...Seventeen young men armed with bats, knives, and brass knuckles. All of them intent on destroying the young woman in their midst, who was armed only with a pair of knives.
In Angel's eyes, the odds seemed just about even.
*You call me strong, you call me weak
And still your secrets I will keep
You took for granted all the times
I never let you down
You stumbled again, and bumped your head
If not for me, then you'd be dead
I picked you up, and put you
Back on solid ground
If I go crazy, then
Will you still call me Superman?
If I'm alive and well,
Will you be there, holding my hand?
I'll keep you by my side
With my super-human might, Kryptonite*
*3 Doors Down - Kryptonite*
"Hey, Jerry, there's a gangfight going on behind your bar," one of the patrons informed the bartender as he walked in.
"Again? Hasn't been one in a while, ever since Angel came." Jerry said, slightly puzzled as he reached for the phone, to dial 911.
"That's the funny thing. See, she's right in the middle of it."
"WHAT?" Immediately Jerry hung up the phone, and dashed outside, around to the back of the bar, where he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him.
At least a dozen young men stood in a loose circle, throwing taunts and curses to the brawl in their midst. Two toughs lay on the ground, motionless. Three more youths, one with a baseball bat and two with knives, were attempting to beat the daylights out of the quicksilver whirlwind before them.
Attempting, and failing, as Angel became a well-armed tornado let loose among them. Those deadly blades in her hands dealt slash after slash, felling her opponents. No matter how skilled she was at unarmed combat, no matter how well she could fight with any number of weapons, never was Angel more at her fighting best then when she was armed with a pair of knives. Just like now.
So skilled was she with the short blades that she could fight with either blade-up or blade-down, referring to how she gripped the knife. Blade-up was the term for the traditional knife grip, holding the blade tip-up and usually pointed at your opponent. Blade-down was when you held your knife with the point toward your feet, like a huge metal claw. Blade-down strikes were usually slashes, and backhand stabs. Angel was even skilled enough to switch easily between blade-up and blade-down, without ever losing her hold on her weapon, a skill almost beyond normal human abilities. But Angel was no normal human.
Jerry's kunai was blade-down in her right hand, Bryan's long knife blade-up in her left, as she skillfully slashed, stabbed, darted, and flicked those deadly blades into soft body after soft body, as a group of five foolish young men rushed at her at once. Her left hand flicked out, fatally stabbing two of them. Her right made a wide sweep, cutting the throat of a third and whipping back to jam between the ribs of a fourth. A slice from both blades silenced the fifth.
Not only was she using the knives, but also her legs to kick and trip her antagonists as they came at her. This was almost too easy, as she dispatched three more targets. She'd lost count of how many had fallen. Hell, she wasn't even thinking. Her mind had somehow shifted into a 'battle mode,' all mental abilities directed at anticipating her opponents' next movements and her body acting on finely-tuned instinct to react to those next movements. None of the gang members even got close to her.
The last seven or eight changed tactics. Instead of rushing her in such small groups, they all charged forward at once. Angel suddenly went on the defensive, raising her blades to absorb most of the knife slashes on her arms, protecting her chest and head. Now Angel's blood began to flow freely, mixing with that of the dead and dying that were slowly getting trampled beneath her feet. She whirled and spun some more, and four backed up, leaving the next three dead to lay on the ground.
One of the four survivors was Derrick, who exchanged a signal with his thugs. They nodded, and rushed her. In perfect coordination, three baseball bats were raised over their heads and brought down with numbing precision. Angel was forced to absorb the shock on her left arm, shouting in pain even as she leaped forward and gutted them with her right.
Now it was just her and Derrick. In shock, she realized that those three had been instructed to simply distract her, while Derrick--
--pulled out a small handgun. Ten feet was the distance between them, much too far for Angel to do anything immediatley. For the moment, Derrick was in control.
"You know, Angel, you never should have come here," he said smugly, the firearm in his hand giving him a huge ego boost.
"You're telling me," Angel replied, staring into his eyes and reading his next move.
"I was really starting to get pissed off at you," he continued.
"Been there, done that."
He laughed. "You know, we really got off on the wrong foot. I should have won that first fight. You should be kneeling at my feet, begging me to finish you off. I can tell that's not going to happen, but at least I'll win." He smiled dangerously, and tensed his arm muscles. "Now it's time to say goodbye."
The split second before he squeezed the trigger, Angel leaped sideways, then dropping to the ground and letting her momentum bring her into a forward roll that brought her to her feet about a yard from Derrick, who hadn't even been able to fire a second round. Now she was in his face, and elbowed him viciously in his once-broken nose. He spun and fell, even as another shot rang out that missed Angel's head by millimeters.
This was almost more than Jerry could stand. "Angel, I'm coming!" he shouted, completely unarmed and rushing forward.
The shout distracted her, and she spun on her heel to face her oncoming friend. "No, Jerry, stay back! It's dangerous!"
Too late. Derrick had only fallen to one knee, and raised the gun. In slow motion, the muzzle flashed and the shot rang out. Angel gasped, as an incredible pain ripped through her back. And again, and again.
Still in that agonizing slow motion, Jerry halted in his tracks and watched horrified as Angel slowly sank to one knee, her eyes wide with pain and shock. The knife in her left hand fell to the ground, even as her grip tightened around the kunai still in her right.
Even at that distance, even as his shout died on his lips, Jerry could have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he saw Angel's eyes turn blood red. Her brows came together, in a look of anger that was was terrifyingly similar to her brother's fighting glare. Slowly she turned her head and upper body toward Derrick, who was frozen in shock. She rose to a standing position, albiet with shaky legs and a stooped posture. Slowly, ever so slowly, she took a step forward. Then another.
Sitting on his ass, Derrick's eyes grew wide with fear, and he began to scoot backward, even as he fired anther shot at her chest. It didn't slow her a bit. If anything, she sped up, then rushed forward and buried the knife in his skull. His scream was high-pitched and distorted, his limbs twitching in horrifying spasms.
Then it was over. Derrick's still-twitching body fell backward, the knife still clutched in her hand. Jerry hadn't even realized that he was running, but suddenly he was right next to her as she fell into his arms. He heard her mutter "Get help... damned... fool." As he began to carry her awkwardly back to the bar, she managed to thrust her cell phone into his hand. "Make the cops... call Bryan."
Then her eyes fogged over and the yawning black pit in her mind surged forward and enveloped her completely.
In Angel's eyes, the odds seemed just about even.
*You call me strong, you call me weak
And still your secrets I will keep
You took for granted all the times
I never let you down
You stumbled again, and bumped your head
If not for me, then you'd be dead
I picked you up, and put you
Back on solid ground
If I go crazy, then
Will you still call me Superman?
If I'm alive and well,
Will you be there, holding my hand?
I'll keep you by my side
With my super-human might, Kryptonite*
*3 Doors Down - Kryptonite*
"Hey, Jerry, there's a gangfight going on behind your bar," one of the patrons informed the bartender as he walked in.
"Again? Hasn't been one in a while, ever since Angel came." Jerry said, slightly puzzled as he reached for the phone, to dial 911.
"That's the funny thing. See, she's right in the middle of it."
"WHAT?" Immediately Jerry hung up the phone, and dashed outside, around to the back of the bar, where he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him.
At least a dozen young men stood in a loose circle, throwing taunts and curses to the brawl in their midst. Two toughs lay on the ground, motionless. Three more youths, one with a baseball bat and two with knives, were attempting to beat the daylights out of the quicksilver whirlwind before them.
Attempting, and failing, as Angel became a well-armed tornado let loose among them. Those deadly blades in her hands dealt slash after slash, felling her opponents. No matter how skilled she was at unarmed combat, no matter how well she could fight with any number of weapons, never was Angel more at her fighting best then when she was armed with a pair of knives. Just like now.
So skilled was she with the short blades that she could fight with either blade-up or blade-down, referring to how she gripped the knife. Blade-up was the term for the traditional knife grip, holding the blade tip-up and usually pointed at your opponent. Blade-down was when you held your knife with the point toward your feet, like a huge metal claw. Blade-down strikes were usually slashes, and backhand stabs. Angel was even skilled enough to switch easily between blade-up and blade-down, without ever losing her hold on her weapon, a skill almost beyond normal human abilities. But Angel was no normal human.
Jerry's kunai was blade-down in her right hand, Bryan's long knife blade-up in her left, as she skillfully slashed, stabbed, darted, and flicked those deadly blades into soft body after soft body, as a group of five foolish young men rushed at her at once. Her left hand flicked out, fatally stabbing two of them. Her right made a wide sweep, cutting the throat of a third and whipping back to jam between the ribs of a fourth. A slice from both blades silenced the fifth.
Not only was she using the knives, but also her legs to kick and trip her antagonists as they came at her. This was almost too easy, as she dispatched three more targets. She'd lost count of how many had fallen. Hell, she wasn't even thinking. Her mind had somehow shifted into a 'battle mode,' all mental abilities directed at anticipating her opponents' next movements and her body acting on finely-tuned instinct to react to those next movements. None of the gang members even got close to her.
The last seven or eight changed tactics. Instead of rushing her in such small groups, they all charged forward at once. Angel suddenly went on the defensive, raising her blades to absorb most of the knife slashes on her arms, protecting her chest and head. Now Angel's blood began to flow freely, mixing with that of the dead and dying that were slowly getting trampled beneath her feet. She whirled and spun some more, and four backed up, leaving the next three dead to lay on the ground.
One of the four survivors was Derrick, who exchanged a signal with his thugs. They nodded, and rushed her. In perfect coordination, three baseball bats were raised over their heads and brought down with numbing precision. Angel was forced to absorb the shock on her left arm, shouting in pain even as she leaped forward and gutted them with her right.
Now it was just her and Derrick. In shock, she realized that those three had been instructed to simply distract her, while Derrick--
--pulled out a small handgun. Ten feet was the distance between them, much too far for Angel to do anything immediatley. For the moment, Derrick was in control.
"You know, Angel, you never should have come here," he said smugly, the firearm in his hand giving him a huge ego boost.
"You're telling me," Angel replied, staring into his eyes and reading his next move.
"I was really starting to get pissed off at you," he continued.
"Been there, done that."
He laughed. "You know, we really got off on the wrong foot. I should have won that first fight. You should be kneeling at my feet, begging me to finish you off. I can tell that's not going to happen, but at least I'll win." He smiled dangerously, and tensed his arm muscles. "Now it's time to say goodbye."
The split second before he squeezed the trigger, Angel leaped sideways, then dropping to the ground and letting her momentum bring her into a forward roll that brought her to her feet about a yard from Derrick, who hadn't even been able to fire a second round. Now she was in his face, and elbowed him viciously in his once-broken nose. He spun and fell, even as another shot rang out that missed Angel's head by millimeters.
This was almost more than Jerry could stand. "Angel, I'm coming!" he shouted, completely unarmed and rushing forward.
The shout distracted her, and she spun on her heel to face her oncoming friend. "No, Jerry, stay back! It's dangerous!"
Too late. Derrick had only fallen to one knee, and raised the gun. In slow motion, the muzzle flashed and the shot rang out. Angel gasped, as an incredible pain ripped through her back. And again, and again.
Still in that agonizing slow motion, Jerry halted in his tracks and watched horrified as Angel slowly sank to one knee, her eyes wide with pain and shock. The knife in her left hand fell to the ground, even as her grip tightened around the kunai still in her right.
Even at that distance, even as his shout died on his lips, Jerry could have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he saw Angel's eyes turn blood red. Her brows came together, in a look of anger that was was terrifyingly similar to her brother's fighting glare. Slowly she turned her head and upper body toward Derrick, who was frozen in shock. She rose to a standing position, albiet with shaky legs and a stooped posture. Slowly, ever so slowly, she took a step forward. Then another.
Sitting on his ass, Derrick's eyes grew wide with fear, and he began to scoot backward, even as he fired anther shot at her chest. It didn't slow her a bit. If anything, she sped up, then rushed forward and buried the knife in his skull. His scream was high-pitched and distorted, his limbs twitching in horrifying spasms.
Then it was over. Derrick's still-twitching body fell backward, the knife still clutched in her hand. Jerry hadn't even realized that he was running, but suddenly he was right next to her as she fell into his arms. He heard her mutter "Get help... damned... fool." As he began to carry her awkwardly back to the bar, she managed to thrust her cell phone into his hand. "Make the cops... call Bryan."
Then her eyes fogged over and the yawning black pit in her mind surged forward and enveloped her completely.