Fan Fiction ❯ Unwelcome Hope ❯ Jon v. Little ( Chapter 3 )

Unwelcome Hope

Chapter 2 - Jon v. Little

"Of course," Jon retorted, "and you'll understand if I try to defend myself?"

"It wouldn't be fun if you didn't," said the tall one.

"Alright then. Who's first?"

The little guy stepped forward.

"You then?" Jon asked.

"Yeah," Little said, his voice a little too confident.

Jonathan nodded and cracked his knuckles, then began to stretch. Little followed his lead and began doing the same. It was nearly a full five minutes before the two were ready and finished.

They started toward each other, the other two goons hanging back and watching. If things went Jon's way, this would be a one on one fight. He didn't know the other two, so he wasn't sure whether or not those two would jump in if things got tough for the little guy. Jon was fairly confident in his ability to beat all three, but he'd rather not take his chances and be proven wrong.

They now stood about five feet apart. Jon looked him over. Little was clad in basic old-fashioned riot gear. He wore black boots, pants, vest, and gloves. Whoever was dressing this guy obviously wasn't his mother. It was at this time that something caught Jon's eye that he hadn't noticed before. Sewn on the vest's left breast was a red diamond patch. If this meant what Jon thought it meant, then this little mission of his was going to get hairy. Really, really, hairy.

It was while Jonathan was staring at his chest that the thug made his move. In one quick motion, Little swung his right arm and nailed Jon in the face with a punch. Unprepared for the sudden attack, Jon's head snapped back and he stumbled backward, clutching his face. Getting his footing back, he recovered his bearings just in time to dodge a front kick that was intended for his chest.

Little charged him again, trying to press his advantage. He swung wildly, obviously he had no style of fighting and was going just on pure instinct. It was a style in its own right and a style Jon knew all too well. Now Jon was forced on the defensive, darting back and forth between each of the strikes. However, it was of the greatest of ease for Jonathan, whose skills obviously surpassed those of his smaller foe. Little had obviously been trained, but his skill still wouldn't be a match for Jon. The style the man was using was just too sloppy to do any real good.

He dodged again and finally began his own assault. Charging forward, Jon slammed his knee into Little's gut, doubling the man over. Quickly he elbowed Little in the back of the head, sending the man sprawling to the paved street.

Trying to follow up, Jon slammed his foot down, but the little man had rolled out of the way onto his back and countered with a quick leg sweep that found its mark. Jon's legs were taken out from under him and he fell to the pavement, his head bouncing off the street with a thump. Dazed by the contact, Jon barely saw the foot coming down that was aimed for his head. He rolled off to the side and grabbed a hold of Little's ankle. With a quick jerk, he sent Little sprawling to the ground.

Both men quickly got back to their feet and smirked.

"You have nothing to smile at, I'm going to kill you," Jon warned.

"I don't think so," Little retorted as he reached down and withdrew the knives he had been keeping in his boots.

"So he has some toys," Jon mocked, "I have toys too." Slowly he reached over his shoulder and withdrew his sword.

It had a long metal blade that glinted in the sunlight. The handle was made of the whitest of ivory, with smooth red silk wrapped intricately around it. The hand guard was made of the same metal as the blade, promising protection to its wielder. It was of the same style that the ancient samurai had used in feudal Japan.

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Little taunted.

"No… just kill you."

Little's face was enraged and he charged hastily at Jon, his knives positioned for a quick kill. Jon quickly deflected both of them in one fell swoop and came back across with his blade, delivering a slash across the upper left chest to the lower right abdomen. Blood immediately began to flow and Little fell backward, clutching his wound.

The cut wasn't deep enough to kill, but deep enough to show Little he meant what he said.

"You shouldn't play the game if you're not prepared to lose," Jon mocked, waving his sword back and forth in front of him.

His fallen opponent grimaced and sheathed his knives. What Jon said was true; even he realized that in his anger fueled state. In a duel, he was no match for this man with the sword. This fellow was just a better swordsman than he. He was better off taking his chances and fighting barehanded, at least that way he might be able to drag things out and out last the man. Getting back up, he stopped grimacing and brought his hand across it again. Blood. More blood. It was still flowing.

"Ouch," Tall called to his wounded ally, "That looks like it hurts."

"No shit," Little called back.

"I hope you're not going to give up now."

"It's just a flesh wound," Little retorted, his anger now building.

"I hope we won't have to step in and help you."

Jon arched an eyebrow.

"That won't be necessary!" Little hollered.

"Good, now get to it."

Little charged again, lurching forward with a punch. Jonathan easily sidestepped the blow and landed his own punch to the bleeding man's kidney, followed by successive hits to the stomach. All his foe could do is cry out in pain and stumble backward. Jon did not let up however, as he rammed his shoulder into the man's torso, lifting him off the ground as he did so, only to slam him back down onto the cement. Slamming his head off the cement, Little just hollered.

Rolling over, Little got back to his feet.

"Asshole."

"Yeah, whatever."

In his fit of rage, Little completely forgot about their earlier encounter as he withdrew his daggers from their sheath. He charged, right arm extended, blade pointed for Jon's neck. The results were the same as last as once again Jon sidestepped him, but this time the result was much more painful and bloody.

Grabbing onto Little's wrist, Jon turned the blade downward and forced it into the muscle just above the knee. Little screamed in pain and swung his other dagger, which in turn, got caught and stuck in his other leg. Immediately he fell backward and landed on his back, screaming out curses. Blood was already forming a pool around the area and it looked like the battle was over.

He was not yet ready to give in. With a holler of pain and a couple of tears, he managed to yank free the daggers from his legs. Now the blood flowed more freely and it still hurt like hell. Even through all of this he struggled to get back to his feet. Pushing himself up with his hands, he wobbled for a moment. The knives had severed the muscles almost completely from the knee. His legs wouldn't be able to hold him up anymore. Before he was able to fall however, Jon took advantage, hitting Little in the jaw with a jump spin kick that sent the man flying backward again. His face hit the pavement for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past five minutes.

Slowly he rolled over onto his back and pulled himself up. Looking less than pleased he spat some blood off to the side. Now he was reduced to sitting on the pavement, looking up at his better. Jon felt no pity for this now crippled human sitting before him. He had chosen his destiny, he had chosen to fight and Jon had warned him. His present condition was a direct result of his choices in life. Jon felt no remorse. Stupid people make stupid decisions.

"Pathetic," was all Jon said as he watched the man sit.

Little said nothing in reply, just sat there with a bitter look on his face. He had lost. Jonathan had proven himself the better man and now he had to live with that fact. What occurred couldn't have even been considered a fight. Jon had dominated completely and Little's training proved to not be enough. He now realized his major flaw had been his anger. But that didn't matter now.

The two stared at each other for a while, before Jon slowly reached over his shoulder once again and grabbed hold of his sword. Pulling it out slowly, Jon held it low in his right hand. In one quick motion, he ran it through Little's chest. The blade pierced through his vest, past his breastplate, and out the other side. It was the final exclamation on an otherwise dull encounter.

The other man's eyes went wide and his mouth agape as blood poured out from it. There was nothing left for him but to die. His vision went red and his breath slowed. There was nothing but pain. He didn't even feel Jon kick his dying body off of his blade. He didn't feel the concrete beneath him. And finally, he didn't feel…

…Anything.