So they were in the middle of the fray; Ritcher and the two beastmasters. Or summoners. Or vessels, whatever name they thought most honorable.

Kacey the brother, Jaimi, the sister.

The lion with its was jaw forward leaped out, Ritcher swerved to his right. The cuff of his shirt was ripped away where a wide cut appeared across his arm.

It's not a lion, but it's the best word that comes to mind when he saw it. Whatever animus Kacey has conjured, landed behind Ritcher and muffled its roar. Almost as if a purr. The most hostile purr you can imagine, but playful, still.

"I thought I killed your cat once before." Ritcher pushed himself off the floor with his cane, jumping, in a move so quick that all they saw was the black blur. He landed on the stairs behind them, the summoners.

He moved his head across the horizon of the terrain, slamming his cane and making sonar scene out of the whole thing; the two stood in the middle of the hall behind a bloody fountain and the shadow of the marble Greek Muses. Beyond them, the elevator and above the elevator is a balcony only reachable by two fleets of stairs.

The second floor houses the Wolfe's domains. The caves of each Wolfe now closed forever.

"A stubborn spirit, your cat. I think I'd be better off putting you down, no? Would that be easier?" Ritcher asked. Not a single response. "You fight like cowards. To have animals suffer the battles between men-"

He ducked. Something flew fast past his face, a screeching creature that struck the wall behind him. It stuck itself in there, gnawing away at the wood and granite of the wall. It turned around and faced him, what appeared to have the face a woman and the long elongated neck of a vulture, the kind of crane neck that you get from having lazy muscles. Its sleek body made it appear small until it expanded its wingspan. Ritcher made out the shape in his blindness when it struck the wall.

It recalled back, almost the same direction.

Ritcher jumped. The flying creature mauled the rail guard and came back to the girl's shoulder.

Dangerous.

"So, that's how you think you'll win? With numbers?" Ritcher smiled. He couldn't see much. Couldn't really make up the terrain to the fine details that any proper vision could have, but he could feel it, hear it. He slammed his cane down on the floor, and it seemed like every piece and inch of building laid itself up to him, like blueprints. Sonar, tonal blueprints. And he slammed his cane down again and from the floor rose small particles of black sand.

"You're not the only ones who have tried dog-piling, there was an army before you. I'm sure you saw them down the stairs, no?" Ritcher said. "They thought their guns and science could best me. But there is no besting God. I am His sword, of which no shield is necessary."

"You talk a lot." Kacey extended his hand. The lion came up the stairs, climbing the side of the walls. Midway, It leaped at him. Ritcher felt its claws sink into his shoulder and its body heavy against his own. He saw the bird too. Or perhaps, better yet, he heard the bird. Its fast, gliding feathers (they almost resembled fins) zooming towards him. And it seemed fatal, the two forces coming at him, the girth of the lion's maw and the zooming sky-piranha, nipping the air.

He felt a rush. A straight fire on his groin, ecstasy, and thrill to challenge any kind of erotic degeneracy. Because violence to him was just that, a kind of erotic play.

Though he'd never admit it.

He smiled. And his body disappeared. Or...rather...dematerialized into fine black sand.

His clothes, his cane, everything about him sunk into the floor, the small grains falling in between the gaps of the balustrade, onto the floor below. He disappeared, the two animals were too far into their trajectories. They struck each other.

The lion's jaw was ripped clean off.

The girl looked to the boy (at least Ritcher assumed so, based on the 'Sorry' she said).

He reappeared, on the bottom floor, fully realized as a man.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"As I was saying. You're going to have a very hard time killing me. So why even try?" Ritcher said. "Is it for pride, does it seem nobler to die in battle than not? Fools would believe so, but philosophers understand that there is no nobility in any death. Only in life, under the service of the greater can nobility be achieved. You are on the wrong side."

The lion wagged its face. Ritcher could hear it's long fur and fat shake and slap itself and its two whiskers whipping the air and guard rails. The bird ate away, like a wood chipper, grinding the walls.

The lion went quiet. Then the sky broke into a loud noise, like a thunder.

The lion was above him.

It came down with its broken, bitter face, looking to crush Ritcher with weight alone. Kacey hadn't even moved an inch, he just gestured his hands the way to move the giant monstrosity.

Ritcher smiled. He struck the floor with his cane. The black sands came out again. As spikes, this time, sharpened and hardened. A whole army of thorns that appeared to wrap themselves and shield him.

The lion fell, its own weight propelling it deeper into the spikes. It was stabbed in the abdomen in two different spots, once in the leg, and a fourth in the skull.

It was a kill so fast the creature hadn't even groaned.

It disappeared into nothing, just dust, that returned to Kacey.

Kacey's left eye bled as the particles entered his eyes.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"How much time do you have left?" He asked. She didn't respond, she pointed with her fingers the number. Ritcher was good, not good enough to see hand movements out of nothing though.

He tilted his head.

A time limit, huh? They could at least offer me more a struggle if they're going to go through the effort.

So it was that the air was still and not a single word spoken for the next few minutes. He could barely hear the faint breath of their lungs exhausting themselves. And he could barely hear a footstep - No, there were none after a while. The room was dead with sound and dead with the life of violence, the cacophony of claws and fangs and vexed air. He wasn't even sure anyone was still there, perhaps couldn't know. Not until a light noise was made. There! On a pillar, to his left. A finger touched the marble, scraped it, plucking dirt and other small particles from its surface. He turned his head in the direction. Not another sound. And he resolved then to slam his walking cane down on the floor and to see the room with that strange sonar vision of his. It was like a wave coursing through the room, a pulse that gave the darkness of his eyes detail. It appeared to him as such; the stairs and the carpet and the chandeliers and the rotundas above, the fountain with its still murky waters and the window (broken, windy), but nothing else. Not the two, certainly not the lion either. It was as if they vanished.

Then it suddenly struck him like a diamond bullet straight through his skull. He raised his head up, quickly. The ends of his eye band touched the back of his neck, a cold touch that ran down his shoulders.

He heard a roar, only for a millisecond. He put his cane up in front of him. The massive beast gnawed at his cane, chewing away at the wood. The slobber fell down his neck, the breath hot and moist made his suit stick to his body. Like a swamp, or the air of a swamp at least.

From the floor the black sands protruded, seeping through the tiles and coming forward. A spike launched upwards, where he predicted the lion would land. There wasn't a scream, not even a squeal, though he had struck something.

The room returned to silence. He stood himself, tried to at least with his cane and found it broken and shattered when he put the front of his weight against it.

It must have gotten bitten off.

He smiled.

"Oh, now this is a thrill, isn't it?" He asked. "The soldiers weren't much, not to their faults. How would they ever be trained against someone like me? But you two, I'm sure you have more than enough experience dealing with savage beasts."

He turned his ears left and right.

The lion struck again. And once again, only milliseconds away from Ritcher. He moved, to his right. The lion mauled his arm clean off. His lopped arm fell some paces away, striking the floor once before rolling towards the wall and stopping. Once again the lion stopped, once again his breath and vile scream ceased. Ritcher felt the limb, or where the limb should have been. He did not squirm, did not make a face or scream or shout.

No, he smiled.

He let go of his cane and let it drop and with his other hand clenched his bicep (as that was all that remained of that limb) and squeezed. Squeezed, contracted his muscles. The blood spilled, juiced from the flesh of his severed arm. The blood fell to the floor into a pool. Sand rose, soaking up the red stuff. It was like making cement, or clay or any other kind of hardening agent. He placed this mixture - the black sand and the blood - and pressed it on his exposed wound. Then he made another layer until a small mound was there to band-aid himself.

"It's been a while since I've lost a limb." He said. "We're not like Vicars, us Witches. Not gifted with the capacity to heal our mistakes. Not to the extent of a Vicar, at least."

His head swerved left and right.

"I wonder how I'll reconstitute myself." The blood-sand plopped on the floor. "Maybe I'll go ahead and take one of your arms."

He heard the air break.

He pointed to the sky. For what reason? Because that's where they had to be. In the sky, floating above on that bird.

The bird that had not made an attack. The two that had not made a sound.

"Witty. I'll give you that. I can't see that of which isn't on the floor, right? Clever." Ritcher said. "But nothing much more than that. Cleverness doesn't win wars. Will does. Will and faith."

So he said and raised his left hand and behind him, like the flood that ended the earth once, came a long tidal wave of black sand. And he flung his arm forward, and let the sand go. A burst, outwards, that collapsed the windows and shattered the doors, and he was sure, had struck them.