Because you reviewed so fast and wonderfully, I am giving more sooner than planned. Here's to you, guys!

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Chapter 27

Concerning item #2: Gold-Tipped Cane 5 (continued)

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Spot didn't dare breathe. Sweat poured from his brow to mix with the rain falling on his face. He spared a quick glance to Cat on the ground, the blood of the wound in her shoulder pouring onto her beautiful, yet now muddy, wedding gown. He couldn't even think about what would happen if he lost to Haze. Winning was essential, and a fast win at that.

He looked back to Haze, glared, and attacked. Spot didn't take him by surprise, and his flying fist was blocked with some ease. Haze was faster than he used to be. Much faster. Spot didn't even have time to avoid the steel fist heading right for his jaw.

It hurt.

Spot stumbled backward, holding his chin with surprise at the sudden onset of pain. He recovered quickly, and lunged for Haze again with another punch easily evaded. Again, Haze connected his knuckles to Spot's face, with a blow harder than a mallet.

"Spot!" Cat shouted in worry, through her intense pains. She distracted Spot for a moment, long enough to find another fist lodged in his face.

He fell to the floor. What was the matter with him? Why couldn't he touch this guy? He had beaten bigger and meaner than him before, why was this any different.

But Spot already knew what was different. He was scared. He was scared of losing, so scared his terror consumed his mind and ability to fight efficiently.

"Pathetic," Haze commented. "You've lost your touch, loverboy."

Spot glanced at his cane, resting on the ground behind Haze.

"I haven't lost my touch," Spot argued, rolling to grab the cane. "I'm in my prime."

Then he swung the cane as hard as he could, hitting Haze upside the head like one would an easy home run.

Haze stumbled sideways, and Spot had hit him again before he could recover.
When he swung for a third time, however, Haze grabbed it from midair like he had before, and tried to yank it from his hands, but Spot held firm. Instead, he yanked Spot close to him.

"Let go," Haze commanded. As if Spot would obey. When he didn't, Haze kneed him in the stomach, making him double over in pain. Spot tried to catch his breath, but Haze was upon him with that cane faster than the lightning flashed.

Spot fell to the ground, blooding pouring from his mouth. Something inside of him was bleeding.

"She ain't gonna make it, Conlon," Haze taunted. "You'd be wise to give it up now."

"Wisdom ain't one of my best virtues," Spot replied through his pains, as he struggled to get up. Haze proceeded to swung the cane like a pickax on Spot's back, making him fall to his stomach again.

"Go ahead, get up again."

The cold, wet pavement felt horrible against his cheek, as Spot laid on his stomach without much hope left in him. He looked over at Cat once more, laying across from him with sorrowful, pained eyes. She smiled weakly at him, as to arouse some encouragement.

I love you… she mouthed, just before her eyes closed, and she fell unconscious.

Anger came through Spot like a harsh wind, something boiling inside him. He propped himself on his shaky hands, brought his legs underneath himself, and stood.

"Want more, do you?" Haze said, gently swinging the cane beside himself like he was off to the theatre to see a play.

Spot stood as tall as he could, sucking in all the air his lungs would allow to help lessen the intensity of the pain in him. He glared at Haze, the color in Spot's eyes turning pure white, and in a foul rage, attacked Haze with all his force. Haze hit him weakly with the cane, but Spot didn't seem to notice. His body had fallen numb, and his mind fizzled with fresh motive.

With one fist he broke Haze's nose, while the other, a rib. It was like he was swinging hammers. Haze howled in pain, dropping the cane to the floor. Spot rightfully grabbed it, then swung as hard as he could for Haze Dickens's head. It was surely a fatal blow, even the first time, but it was beyond a doubt as Spot swung for it again. Haze was a ghastly sight, there on the floor, a side of his head smashed into the other side, and completely covered with his own blood. He was as dead as they came.

Spot dropped the cane immediately to the watery cobblestone street, and rushed to Cat's own bloody mound. He didn't bother to stop and see if she was still alive, much less tend to his own terminal wounds, just scooped her in his arms and ran faster than he had ever ran before, even through the extra weight in his arms. Some force gave him an added strength, only what needed to be done was on his mind.

The Manhattan hospital was closer, he quickly concluded, and so that where he headed. His clothes were so cold and wet he couldn't breathe, even if his severe pains weren't inhibiting it to begin with.

Soon the double doors to the hospital were near, and Spot urged himself to run just a little longer, though he was unsure if he was going to make it. It seemed so far away. He had to make it… not for himself, but for her.

Each step up to the double doors was torture, but at long last they too were conquered, and the doors were before him. The last of his strength began to abandon him, and he couldn't bear to hold Cat in his arms any longer, as his legs began to crumble beneath him. He reached to the ringer, chiming the bell once, then resorting to pounding on the door as he fell to his knees. The world began to grow dark, and his mind clouded, and his knocking grew less fervent as he began to fade.

Finally, the Great Spot Conlon fell limp beside his true love, without even staying conscious long enough to see if a nurse had answered his call and opened the door to him.

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I would say "The End", but that would be both cruel and a lie. More coming soon. Take the time to review, if you will. I live for reviews, so you shouldn't kill the author before the story is over. So review already. My life depends on it.
Signed,
--RedRogue