This one is much longer, and much more happenin'. Hope you enjoy, and Please R&R!
--Chapter 6—
Squall grimaced and fell back, blocking Gorham's clumsy left-handed swing with a maneuver that sent sparks scampering down his weapon's blade. Breathless and partly blind from blood loss the SeeD reeled, slammed back by Gorham's free hand and tripping over the body of the man he had killed only minutes before.
"Gotcha." The large redhead lunged, confident he had his opponent right where he wanted him. Grinning the grin of one who has won he drove forward...
...and started as the Lionheart, lightning fast, snaked up from the ground, slim blade whistling in the smoky air to bite into his right side. The blade's mark was not all he received; as Squall fell, his left index finger found the gunblade's trigger, and an explosion sounded in the clearing as the hammer pounded home. The two men were in such proximity that Squall saw the bullet ricochet off of Gorham's ribcage.
He had enough time to regret the wideness of the shot, and to realize that it was far from enough to put Gorham down for good. Worse, it wasn't even enough to stem his assault. Not even his smile faltered as his right hand clamped down on Squall's considerably thinner wrist, jerking him forward and snapping the SeeD's neck back violently in the process. Squall's already unsteady grip on the Lionheart failed. In the same motion Gorham let his own sword drop willingly, curling the fingers of his left hand into a fist that lashed out like a striking serpent. A slightly inaccurate serpent, though, for instead of in the face the left hook caught him squarely in the throat.
The shadowy figure came around the gate just in time to see his second-in-command Gorham Ingersoll grappling on the ground with another, smaller man. The SOLDIER struck his opponent and rolled away, kicking one sword on the ground out of his reach while retrieving his own blade. His back was to his superior. Firelight glinted coldly off of the weapon that Gorham had knocked away, and a hot rush of anger coursed up the Leader's spine as he recognized the distinct weapon for what it was.
He could hear his second gloating, could hear the man he now recognized as his target gasping for breath from his unwanted position on the bloodstained ground.
"Ahh, the kitty's down for the count, finally!" Gorham's voice wafted lazily on the deadened breeze, a bird on an upstream of air. "I will do you a favor, then, and put you down for mercy's sake!" The redhead advanced again, sword in his left hand again, his right eagerly outstretched.
"Gorham!" the Leader roared, so loudly that both men ahead of him started visibly. Drawing his own massive blade, the shadowed man started forward.
Squall slid back, choking and trying vainly to draw sufficient air through his crushed windpipe. Gorham had frozen at the cry of his name, his face exploding in emotion: first in shock, then in fury. Straightening, the man turned to face his Leader.
Leonhart, no stranger to competition, recognized the blonde youth—youth, for like Squall himself it was pushing decency to call one so young a man—immediately. The recognition was not a pleasant one, for if Gorham did not kill him, Cloud Strife most certainly would. Noting that his two enemies were preoccupied with one another, Leonhart ever-so-slightly began inching toward his nearby blade.
"Cloud, sir, I am glad to see you," Gorham began. "I very nearly had the situation under control; you see, I was trying to apprehend Leonhart for you, as I was ordered, and—"
"'Putting him down' hardly sounds like apprehension, SOLDIER." Cloud's voice was quiet but his tone, soft and yet still subtly furious, was heavy with ice. "You were told to apprehend only, with minimal damage done to the target."
"He took us by surprise—"
"And yet how is it that three Class-B SOLDIERS," he motioned to the dead man and the other swordsman, unconscious now, lying nearby, "are so ridiculously outclassed by a single target, even one with an S proficiency rating? After one fatality you should have known and duly respected his abilities, especially wounded. You should know that wounded animals fight the hardest when pressed."
"Indeed, sir," there was no forced goodwill in Gorham's tone now, only blatant contempt barely concealed. "It seems I erred." Cloud did not miss the way Gorham's teeth were .gritted, nor how he switched his blade back into his dominant hand.
"Yet another display of insubordination, and now you would strike me?" Cloud questioned, his quiet voice holding an 'I-don't-care-but-you-had-better-make-the-first-blow-count' tone to it. "Gorham, I order you to stand down." The larger man's eyes flashed, and he roared:
"I NO LONGER TAKE ORDERS FROM A CHILD!" as he charged his superior. Strife readied himself instantaneously, blocking Gorham's first attack with little more effort than he used to lift his sword. Ingersoll doubled back, swinging his blade in a fierce arc from over his head, yelling in triumph all the while. It was nearly impossible to block a swing like that delivered by a man of his size and skill.
And yet, Strife had little problem. Catching Gorham's sword with his own enormous blade, Cloud buckled only slightly at the impact. As he straightened, his sheer power was enough to break the standoff, and his forceful recoil shove became a lift as Gorham flew bodily backwards. He hit the ground in something of a daze, landing squarely on his rear.
"What the Hell…?" But by the time he opened his eyes Strife was there, already halfway through a baseball swing. The flat of his wide blade connected solidly with the side of his second's face, sounding the crackling air with a loud SMACK! Gorham spun a whole pirouette before falling flat to his face in the grass, unconscious.
"Gorham Ingersoll, this is the third time you have been caught conspiring in acts of blatant insubordination. For attacking a superior officer, your punishment is expulsion from SOLDIER and death." He said it so coolly that even Squall, no emotional indulgent himself, was a little chilled. Behind the blond, he had managed to make his way (swaying) to his feet, the Lionheart clenched in his left hand. Strife turned.
Eyes the color of morning ice met eyes the color of a rising storm. Each did a moment's appraisal of the other, hands ready to put their weapons to work at a blink's notice. The tension between the two was palpable: two of the best, by far the best of those in burning Balamb that night, staring one another down as males will always do before a match for supremacy.
Cloud spoke, finally.
"You are in no condition to fight me." There was no emotion in this, and neither of them needed any. A fact was a fact.
"I know. But truthfully that doesn't change anything, now does it?"
Actually, it does. Cloud started at the alien thought that blasted so forcefully through his mind that it made his ears buzz. It changes everything. A crack from the gate behind them saved the SOLDIER from trying to make sense of the ridiculous turn of his whim, for now something more pressing came to light. If they didn't leave now, they'd both be trapped in the flaming courtyard with no way out.
If 'WE' don't leave now? What the Hell is wrong with me? Cloud shook his head, gloved hand going to his pocket as Squall watched him oddly. Pulling out a whistle, the SOLDIER blew two sharp bursts: the first, a quick fluttering trio; the second, a chromatic flourish. Still standing off with Leonhart some ten feet away, he waited.
Mmm, yes. What do you think? Please R&R!
-K-