Gods of Death

3 : Swordplay in the Rain

Emma danced in front of his burning eyes with a look of s******c glee bright in her eyes.

"That was funny!" she said with a giggle.

Victor said nothing. Rain was hitting his face as he lay face-up in the mud.

"You can't let that happen too much or you'll become Tainted."

The way she emphasised the final word made Victor imagine it with the capital T. Tainted; a title rather than a state of being. "What do you mean?" he said in a voice thick with resignation.

"You can't die, because you are already dead, but you can lose some of what it is to be you. The spiritual among us might call it your soul. Little by little it'll drain away with things like that, until you end up a husk of what you once were. I wouldn't be beaten like that too many times if I were you. It'll start affecting you physically, taking your pretty milk-chocolate skin and those deep brown eyes of yours and turning them into dull, festering rot."

"Like a zombie?" Victor asked.

"I suppose. Get up, we have work to do."

"Has it affected me yet? Did that last..." Victor trailed off, unsure of what to call the experience he had just had; a death, a defeat, a tainting.

"No, you still look as human as you ever did; nothing falling off yet. Your hair could do with a brush, though."

Victor ruffled his hair defiantly. "It's supposed to look like this."

"Shaggy? Unkempt? Stupid?"

He nodded, then bent down to pick up the sword. The rain and mud slid off it as if it was oiled and he'd rubbed it with a cloth. The shining steel reflected the midday sun in the rain. Victor looked to the sky; hours had passed.

"How long have I been lying there?"

"Long enough," said Emma. "Are you ready?"

Victor expected a second soldier from two-thousands years ago and took a step back when instead he saw an orc, straight from the set of _Lord of the Rings_.

"You have got to be f*****g joking," he swore as the ugly beast ran towards him. This time Victor held his sword defensively and was able to knock aside the staggering blow that threatened to part him through the shoulder. Jumping back, he waved the weapon in front of him and forced the orc back a few steps.

Emma cackled. "Survived the first swing!" she enthused. "Now, keep your balance and stop panicking or you'll lean into him and lose your head!"

Victor was only vaguely listening to her comments as they came like a stream of babble over his head. He focused on his defence, watching the orc as it thrust and swung at him. As long as he didn't try to counterattack, he was doing well, putting his long sword between himself and the sharp edge of the cruel jagged cleaver the creature used.

His sword, he came to realise as the seconds ticked by, was by far the superior weapon. It swept through the air as if it was weightless and whenever a connection was made with the orc's blade there was little in terms of impact force that travelled along its length. Each time, the orc staggered back with the ring of metal-on-metal and yet Victor was unmoved.

At least he was lucky. An attempt at a blow that would have cut his head in two was deflected by Victor at the last moment and he was able to aim a kick into the other's stomach. As the orc staggered, Victor swung his first full-bodied attack and the sword cut through arm, shoulder and neck as if they were little more than jelly. Blood gushed and the smell of death came early and unwanted to his nose. The decapitated head of the creature rolled onto the ground with its vicious grin still in place. Victor stared at the orc as it seemed to stare back, only broken from the hypnotic gaze from the sound of applause to his left ear.

"Very good! Very good!" cried Emma. "How do you feel?"

"Sick," Victor said. He leaned over and caught his breath, regretting it immediately as the stench of decay filled his mouth and nostrils. "f**k me, he stinks."

"That's the sword," Emma said, "when it kills them, it really kills them. Look:"

He watched as the corpse of his adversary rotted as if in time-lapse video before him, a process that would normally take weeks, months and even years compressed into less than a minute. Soon there was little more than dust to kick over the grass.

"They really don't want anything you kill coming back to haunt them," Emma commented.

Victor took another look at the sword. Yet again, the thing had somehow cleaned itself and glistened. "That's f*****g creepy."

"It's also useful, so don't complain. Or would you want to be digging a grave right now?"

Victor nodded slowly. "What now?" he said, wiping the drips of rain from his forehead.

"Now I suggest you take a moment to ready yourself. You didn't think a single orc was the rest of your training did you?"

He had, he realised. Well, at least he had imagined it was enough training for the day.

"The sun's still bright in the sky," Emma said happily, "we've got loads to get through."

Victor stood and readied himself, sword raised confidently in a battle stance. The part of him that wanted to resist and argue was quickly doused by the reasoning part that knew that nothing he could say would do anything to sway the little devil's plans, and right now she was the only thing that could even vaguely be described as 'on his side'. Dislike her as he did, Victor intended to keep Emma sweet.

"Bring it on," he said with a smirk, "what've you got?"

Emma flicked her tail in obvious delight and smiled. "Oh, I've got loads," she said. There was a c***k of thunder and another yellow bolt of lightning struck the ground to reveal Victor's next opponent.