Dakota felt new air surge into his lungs; a wonderful old smell.
Julia.
It's not possible, he thought. She's dead. It's Paul again.
But a new sensation came. A vile, bitter, stinking one. Foul and hot,
cramping and confining. Paul. His voice shoved through the light
bringing a darkness with it. Stevens, there's no hope. She's dead.
Ignore what you think you see, and what you think you hear. The only
way you'll ever be close to her again is to die, so just get it over
with.
No.
What?
Alright old man, it's time to box.
Suddenly, Dakota found himself standing in a dark room. Candle light
reflected off the refulgent weapons that hung from the walls. The
shelves sagged with old, dusty books and in the far corner a long desk
enveloped the wall. Piles of neatly stacked papers in manila folders
sat in three neat little rows on the right side of the desk. A young
man, who looked 24, sat in it's chair, elbows on the dark, smooth wood,
chin on his massive fists. Paul. His stony, pale face sagged with
lines of worry and his coal black eyes focused on the wooden floor as
he tried to concentrate. The eyes traveled up and alerted him that
someone else stood in the room. For a moment the two froze. Only
their eyes moved. They looked each other over from head to feet.
Realization knocked them at the same time. The next second they jumped
at each other. Paul slammed Dakota into the wall but Dakota kicked him
off. Paul slid across his desk and those perfect stacks flew in all
directions. Dakota sprinted across the room grabbed his shirt and
flung him into the air. But before he could make another move Paul
swooped down like a hawk and pinned Dakota to the ground. He drilled
his fist into his stomach. All the air forced itself out of Dakota's
body. Paul knocked his stomach again and then his face. He then took a
hold of Dakota's neck. A new kind of pain, like none he'd ever felt
before surged through his body; like fire flowing through his veins and
covering his skin. It was worse than any pain Xander had ever
inflicted on him. Paul had every power known to their race. Now he
used a form of the deadly touch. This one was worse than Xander's; it
could leave you dead, or paralyzed in a state of burning pain.
"So," Paul said, the smile spreading across his face. "You had the
audacity to think you could defeat me? Pride goes before
destruction, kid."
White light filled Dakota's vision. Memories came flowing over him.
Julia. The power he'd found in his fight with Xander surged back
through his veins. Dakota threw his body to one side and grabbed at
Paul's thick neck. Paul tried to get his legs lose but Dakota leaned
all his weight on them. Sweat mingled with blood ran down Dakota's
face from a burning lip. He yanked Paul up by the shirt and hooked him
in the jaw. The face snapped to the right and Paul stumbled backward.
Dakota didn't give him and inch. With his mind he threw the desk chair
at his opponent. Dakota raised his arms. A wave of books, papers, and
pictures flew from the shelve and floor crashing into the helpless
Paul. A sword came flying off the wall and Dakota caught it. The
whirlwind came to a sudden stop. A mountain had formed from the
paraphernalia in Paul's office. Dakota kicked some of it away to
reveal Paul. His coal eyes shone white but his body lay useless and
weak. He had the look of one who had been sucked dry. Dakota put the
tip of his sword to Paul's throat.
"I should kill you," he commented.
In a moment of fear a whimper escaped Paul's lips. But Dakota withdrew
the sword and melted into the darkness, as if he had never been there.
The sword hit the floor.
Julia.
It's not possible, he thought. She's dead. It's Paul again.
But a new sensation came. A vile, bitter, stinking one. Foul and hot,
cramping and confining. Paul. His voice shoved through the light
bringing a darkness with it. Stevens, there's no hope. She's dead.
Ignore what you think you see, and what you think you hear. The only
way you'll ever be close to her again is to die, so just get it over
with.
No.
What?
Alright old man, it's time to box.
Suddenly, Dakota found himself standing in a dark room. Candle light
reflected off the refulgent weapons that hung from the walls. The
shelves sagged with old, dusty books and in the far corner a long desk
enveloped the wall. Piles of neatly stacked papers in manila folders
sat in three neat little rows on the right side of the desk. A young
man, who looked 24, sat in it's chair, elbows on the dark, smooth wood,
chin on his massive fists. Paul. His stony, pale face sagged with
lines of worry and his coal black eyes focused on the wooden floor as
he tried to concentrate. The eyes traveled up and alerted him that
someone else stood in the room. For a moment the two froze. Only
their eyes moved. They looked each other over from head to feet.
Realization knocked them at the same time. The next second they jumped
at each other. Paul slammed Dakota into the wall but Dakota kicked him
off. Paul slid across his desk and those perfect stacks flew in all
directions. Dakota sprinted across the room grabbed his shirt and
flung him into the air. But before he could make another move Paul
swooped down like a hawk and pinned Dakota to the ground. He drilled
his fist into his stomach. All the air forced itself out of Dakota's
body. Paul knocked his stomach again and then his face. He then took a
hold of Dakota's neck. A new kind of pain, like none he'd ever felt
before surged through his body; like fire flowing through his veins and
covering his skin. It was worse than any pain Xander had ever
inflicted on him. Paul had every power known to their race. Now he
used a form of the deadly touch. This one was worse than Xander's; it
could leave you dead, or paralyzed in a state of burning pain.
"So," Paul said, the smile spreading across his face. "You had the
audacity to think you could defeat me? Pride goes before
destruction, kid."
White light filled Dakota's vision. Memories came flowing over him.
Julia. The power he'd found in his fight with Xander surged back
through his veins. Dakota threw his body to one side and grabbed at
Paul's thick neck. Paul tried to get his legs lose but Dakota leaned
all his weight on them. Sweat mingled with blood ran down Dakota's
face from a burning lip. He yanked Paul up by the shirt and hooked him
in the jaw. The face snapped to the right and Paul stumbled backward.
Dakota didn't give him and inch. With his mind he threw the desk chair
at his opponent. Dakota raised his arms. A wave of books, papers, and
pictures flew from the shelve and floor crashing into the helpless
Paul. A sword came flying off the wall and Dakota caught it. The
whirlwind came to a sudden stop. A mountain had formed from the
paraphernalia in Paul's office. Dakota kicked some of it away to
reveal Paul. His coal eyes shone white but his body lay useless and
weak. He had the look of one who had been sucked dry. Dakota put the
tip of his sword to Paul's throat.
"I should kill you," he commented.
In a moment of fear a whimper escaped Paul's lips. But Dakota withdrew
the sword and melted into the darkness, as if he had never been there.
The sword hit the floor.