The Spar

May 20, 2008
By Micheal Wallace, Sandpoint, ID

A mystic shimmer sung upon the metallic walls of the cave of tribulations. A thick, morose mood draped in the gloom that battled with the radiance.

The Harrower drew his sword from its metal sheath, letting it orchestrate a symphony of intimidation with the slow scraping.

The Lifer quickly lashed out a short rapier from its home built into one of the two cross belted sheaths that pressed tightly into his chest. He made a daring grimace, with all the hate he could muster tightening in his face.

The walls pattered with the loud, eerie laugh of the Harrower. The Lifer made his move.

Sprinting, he leapt off a nimble toe and contorted the air with an agile flip. When his feet found the smooth stone his stance was quickly broken at the back of the knee by a heavy swipe from the Harrowers wide leg.

The floor was as much as elastic, bouncing the Lifer up with a sense of immortality. He performed the flowing motion of his ancestors to sculpt a strong stance. His ice blue bangs whipped and fell over his white, delicate brows at a shivering slope. Heated eyes of tempered amber gleamed slickly, winking through every thin strand of hair in a shadowy affect.

The Harrower seemed as little as bemused. He stomped his feet drastically on the stone, intensifying the ominous vibes with each beating echo.

The Lifer had his mind over his dainty rapier, over even the Harrower's raw, jagged blade of worldly disgust and crime. That echo was his foe’s heartbeat.

His feet fell faster than a thousand falling raindrops now, blitzing on their balls at the fiery entity.

The Harrower was poised before a second breath as the metals of fire and ice showered an array of lucid majesty.

As he ground his rapier down the gritty length of the black broadsword, the Lifer held in his voice for all that he was, and finally lurched forward with a colossal burst of force, withdrawing like a leaf.

The Harrower was thrown off, circling in a mirror capacity with his now swiftly orbiting rival, who soon led as only a streak of frost.

In his lead, the Lifer waited for the precise moment that the Harrower would give up chasing his tail. When it did, the wave of ice crisped over its searing adversary with a sharp aerial glide. Lumbering high in the stillness, the Lifer let all his worries fade away, and connected with the Harrowers beating heart. Timing, accuracy –

He formed into a dive and constricted together like a pin, rapier gleaming at the tip, a beacon of salvation.

The Harrower moaned in anguish as a burning force charred through its shoulders, sluicing and crackling down the long tunnel to its heart.

The Lifer tensed into a being of solid, corded muscles, of hovering electric glow, roaring like a beast that would terrify into erection the hairs of every creature in the bowels of hell’s sincerest shadow. His arms melted away, his torso dripped into evaporation; his entire body became nothing. But that rapier went down inches passed the heart, its blade angled towards it. The Harrower killed itself by a beat.

Not luck; mental endurance.

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