Fan Fiction ❯ A Fight ❯ Fight ( Chapter 1 )

Ayr stood there, staring down his opponent. Around them, the dusk sky shone in a bloody red color, turning all across battlefield a rustic red color. Little moved in the rocky expanse of wasteland that was their battlefield. Boulders were strewn about, some cracked and shattered, others untouched from previous battles. Sweat trickled down both fighters' faces, for they had stood there since dawn, each seeking the opening in his opponent's defenses.

Ayr had his hair damp from sweat, and a steady trickle dripping off of his chin. He wore a simple orange t-shirt, and some baggy tan pants. He wore sandals, and some gauntlets to protect his hands. Though his hands were extremely sweaty, he just clenched tighter around his cloth-covered sword hilt, and waited for the fight to begin. He held his sword, the one called Revenge, directly in front of him, prepared to block any attack that his foe may direct at him.

The Revenge was a broadsword, one of the largest and deadliest of its kind. It had a simple redwood hilt, covered in cloth to improve the grip. The blade itself was 6 foot long, grey, and only sharp on one side. It was covered in scars from previous battles. The sun glinted off of it, and his opponent's blade. From somewhere, a crow cawed.

Quicker than any normal person could see, the two dashed at one another, the crow unknowingly giving them the signal to begin. Their blades clashed together harshly, sending sparks flying from the force of their blows. Each fighter seeked to overpower the other. Seeing that he would not win that way, Ayr leapt back and threw his sword at his opponent, seeking to end the battle quickly. But, his opponent saw his attack coming, and with quick reflexes leapt out of the way.

The Revenge shattered the ground where he had stood, sending shards of rock flying throughout the air. Seeing that he had missed, Ayr jerked back on the rope wrapped around his wrist, making the Revenge tear itself from the ground, and come back into his hand, the other end of the rope being attached to his sword hilt. As Ayr was doing this, his opponent saw an opening and threw his own blade at Ayr. Ayr didn't have time to react before the sword whizzed by his head, missing him by fractions of an inch, and embedded itself into the ground.

Ayr, after recovering from his shock, grinned, as his opponent had no rope with which to retrieve his blade. He turned to declare his victory, for how could his opponent fight him without a sword? His answer came in the form of a fist drilling into his stomache, and its twin smashing him in the jaw. Ayr flew back several feet, his blade dragging in the ground behind him. He sat up and looked at his adversary, who was standing there, with his arms crossed, grinning.

"Give up yet, Ayr?" He asked in a teasing tone.

"Never!" With a bellow of rage at the taunting of his foe, Ayr flipped up to his feet, and rushed his rival, his sword held over his head in preparation to strike. Just before he hit him, though, he swung the Revenge into the ground and used it to vault over his rival. Before his foe could turn around, or attempt to dodge, Ayr smashed his elbow into his opponent's back, then grabbed his arm and threw him over his shoulder, sending the man flipping over him, into the dirt, on his back. Ayr walked up to the man and held his sword to the man's throat, tickling it ever so slightly. He asked, grinning arrogantly, "Give up?"

"Never." His rival simply replied calmly. Before Ayr could try to finish the fight then and there, the man hooked his foot around behind Ayr's leg and tripped him, giving him the time to scramble to his feet. Ayr sprung back up and began to swing wildly at the man, frustrated that the man had evaded him, and even more frustrated as the man constantly ducked, dodged, and step-sided his attacks. This frustration became fuel for his power, and soon his attacks came faster and with more power, till the man had extreme hardships trying to dodge the Ayr's attacks. They kept this dance of death up for hours, till the crescent moon was their only source of light.

By this time, the battlefield was covered with proof of their fight, boulders cracked and shattered, the pieces scattered in all directions. There were scars in the ground from wayward blows, and yet they still continued to fight. Ayr could not touch the man with his sword, and his foe couldn't risk stopping dodging long enough to attack. That is, until the man noticed a gap in Ayr's defenses. He always lifted his sword high before every third strike. Taking a chance, he ducked under Ayr's sword as he swung it down, hard, and grabbed his arms when he lifted up to strike another attack. Before Ayr could counter, the man twisted his arm, causing the Revenge to fly out of his hands, and imbed itself into a boulder. Then, the man grabbed the rope on Ayr's wrist and ripped it apart, severing the connection between him and the Apocalypse.

As soon as Ayr saw this, he grabbed his opponent by the shoulders and head-butted him repeatedly in the face, until his nose began to bleed (A/N Not Ayr's). Ayr then followed that attack up by picking up the man and throwing him across the battlefield, where he crashed into boulders and the such, and created a long ditch in the earth where he had plowed across the ground.

Standing up shakily, the man got to his feet. Once he was, he saw Ayr struggling to pull his sword out from the boulder where it had gotten stuck. While Ayr was distracted, he looked around the battlefield, trying to come up with a idea for his next attack. Then, he saw his sword imbedded in the ground nearby…. Quickly, he moved to put his plan into action.

Ayr gave up on his sword, and had turned around to attempt to finish the fight, when something smashed into his back, knocking him into the ground. He leapt back up quickly, ignoring his screaming muscles' protest. He began to throw punches wildly at his foe, throwing away all vestiges of defense in the hopes of dealing more damage to his opponent. Obviously, his rival was doing the same, because more and more of his hits connected, and the blows to himself were getting stronger and stronger. The two went across the battlefield in this way, Ayr too engrossed in his fighting to notice that he was being steered in one direction.

He was surprised when his opponent caught his fist, it being the first sign of defense from his opponent. He reacted too slow to keep himself from getting thrown when his foe flipped him over his shoulder. Though, Ayr did manage to land on his feet in time, his rival had calculated this and, as he spun around to face him, he was met with his foe's out-stretched palms smashing into his chest. He flew across the battlefield, or rather, he would have, if not for the hilt of the sword in the ground jamming into his lower back. There was then pain, exquisite pain, and then darkness.

Ayr awoke to the smell of bread and baked beans, and was surprised to be in his sleeping bag, lying next to a large open fire. It was still night, so he hadn't been out long. He turned to his sparring partner, who was stirring the beans and messing around with some cornbread.

"How long have I been out?"

"Maybe a couple of hours. Its about midnight now. Want some beans? I have some cornbread to go with it."

"Sure. Thanks, 13."

This is the Author speaking, now. I'll appreciate any reviews, flames, or anything else, so long as somebody says something. By the way, point of interest, I'm 13 from the story!