--Chapter 4--

Coldly he shifted a step back and slid into a firm defensive stance, raising the gunblade to a level readiness at height with his chest.

"Ooh, the lion plans to fight," Gorham breathed, showing white teeth in a wild grin, "…good."

I'm in trouble, Squall realized, feeling blood trickling from the shallow wound across his stomach. Hope his size is an indicator of his speed… Leonhart blocked a rush, leaping away and blocking a second attack: the entire exchange transpired in a blink. Squall sighed inwardly.

Guess not. Why was nothing ever easy? Gorham was fast—deathly so, for a man with his size—and Squall, wounded and bleeding, was only going to slow down.

Both combatants came to this awareness at the same time, for Squall grimaced at the same time that Gorham grinned, still bearing his teeth wolfishly as the two men circled.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty," he taunted, striking at Squall with swings that were so slow that they were pushing lazy. Squall felt a hot anger blossom in his chest—he was being toyed with. "Come a little closer, kitty; come closer so that I may show you your end." And with that he laughed, driving in against the SeeD Commander with a number of rapid strikes. Left, right, left…Squall parried only by inches, feeling the slow drag of blood loss begin to tell on his muscles. Already, he realized. I'm slowing down already.

Gorham made this official by jumping back into his normal speed and, because what Squall had realized was true, his huge sword caught the SeeD before he could block. With his arms again thrown wide from a previous defense, the Commander was helpless to stop the tip of his enemy's weapon as its tip slid into his right arm, just above the elbow. A line of blood and fiery pain expanded as Gorham's blade tore upwards, slicing muscle clean up to Squall's shoulder before he could dodge away. He rolled, almost instantly regaining his feet, as Gorham laughed, full-throated and loud.

"What's the matter, little boy? Turns out the lion really isn't much more than a pompous kitty, eh? Ha! And to think they were going to keep you just for the Leader to fight. Ridiculous," he growled, mood suddenly darkening as a shadow of anger that had nothing to do with Squall crossed his face. "You're supposed to be one of the best, just like him. What is it with everyone thinking these young ones are such hot shit?"

Squall was panting, though lines of cold sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. Clutching the Lionheart in his left hand, he held his wounded right arm defensively close against his stomach. The blood flow from his torso had (thankfully) slowed but, as his drenched coat sleeve made very apparent, the deep cut running up the underside of his arm was not going to do so any time soon. His enemy at least was preoccupied with some issue inside his own head, judging from his muttering and glazed-over eyes.

Behind them, the fires grew taller. Squall wondered off-handedly if perhaps the blood loss wouldn't matter. If the gateway to the courtyard caught fire, they'd both be trapped and burned to death before long.

Meanwhile, Gorham's musing about Leonhart and his Leader had put him in a foul mood. As if these teenagers are something special! As if they're touched by the gods or some stupid shit like that! And with the unlikely thought that bastards like this little SeeD got the jump on him through some divine influence, Ingersoll gave another rage-laden yell and raised his sword.

Damn. Squall dodged quickly to the left as Gorham charged wildly, only to receive what felt like a full swing with a baseball bat smash him between the shoulders. He stumbled, nearly fell, and side-stepped Gorham again as he turned around.

The swordsman whose hand he had cut was teetering there, wielding a two-by-four from the destroyed picnic table that Squall had hidden behind. Tears of agony and remorse poured freely down his face as he clutched the chunk of timber awkwardly in his off hand. His right was a bloody, mangled mess, a child's tattered plaything that has met with something whirring and bladed.

"You made me lose my fingers, you bastard! I'll never hold a sword again!" This was devastating to one who made his life as a SOLDIER, but at that point Squall was lost for pity. Trying to shake the aching dizziness that the man's blow had caused, the SeeD waited for the injured swordsman to charge again. Blindly he did so, shouting more about how he would never be able to properly fight again. When Squall leapt to his side, the Lionheart kissed his temple as a big cat will a gazelle's throat. There was a rainfall of crimson and the sickly thunder of metal crunching and sliding off of bone. He had made sure the de-fingered mercenary would never do anything properly again.

Please R&R--i like how this is going!

-K-