Three
Otsenango Park was a beautiful recreational area surrounded by lush forests and small ponds. Many people spent their summer days there picnicking or competing on its many sports fields. Others came simply to walk the paved roads and enjoy the beautiful scenery of upstate New York.
The Shogun, however, was here for a different reason. He sprinted down the paved pathways past picnic tables, grills, softball fields, and playgrounds. Like watching a holographic overlay of the events that had just transpired, the Shogun saw every turn the woman made in her attempt to flee her pursuer.
He watched as Amanda ran off the paved path and into the dense woodlands that surrounded the park. He also watched as her stalker calmly mirrored her every step. The sword informed him that she was heading toward the river and that soon it would be too late. That’s when Amanda’s cries for help pierced the night air.
He gritted his teeth and a fury like he had not experienced in years welled up within him. The inferno burned like wildfire, the heat coursing through his being. He gave into the rage, willingly throwing aside all the warnings that the sword screamed into his subconscious mind.
With supernatural speed, the Shogun ran onward, the very earth itself seeming to bend and bow in an attempt at making his passage through easier. No tree branch reached out to grab at him as he ran, and every rock or obstacle appeared to roll out of his way. The wind rose to an almost gale-like force as if to push him toward his enemy.
The Stalker slipped out of the trees and into the clearing where Amanda had collapsed, still whistling. His black coat was drenched now, and his dark hair clung to his neck.
He pulled out a long curved knife. Its blade was serrated, and the black pommel fashioned into the likeness of the grim reaper’s head with two glittering rubies for eyes. Amanda began to weep uncontrollably when she saw the silver gleaming blade.
“There you are, Amanda. You gave me quite a chase.”
“What do you want from me?” she managed to ask through the heaving sobs.
“Want from you?” he responded. “I don’t really want anything from you. It’s more of what I want to do to you.”
Amanda cried so hard that she could no longer form a coherent sentence. She tried to plead with her assailant, but her pleas for mercy came out as a muddled stream of croaks and groans and sniffles.
The Stalker bent down until he was face-to-face with her. He rested his arms on his knees, the blade of his knife pointing toward the wet ground. She stared into his icy eyes and knew that this was the end for her. In her few short years of life, she had never seen such dead cruelty in a person’s eyes before.
“There, there, Amanda,” he said soothingly. “This will all be over soon, I promise.”
He stood again and lifted a pair of headphones up and placed them over his ears. Reaching into his coat with his free hand, he activated the music player on his phone, and it began to squawk loudly.
“You are just like me!” the man sang loudly, his eyes closed, rocking his head and torso violently. “You are just like me!”
When the Stalker reached his demonic state, the wind rose up suddenly. It invigorated Amanda, kindling a small spark of hope that her to find enough courage to move.
Noticing that her stalker had his eyes closed and seemed to be lost in his music, she jumped at the small window of opportunity and took off toward the river. The stalker didn’t notice her movements until it was too late. He bellowed in protest when he noticed she was gone.
The Shogun smiled when he heard the Stalker’s howl. He had sent hope to Amanda on that wind, and his attempt at encouraging her had worked. It was not much, but perhaps it would buy him the time he needed.
Hold on a little longer, he mentally urged her.
Pain erupted as something struck him in his back. His concentration faltered, and the wind ceased. He stumbled and fell face-first to the ground. He lay there disoriented, and a large pair of black boots appeared by his head.
He tried to push himself up, but one boot slammed down on his back, shoving him into the mud. His attacker pressed his foot down and, using all his weight, stepped over the prostrate form of the Shogun.
“I guess you forgot about me, mon ami?” the man asked in that familiar French inflection the Shogun had come to hate. “It seems my little friend kept you busy. I should have known it was he you were after and not I. I wish I could say that it did not hurt, but it does.”
Once again, the Shogun attempted to push himself upward, but the Musketeer kicked him hard in the side, sending him flying into a nearby pine tree. He hit the large trunk with a sickening crack. It split and bent from the impact, spewing pine needles everywhere.
“Obviously I had only hoped to distract you earlier. That was my undoing. I should have endeavored to end the game once and for all. If I had, then your elementary ruse would not have worked.”
“You exaggerate your abilities, old friend,” replied the Shogun, getting to his feet. “You were never that proficient a swordsman.”
“That clever wit of yours again rears its ugly head!” the Musketeer chortled. “Oh, how I wish it had come forth sooner.”
As soon as the Shogun got to his feet, however, the Musketeer lunged, attempting to end the fight with one swift blow. The Shogun was ready for the attack, deflecting the strike and kicking the Musketeer hard in the stomach..
The Musketeer winced in pain. “You know, despite all your efforts, that girl will die.”
The Shogun struck him hard in the jaw with the pommel of his sword, and the Musketeer stumbled backward.
“Well, that was uncalled
