The Final Life

by Andrew Mowere

CHAPTER 10

  The second Glint Glimpsed that one wink, he felt an intense sense of relief spread throughout his body, relaxing his muscles. All the stress that came from keeping up this facade with the guild member left him, and the weight being taken off of his shoulders felt indescribable. In a second though, he felt a bit of trepidation take the place of that relief, a sense of doom related to what was expected of him now. Then again, this was what the entire night was truly about, he knew. He needed to overthrow this man, who was becoming a symbol of his guild’s reign of terror over the estate.

  In the room illuminated now completely in red, Glint took a deep breath to prepare himself, took strength from the emboldening music Tim was playing, and said, “So tell me, why are you here?”

  Startled, Alfjötr abruptly cut off the story he was telling, something about a brawl with some rogues in a tavern that ended up being named after him, in a town called Budin or something similar. He looked about him, perhaps unsure of whether Glint was addressing him in this rude manner. Seeing no other figure lurking in the shadows, and thus satisfied that they were indeed the only ones in the room, the large man turned his now angry eyes towards Glint. His beard, braided and beaded here and there unlike his thick hair, seemed to almost bristle when he said, “ye talking to me, boy?”

  His eyes glowered like blazing coals. Glint kept his face calm and merely smiled in response.

  Alfjötr rose from his seated position in one fluid motion, towering over the still youth. “Ye haven’t paid yer taxes yet, boy, that’s why!” he growled loudly, maybe hoping to gauge Glint’s reaction, to see if it was incompetence or purpose that had driven this neglect. For his part, Glint kept his smile up, saying nothing. Perhaps that was the right choice, to give nothing away?

  “Yer under contract!” Alfjötr accused, shaking one large finger in Glint’s direction in a threatening manner. “Ye pay us our protection fees, and we make sure nothing happens to yer miserable little town or house, ye twerp!”

  “You make sure nothing happens to us, and we pay you,” Glint repeated. Was that a threat he sniffed? Was it any different from how his old companions had acted?

  Alfjötr smiled then, a sly smile filled with deep menace. “Or don’t ye care anymore?” he asked, his expression changing, “Eh, nothing matters as long as that pouch of yers keeps getting filled, does it?” Glint furrowed his brows in confusion at that, but it didn’t look like the giant cared.

  The man was naturally big, but those words of his began to fuel his own fury, and before Glint’s very eyes, he seemed to change. He grew taller and larger, seemed to glow almost red with smouldering rage. What stood before the mayor then looked like no man, but a giant, a god of slaughter steaming with his will to destroy. Glint didn’t even know what the man meant with his words about Glint filling his pouch, but suddenly he regretted angering him deeply. Alfjötr was completely ominous, pure and wild, an otherworldly titan awaiting the chance to gnash Glint’s bones in between its teeth.

  Then the beast stumbled a bit, and he became plain old drunk Alfjötr again.

  Idiot, thought Glint to himself in reprimand, don’t shy away from him now! Putting his hand on the silver gauntlet hidden beneath his tunic, Glint felt reassured. He lifted his face towards Alfjötr, and looked him in the eye. “Drunken fool,” he said.

  Alfjoetr’s lower lip trembled at the insult, and one of the veins in his forehead pulsed. He made to step forward towards Glint, who, for his part, ignored the fact that the man in front of him looked like an alchemist’s concoction about to explode. He was angry with the guilds. The youth wanted to stand up for the people in this house.

  The master of the mansion stood slowly and deliberately. “You guilds, you dare force your contracts upon us, signed before our time, without our knowledge? And you have the guts to threaten us with destruction if we don’t pay you? Well I’ll tell you something, Lord Alfjötr. We don’t need your fake protection!” This last sentence was bellowed in defiance.

  Alfjoetr’s reaction was to splutter uncontrollably for a moment. “We dare...” he said at last. He looked as shocked as if he were innocent of the guild’s kidnapping, murder and bribery, of being paid fake protection money whilst the people starved. Glint was absolutely sick of it, and likewise disgusted with himself for ever wanting to become a part of a guild, no matter which it was. They were unworthy, he concluded, even of a murderer like him. From now on, he wanted nothing to do with them. The warrior wanted to change and protect those like his charges. Glint was going to start with this bastard.

  “Leave.” he whispered, pointing towards the door with a sense of finality. That was it, he thought, he’d had enough, “and consider our contract terminated, dog.”

  Alfjötr exploded into motion with hardly a blink. The big man pushed off the ground smoothly, and by the time that his mouth had opened into a blood curling shout, his fist had connected with Glint’s jaw almost cleanly despite the youth’s accelerated reflexes. He had time only to jerk his head back fractionally, and to wonder at the miracle of Alfjoetr’s speed.

  Before Glint was even fully aware of the blow’s power, he was already flung into the air with such force that the youth landed against the wall, face first, with his feet towards the ceiling.

  His head rang as he slid towards the floor. All of him ached, and he knew the automatic increase of strength and speed from his armband had saved his life. Despite that, Glint could not afford to take a second blow like that one, or he’d die on the spot.

  When he rose, however, it was with a clear mind and no fear nor anger. He was already committed to the fight, to a life or death situation, there was no way for him to get out of it by begging nor screaming now, and so he just had to deal with the now.

  Don’t worry about later, or you might never reach it.

  Alfjötr looked a bit taken aback by how quickly Glint rose from the blow. Glint wasn’t watching the guildman’s face, rather his neck, around which hung a necklace of silver, circular in shape with an elaborate face of a snarling wolf emerging from its surface. It was as if the wolf’s head had grown out of the metal itself, and it looked so real Glint was surprised it didn’t move. A soft white glow came from the necklace, and Glint knew that Alfjötr had activated his ability, whatever it was.

  When no otherworldly attack came from any surrounding direction, Glint focused his attention on Alfjötr again. It felt as if the man’s presence was concentrated inside of him somehow, and although Glint didn’t truly understand what this instinctive feeling meant, he was sure that Alfjötr wasn’t about to hurl fireballs or the like.

  Glint spread his feet and crouched a bit. He needed to get serious.

  With that in mind, Glint opened his connection to his armour, exchanged his power with it, and willed the metal to be as it once was. He spread both of his arms to the side, and his armband spread in liquid form all around his body until it encased him from head to toes. Then it solidified and he felt whole. Through the Y shaped slit in his helm he eyed Alfjötr, whose anger had reached new heights and was now shaking. The man also looked quite surprised, and did not move while Glint stepped into a more open area of the study, where they could fight without breaking anything. Then the giant took a fighting stance with both feet spread wide and hands low, the red light behind him giving him an eerie look. Here it comes.

  Alfjötr started the fight by kicking the table next to him upwards at Glint, and the move was so unexpected that Glint barely had the time to get his hand up and deflect the spinning missile. Even with the enhanced strength and speed gifted by his armour, the master of the house was only able to brush one leg of the table with his left thumb, and as the table flew away, another leg broke off and hit his forehead with a clang, shattering completely. Still, Glint looked back to the fight immediately, for he knew to keep his eye on his enemy at all times.

  What he saw stunned him.

  The Guild representative, this huge mountain of a man, was already less than an inch away from him.
As Glint leaped back towards the wall behind him, the man hopped forward to keep up, perhaps expecting the evasion or reacting to it with superhuman speed. He rammed his flexed palm right into the middle of Glint’s chest plate, with such force that Glint felt his left lung cave in completely along with most of his ribs as he sailed backwards, through a window and into the bright light of the flower garden just outside his study. Cold air rasped into his damaged lungs.

  Skidding along the brightly collared space that decorated his new home, it dawned on Glint that he may be rather underpowered in this fight. Broken ribs, a lung gone, not to mention his poor hand, broken against the table leg. He wheezed as the panic threatened to take him whole, understanding that the first blow he received from Alfjötr had been nothing but a greeting. It was no use. He couldn’t win, and even at his fastest, he couldn’t run away from this situation. He was a goner. With that, Glint’s despair reached new heights. Did Azrael know this would happen?

  Fear mixed with anger in Glint’s mind as he lay on his back, and he cast his gaze skywards at a pitiable copy of the sun. It was weak and helpless, controlled by others. He was angry with guilds that tortured the innocent, angry at Azrael for setting him up for a fight he was sure to lose his life in, and at Alfjötr for overpowering him. Most of all, Glint was angry with himself, as happened so often to those who lacked strength.

  As Glint got up painfully, the sweet scent of roses reached his nose through the slit in his barbute. Anger and pain fuelled him as he did. Focus on now. Alfjötr, apparently waiting for Glint, came through the too small window, crushing the lower part of the wall while his head brushed against its white rim. He stepped slowly towards the boy, who had abandoned himself in his fear and committed himself wholly to attack by taking a forwards stance. He stood with his left foot forward, most of his weight on it, his left elbow on his knee, ready to lunge. Before Alfjötr could move again, Glint beat him to it. He flexed his thighs and got to the man with one sharp dash, going in low and coming up with his right elbow aimed towards the guildsman’s solar plexus.

  That blow was swatted downwards, and Alfjötr came back with a right hook, fast and precise. Knowing he couldn’t hope to block this one nor dodge it, Glint threw his head into a blow he knew could take a wall down easily. He heard rather than felt the cracks webbing in his own forehead beneath his helmet, and was out for the next second or so. When he came to, still standing, he saw Alfjötr lining up for a mighty forward kick, fuming at the mouth and with eyes bloodshot from the evergreen. In that instant, mind fuzzy and unable to move properly, Glint did the only thing he could.

  He hopped up, grabbing Alfjötr’s beard as he did.

  The kick pushed Glint more than it struck him, and so the pain against his damaged midsection was almost bearable. But as he sailed away, the young warrior felt a yank hard enough to shatter his elbows, followed by what appeared to a wolf’s howl.

  Glint was unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face just before he smashed headfirst into a tree. The world went black.