“Get up.”
A voice like springtime. The warm, soft... just good feeling that came with springtime. Like the sun’s rays on your face.
He opened his eyes and through his blurred, painful vision, he thought he saw her standing over him with that cute smile on her face. He smiled as the voice came again, but this time there was an edge on it. He felt a sharp pain in his leg, finally opening his eyes all the way.
An athletic woman loomed over him. She was Asian, with almond eyes and a perfect, thinly honed muscular body. She had a long ponytail which swerved down and wrapped around her body. She was dressed much like Genblade was, in skintight leather, only hers was dark red with black edges.
The handles of twin katana blades protruded from holsters on her back, the straps crossing her chest with an x. She removed one of the blades and pointed it at him. It had four gold spikes coming off of the handle making the legs of a spider, with two rubies making up the body and head. “I said, get up.”
He slowly rose to his feet to face her. “Mrs. Genblade, I presume.”
She struck him hard and fast with the broad side of her blade.
“You may call me Spider,” she said coldly. That voice was so smooth, so beautiful... it almost didn’t matter. As he crumpled to the floor, she looked down at him. “What could he possibly see in the likes of you, you impotent cur?”
“What?” he stammered.
“Nothing,” she smiled. She would have had a beautiful smile, if not for her eyes, which betrayed her sinister intent. “The weapon in your blood has been depleted as a result of your inexperience and carelessness. When it has healed your rather extensive wounds, it will return to you. It has not yet, which makes this a drastically unfair fight.”
She unsheathed her second blade and held it out.
He stared at it for a moment, then took it from her.
She backed up from him a few feet then stood still, glaring at him. He gripped the sword in his hands, attempted to swirl it around like on TV, and dropped it immediately.
She chuckled at the foolish attempt, watching him with fascinated amusement.
He picked it up again and held it straight. His chest rising with a deep breath, he lunged at her with a force that surprised even him, striking at her with the blade.
She lifted her own to block it, creating a sudden spark as metal met metal.
“Good,” she said curtly, as if she were teaching him.
They both pushed away and she jumped at him, making one clean and graceful swipe with the sword.
He tried to lift his to defend himself, but he wasn’t fast enough and her blade cut at his elbow. He felt it scrape against the bone and cringed in a sudden rush of pain and adrenaline. He swung back, but she curved her body and jumped away casually. He lunged at her a second time. Again, she blocked him with her sword.
“Better,” she said again, suppressing a laugh.
They pressed against each other, neither willing to give up, until she kicked him in the side and sent him into a pile of crates. The wood splintered beneath the force of his weight and he let a deep groan from his throat. Formaldehyde leaked from broken bottles inside the crate as she dashed up to him, placing the razor sharp edge of her blade against his throat.
He glared at her, hatred in his eyes. She leaned her head in and kissed him lightly, then flipped backward, landing in a fighting stance.
He hurled himself at her, slashing with his sword.
She jumped over it.
He lashed out again.
She ducked under it.
Finally, she slashed back. He pulled away, but her blade still nicked the gauze bandages. They fell to the ground, their blood slathered surface splashing the concrete floor. He looked at the palm of his hand, wiggling his fingers. No blood. Not even a scar. His wrist was healed.
He sneered, then turned back toward her. “I think it’s time you saw what I’m really made of.”
He clenched his fists until the thin pads of his fingers dug into his palms. His heart began to pump so hard that he could feel it in his ears, drowning out the mechanical cackle of the madwoman across from him. His eyes pulsed with it as his breath became shallow and his veins became tight. He could feel them all, the pressure building all over his body until he felt like he was about to burst.
Nothing happened.
“Ngh,” he grunted painfully, he cheeks flushed and red as his pulse began to slow again.
“What’s the matter, little boy? Can’t summon the demon in your blood?” Spider laughed. She thrust herself at him again.
Then he realized just what she had said. The demon in his blood... I’ve got it.
He raised his blade up to eye level and ran his wrist along it.
Spider stopped in her tracks, watching him with wide eyed interest.
As the sword slit the vein, blood poured down his arm. At first it was red, then it was suddenly blackened. His face cringed in pain as his pupils grew to envelope his entire eye. The blackness seeped from his arm to the rest of his body and then to his head. Three red slits appeared to slice through
