The introduction chapter to my Katana fanfic. Enjoy! REDONE for your enhanced reading pleasure!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. Period. Done. Think communist but without the red flag. And I have even less money. Getting it yet?
Chapter 1: Decision
Why are they chasing us? We're not important! Corrigan ran along the alley, dragging Talia behind him. No time to think. Got to escape!
They ran through the rain, ducking down side alleys. The grimy walls of the city seemed to enclose upon them. The sound of footsteps behind them seemed at every moment louder, as if they would be caught in but a second.
Despair overtook Cor, as a left turn brought them to a dead end. He looked in frantic desperation, and then spotted a fire escape ladder that was low enough to climb to. Motioning to Talia, Corrigan began climbing.
As Cor reached the edge of the ladder, his fingers curling around the cold iron, there was a yell behind him, then the sound of someone landing on the wet asphalt. Corrigan, clinging to the ladder, looked over his shoulder. The sight that greeted him made him freeze up in terror; Talia had been grabbed and thrown off the wall by one of their pursuers. Seeming to tower over her, the three thugs in white jackets issued guttural laughs as they closed in. Each held a dangerous street weapon; one held a chain, another held a bat, and the third wielded a knife. They circled Talia, and as they closed in, she screamed and looked frantically for an escape. Her eyes met Corrigan's. Her face conveyed to him pure, absolute fear.
Anger, brewing in Corrigan's chest this whole time, exploded within him—anger at the world, at the thugs that jeered and laughed, anger at their lives... and then the anger faded, fell away like a veil, leaving something very different. A perfect calm. A complete understanding.
An icy hatred.
A crazed scream made the thugs look upward in sudden surprise. Both feet slammed into the face of the nearest thug, the one with the bat. A spray of blood coupled with the sound of splintering cartilage made the other thugs cringe, as the first went down under the blow. Cor fell into a roll, coming up with the thug's bat in hand.
The other thugs stared for a second in amazement at this eleven-year-old boy standing over the unconscious body of their fallen comrade. Then, with a guttural laugh at their ally's misfortune, the thug with the knife stepped forward and slashed almost lazily.
At the place Cor had been standing just a moment before. Ducking inward under the thug's guard, Cor lashed out with the bat, snapping the thug's knee in the wrong direction with a sickening crack. Screaming in pain, the thug fell right into Cor's rising bat. The scream cut off with telltale suddenness.
Cor suddenly fell to the ground, a sharp, hot pain blazing through his left cheek. The chain thug swung again, and Cor moved out of the way barely in time. The chain sent sparks flinging from the pavement, and a loud ringing crack echoed through the empty alley. On the third swing, Cor jumped to the right and brought the bat into the thug's solar plexus, driving the air from his body and sending the chain skittering down to the wall. As the thug bent over, gasping for breath, Cor brought the bat up and then down, with all his strength, onto the back of his neck.
He went down and did not get back up.
Standing, Cor surveyed the scene. All three of the thugs lay on the ground. Blood stained the once white jackets, and ran into puddles in swirling patterns. The rain fell still, diluting the violence, washing away the memory of the battle. Even as Cor realized that the thugs were finished, thrust off the mortal coil by his own crazed assault, the strange icy hate filtered slowly from his consciousness.
Dropping the bloodstained bat, Cor dragged himself over to where Talia was sitting. She looked at him with mingled thanks and fear, but those emotions both turned to worry as she took in the long gash on his face. Ripping off some of his ratty shirt, Cor bound the wound as well as he could.
Deep in thought, Cor went back over the battle. He wasn't sure what had come over him, or how he had done what he did. He had been scared to immobility, and then he had suddenly found himself acting without thought. Never before had he attacked another person. And he had no regrets about the fight. It was over now.
He knew this. And he also knew that he never wanted to see that look of terror on his sister's face again.