me or I'll kill you!"
Hale coughed furiously. He ripped open his shirt revealing a bulletproof vest. He sat up to a relieved Dyson.
"For your information, if I'm already dead you can't kill me."
"Well tell that to the yule log over there."
"Hahaha!" Hale's laughing is interrupted by more coughing. "Don't make me laugh it hurts."
He took his hat off his head and spotted a hole in the side of the brim.
"Wow. That was close Dyson. Remind me to never go on another hunting trip with you again."
"Gladly," replied Dyson.
"What are we gonna tell Trick about the sword?" Hale inquired.
"It should make a nice fire poker in his pub."
"Haha! Ow! Dyson you jerk."
Dyson helped Hale back on his feet. They went over to the incinerated body of Martir Arceneaux. This one underfae who caused so much destruction, now laid in a pile of ashes. Dyson didn't know what to make of it, but he would not stop honoring his vow to his fallen friends and allies.
"Let's go get a drink," Dyson recommended.
"You're buying," replied Hale.