Chapter 14

Alive. Elizabeth was alive. But she would be back. He knew her well enough to know she would never abandon him. He stalked over towards Wickham where he still laid on the floor. This was easy. Too easy. He approached Wickham with caution, examining the room, eyeing the glass doors and windows, and studying the doorway every few seconds. If Wickham was in need of assistance, surely he would have called for undead to come to his aid. But yet here he was seemingly defenseless, and this troubled him. He needed to be wary.

Darcy could hear the Scottish battle cries outside and the deep growls of the undead as they attempted to defend the mansion from invasion. Muskets were being fired and people were shouting in the distance. It sounded like chaos, similar to what he encountered during his time on The Wall. He broke from his reverie when a light chuckling echoed through the room.

"Do you really think you stand a chance?" Wickham taunted as he still lay on the ground. "Your little soldiers and friends don't stand a chance against my undead."

Wickham sat up and leaned back upon his hand. "Do you feel as though we have done this before? We fight, someone wins the upper hand. We fight again, another winner is declared. And here we are back at it. It's a never-ending cycle between us, Fitz. Why don't you just give up?"

Darcy remained stoically silent.

"So, how do you want to do this?" Wickham chided after he stood up.

Darcy glared at Wickham and raised his blades in a defensive pose.

"So be it," said Wickham as he swiftly unsheathed his katana and charged towards Darcy.

Their blades clashed together and both men took a step back, readying for the next assault. Darcy moved first, swiping his katana from left to right with as much force as he could muster, his rage fueling him. Raising his dagger high, he sliced the air in several quick strokes in front of Wickham, who managed to side step every attempt. Darcy changed his strategy and moved his katana in a swipe parallel to the ground, aiming for Wickham's neck.

Wickham blocked Darcy's attempt to behead him and pushed his blade forward, attempting to knock Darcy off balance. Darcy instead took a step back onto his right foot, anticipating Wickham's trickery, and propelled himself forward instead. Wickham stumbled back several paces before falling once more to the floor. Maneuvering his katana tip down, he raised it over Wickham's head, and thrust his hand downward.

A sudden force knocked Darcy's legs out from under him and his katana fell from his grasp, sliding across the floor towards the doorway. Darcy went to the ground, his head hitting hard on the marble surface, and he tried to roll into a crouch but found a blade trained against his neck. He ceased all movements, discretely hiding his dagger below his right palm and arm, and glared up at a smirking Wickham.

"And here I thought you would be more of a challenge," Wickham boasted.

He moved the blade up to Darcy's face and cut a thin gash across the length of his cheek. He could feel the blood gushing from the wound and trickling down onto the floor. He tightened his grasp on his dagger.

Wickham brought the katana back to Darcy's throat and knelt down beside him, his makeshift arm pressing lightly against Darcy's stomach.

"My original thought was to kill you," Wickham admitted. "What could be better than my enemy being gone for good? But then I realized there is a better fate for you. One in which you do my bidding for the rest of your miserable existence with no choice but to obey me. And what better way for your change to accelerate than by feeding on that wife of yours?"

"Elizabeth is gone," Darcy said.

"Come now, Fitz, we both know she will be back for you," Wickham responded. "Just like at St. Lazarus."

With that, Wickham moved his makeshift arm against Darcy's throat, pinning him to the ground, before placing his katana on the floor. He grasped Darcy's left arm and yanked it in front of him, promptly undoing the buttons and pulling the sleeve up, revealing the skin beneath.

"The living do not understand what it is like to be in transition," Wickham stated. "Right after you are bitten, you can ignore the pull to feed upon human brains, but as time passes, the need rises and grows until you have to give in. And after you ingest her brains, you'll be at my mercy."

Wickham bent over Darcy, bringing the man's arm upward towards his open mouth. He closed his eyes as his teeth grew closer to Darcy's skin, for he wanted to savor the moment, and Darcy seized his opportunity. He shifted beneath Wickham, rounding his dagger upon the undead.

Wickham's makeshift arm made contact with his jaw, but he cared not. With one swift maneuver, his dagger penetrated Wickham's arm. Wickham yelped in pain and instinctively released Darcy's in return. Darcy rolled to his knees and sliced Wickham in the back of the leg before springing to his feet and running in the direction of his katana. By the time he had retrieved his blade and turned around, Wickham was charging towards him. He began running at the undead and met him with full force, their blades clanking together once more.

Despite his anger, his head was clear. He could anticipate Wickham's moves before he did them, which allowed him to slash Wickham's arm several more times, each wound making his opponent more angered and fierce. But for every gash given, Darcy gained one in return.

Wickham never lost form. He had trained one-handed, Darcy realized, and in such a short period of time. The thought distracted him, however, and he didn't see Wickham's blade hilt coming towards his face until it was too late. The blow sent him fumbling backwards, his back ramming into the piano. He raised his knuckle to his already tender jaw and then readied his blades again.

"Who would have thought that by loosing an arm," Wickham boasted, "I would prove to be the better swordsman?"

"Then how about loosing another?" Darcy asked. "That should make us even!"

He pushed himself off the piano and swiped his katana from left to right, his blade locking with Wickham's, forcing their movements to an abrupt halt. Moving his left hand, Darcy brought his dagger forward and promptly sliced off Wickham's other hand just as Wickham's makeshift arm was swinging towards his head. The hand fell to the floor with a clank, the now lifeless extremity still grasping tightly around the hilt.

Darcy grinned in triumph. He was ready to end this. After years of agonizing over what this man had done to his father. And later seeing his sister's suffering. And then his tormenting poor Lydia. And not to mention the grief and worry he had brought upon his Lizzy. After everything, he was finally putting and end to it all: an end to the destruction, sorrow, guilt, misery, and anguish. Wickham would be no more, the undead would perish, and the plague would come to a swift end. After all this time, the living would win.

Wickham fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Blood spurted from his arm and Darcy knew if he were not undead he would bleed to death there in front of him, but it would not be that easy. He stood over the undead man, glaring coolly down at him.

"Any last words?" Darcy asked.

Wickham ceased his cries of pain and offered a devilish smile in return.

"As you wish," Darcy said, raising his katana. He was ready to make swift work of this and wipe that smirk off Wickham's face. Darcy brought his katana downward, but his movement was halted once more. He turned his head and saw it was one of the Horsemen standing behind him, clutching his arms. Another appeared and Darcy tried to resist but their grips were too strong. The undead grasped his wrists tightly and disarmed him, forcing his katana and dagger to the floor with a clang.

Seizing his moment, Wickham struggled to his feet and hobbled towards the door, a line of blood trailing after him. Darcy continued struggling against their strong holds. He had to kill Wickham. He just had to. And nothing would stand in his way.

"Come back you coward!" Darcy yelled at Wickham as he reached the doorway. "Sending your Horsemen to detain me so you could make a getaway? Then what? We will just wind up back here like before. Just like you said before. You want to end this? Here I stand. Let's end this."

Wickham turned and stared coolly at Darcy. Darcy returned his glare with equal measure. How had it come to this? Darcy thought. How had the entire fate of the living come down to a mêlée with someone he once considered a friend? There once was a time when he would have fought proudly alongside Wickham. Killing the undead. Saving the living. But now, Wickham was one of them. But not just that. He was their leader. Their governor. And he had to be brought to justice.

Darcy fisted his hands, trying with all his might to free himself, glancing back at Wickham just in time to see his figure vanish into the hallway. He would get away, and it was his doing. Once again he had failed.

"Come back!" Darcy hollered in anger, managing to pull the undead a few paces closer to the door. "Come back and fight, coward!"

Darcy's knees buckled and he yelled out in anguish. He had overpowered two undead before but these Horsemen were stronger and more agile. What were these undead ordered to do now? Turn him? Force him to kill his love? No, Wickham would be back. He would want to relish the moment and possibly bite him himself. What a cruel twist of fate.

The third Horseman walked into the room some time later, blood staining his hands and black overcoat. His mask also contained a bloody handprint, which Darcy had surmised the Horseman placed there after mending the injured, and now handless, Wickham. The Horseman closed the door before walking over to Darcy and gazing down at him, his blank eyes staring into his for what seemed like hours before seizing him by the coat and lifting him to his feet. He then, with the help of the other two, bound his hands and led him to the corner of the room.

He could hear the fighting continuing outside, and his feet started to hurt, which alerted him to just how long he had been waiting for something to happen. For Wickham to walk into the room… or Elizabeth to return.

Had she been captured by Wickham? Darcy wondered. What if she had abandoned him and realized that the price of his life was worth ending the plague and saving all of the living? Darcy did not know which was worse. The door was then flung open, and he turned his head in time to see his wife walk in, but she wasn't alone.