Nicolai strolled down a corridor, Jo and Beth in tow. He was feeling quite good. Since his… moment of release the other day, the internal tensions within him seemed reduced, and with his Mask relatively happy he felt stable and calm.
They emerged into an expansive room and stopped because someone was there.
A man who was walking towards them. Seeing them, he froze, fixing them with a surprised and wary gaze.
Nicolai looked him over. He saw a mishmash of clothing and equipment; some undead loot, but also some Trade Link items. A lopsided backpack made of tied-together cloth was attached to his back, a pump-action shotgun strapped beside it. Pistol holstered on his hip. A sabre hung in a sheath on his belt. Tactical vest. Ragged trousers. Mismatched shoes.
Nicolai determined this man was a lone survivor, one who’d killed or looted some Chosen.
The man was unmoving, frozen like a deer in the headlights. The tension he felt was palpable, already on the backfoot where Nicolai and the girls held a position of strength. The reason for this was that the man’s hands were empty, both his guns holstered. Perhaps he’d had reason to believe he wouldn’t encounter anyone. Maybe he was just dumb, though the gear suggested otherwise. Either way, he’d fucked up. Nicolai and the other two held their guns in their hands, ready at all times, because this was protocol.
The guy swallowed, holding his hands out to the side like he wasn’t sure if he ought to raise them or just stay still. Nicolai held his shotgun low, relaxed, but it could be raised in an instant, and Jo and Beth were the same.
‘Hey there,’ said the guy, in a tone that attempted hopeful friendliness, belied by the unease in his eyes.
‘Hello.’ Nicolai smiled at him. Around the man he saw something interesting. A faint sphere.
Soul Sense, the proper kind. This man was a Cultivator. That meant he’d have a Symbiote. Nicolai attuned his Soul Sense to the Aura, focusing on the faint ripples, aided by Threat Analysis. He concluded the man had some kind of Symbiote focused on… Life? Blood? Green things? Difficult to be sure. To tally; guns that’d be worth selling and a Symbiote he could freely take.
‘I’m going to shoot him. Stand ready to fight in case he has some kind of protection,’ he spoke to Jo and Beth.
He felt immediate consternation from where Beth stood to his side, and he saw the Cultivator’s eyes narrow—likely sensing the faint upset Beth was leaking.
‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘He’s just some guy. He’s definitely not a Chosen; look at him. And he’s not trying to rob us like that group from yesterday.’ The emotions spilling from her Soul Sense intensified. ‘He’s not done anything!’
‘He’s a Cultivator. He has useful things that we want. Remember the part of the Contract about resources? He is resources.’
Via his Soul Sense he saw her shaking her head, and he felt her disgust and anger, saw the dark look on her face. Jo, on the other side, was biting her lip. Also not happy, but less willing to show it. Witnessing this, his Mask stirred and started burbling away. Nicolai was quick to press it down. This was an opportunity, he wasn’t going to just let it slide by based on the Mask’s disorganised morals and Beth’s disapproval. For the Mask, he was protecting the group, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t protect everyone.
In this time, the man had pressed a hand to the side of his sheathed sabre, and Nicolai could feel from the ripples that the man was charging it. A subtle move most wouldn’t notice, smartly made when it was guaranteed that had the guy gone for his pistol he’d already be full of bullet holes.
Witnessing this, and recognising the sword as an Imbued, Nicolai felt a stir of interest, from him, from the thrill within him.
He’d never fought someone with a flying sword of their own before. The thrill was rising, pressing, his fingers and toes tingling, the light growing sharper, the world more vibrant.
The Thrill did not communicate in words, it simply drove right into him and fitted its desires into his thoughts.
Wouldn’t it be so boring to just shoot this man when they could have a proper fight? A fight like he’d never experienced before? An opportunity to learn and hone his skills in an area that might in the future be of use? He didn’t know how prevalent flying swords might be, nor how strong they might become.
It certainly would be boring, Nicolai admitted, while his Mask took the rise of the Thrill and came with it, making its own arguments. It was saying he didn’t have to kill the Cultivator… if resources were all he wanted, he could fight for them.
Fairly.
Nicolai quite liked that idea. It appealed to him, and it would do less damage to his image in the eyes of the girls.
‘Well? Do you want something?’ said the Cultivator, and there was a hard look in his eyes now, a ready look. He’d gone past fear because fear was useless at a time like this. He had one hand on the sword, which was releasing faint ripples, the other hovering inches from his holstered pistol. Nicolai determined the guy did have some kind of shield he could quickly activate, if he was considering fighting instead of running. It wouldn’t matter, though. This would be an easy kill.
But Nicolai was no longer interested in blocking bullets with his own shield while he and the other two blasted this guy’s shield into pieces. With three fully automatic weapons whatever the man had would likely be popped in seconds, and then he’d die, and that would be that.
Nicolai wanted something more. He wanted an experience.
The thrill spread and wormed and set alight, and Nicolai grew impossibly light on his feet, shifting eagerly from side to side as his teeth tightened in a grin.
‘I want your sword,’ he said. ‘I have one like it, but two would be better.’
The man’s eyes flicked from Nicolai to the girls, who Nicolai felt ready beside him. Now that a fight was imminent he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to take part. It was their lives on the line too, after all.
‘Go on then,’ the Cultivator snarled with cold anger, and his posture turned aggressive, emanating threat.
‘No.’ Nicolai raised a hand to the side, where Jo’s rifle was inching up, and pressed the gun down. He extended another hand to Beth. ‘You had a point,’ he told her. ‘There’s no need for anyone to die. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking properly.’ He flashed a smile at her and saw an almost shocked expression on her face, felt confusion and relief from her.
He turned back to the Cultivator. ‘Just you and me, they won’t get involved,’ he called out. ‘How about this?’ He grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. ‘We fight with our swords only, to first blood. The winner takes the other Cultivator’s sword and his Symbiotes.’
Nicolai wasn’t worried about losing. Not because losing was impossible, but because these were just empty words spoken to engineer the fight, the experience, he wanted. He enjoyed fighting and learning but he didn’t believe in “honour,” and so if he lost he’d pull a gun and order Jo and Beth to fire.
The Cultivator blinked at him, an incredulous expression on his face, his body frozen.
‘Are you serious? You want to… duel?’
In answer, Nicolai pulled his AA-12 off by its strap and handed it to Jo, who snorted as she took it, amused. He pressed a hand to his rapier and a bolt of charging Oma slapped into it. With a flick of his wrist it slithered from its sheath and rose into the air, moving to float point-forward a few metres in front of him.
As he took a few steps forward to begin, he felt Jo and Beth relaxing and drawing to the side, heard them talking quietly, made out a peal of tinkling laughter. Nicolai ignored what his Mask identified as some kind of female judgement.
He stood side on, one hand extended, as though he fought with the rapier in his hand and not floating out in front of him. While he focused on his opponent, drones sped around. Threat Analysis doing its job, checking the area for threats. It agreed with Nicolai that this man was likely a lone operator, but it was always a good idea to make sure. Cyberwarfare said the man had little more than the basics in terms of augments, not much more than a Raw. They also both agreed with him about the duel, because they also wanted to see how a fight between two flying swords would look. It would be another datapoint the illuminate how this world worked.
The Cultivator’s sabre sprung from his own sheath, and he took up a similar stance.
Nicolai advanced, drawing closer, while his opponent mirrored him, both of them stepping forward. Nicolai moved with the fluid ease and speed that came with Cultivation, and so did his opponent.
Their swords slid forwards, both creeping to the reach of their Soul Sense, and the weapons drew in range of one another.
Nicolai struck at the sword, because there wasn’t much else to do at this range. The swords drew close then clashed in a faint flare of sparks as they slid past, swapping positions.
Nicolai and his opponent paused, the swords floating without movement, realising that there was no point fighting from this distance. They needed to be within the range of one another’s Soul Sense: ten metres, as otherwise it was impossible to actually hit the other with their blade and draw blood.
Their gazes met and there was a moment of mutual agreement. Nicolai and his opponent sidled toward one another, slowly and with occasional pauses, both wary of a sudden lunge, a sudden trick.
The swords rotated around one another as they advanced, until they’d swapped sides, each keeping their own blade on their own side.
When there were only two metres to go, Nicolai darted forward, covering the remaining space, and his opponent did the same.
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Both swords exploded into motion, diving towards the enemy. Moments before impacting, both twitched in the air as both sought to deflect the other, leading to a confusing little dance. They slammed together and momentum carried them spinning past, and suddenly the sword were on the wrong sides, both now able to attack the unprotected opponent.
Nicolai sent his rapier lunging for his opponent in a straight line, arrow-like, while at the same moment the sabre was swooping in a slash towards his chest.
This was a no-win situation. Nicolai’s Soul Sense tendril was pressing against his opponents as they slithered past one another, and he was well used to Soul Sense combat. That tendril could be cut and forced to collapse, foiling the attack on him.
So, he abandoned the attack, and instead the rapier turned in a slash, the leading edge of his Soul Sense as he sliced at the root of his opponent’s tendril. It cut easily, severing the Soul Sense tendril in one.
However, as he’d cut at his opponents Soul Sense, the Cultivator’s sabre had turned desperately in the air and sliced at his Soul Sense tendril.
Both Soul Sense tendrils dissolved into loose masses, flowing back to rejoin the Souls they had emerged from, and the movement of both swords lost a certain something, now simply flying through the air without any control. However, momentum meant they continued on roughly the same path. The rapier was speeding toward his opponent, and the sabre was spinning toward Nicolai.
Nicolai’s Soul Sense lunged for the sabre, wrapped it, and just like that it was under his control. He redirected its spin and the hilt of the sabre slapped into his palm. By habit, he sent out a worm of charging Oma.
Ten metres away, he saw his opponent catch his rapier, practically a mirror image.
Nicolai let out a peal of pure, delighted laughter, grinning wildly. His laughter didn’t stop as he launched the sabre in a strike, and the rapier came at him from the other side.
The world around him stilled, the thrill burned bright in his blood. There was only two swords, two Cultivators, and two Soul Senses.
Nicolai’s strike flowed towards his opponents Soul Sense, a new understanding guiding his attack. The game wasn’t to hit the enemy. The game was to take both swords. That was how you won.
His opponents Soul Sense met his own, and the blades clashed and sprung apart. He came again from another angle, but as they grew close his Soul Sense twitched and the sabre darted around and slashed towards his opponents Soul Sense. The rapier was there, diving in time to catch it before he could strike. Then both swords twisted around one another, striking at the Soul Sense adhering to one another’s weapons, and both swords were cut loose.
In a repeat of the previous swap, Nicolai seized the rapier and his opponent seized the sabre. His laughter rang out, renewed, as immediately Nicolai sliced again, and again.
The blades danced in the air, winding and slicing, deflecting and at times spinning through the air for a moment as they were cut away in tandem, before being caught in a swap.
But Nicolai was good at this kind of thing. Not just by nature, but by practise. He could tell his opponent had not engaged in the same kind of Soul Soul sparring sessions he’d been squeezing in with Beth, noted flaws in the man’s style that both he and Beth had corrected already.
Nicolai stepped forwards, his feet moving to music only he could hear, closing the gap to reduce the time his opponent had to react. His arm lunged and twisted before him in mimic of the dancing blade he controlled. He slipped and juked and slithered, drawing his opponent into an overextension, and in a sudden flash of savage movement he beheaded the Cultivator’s Soul Sense. His tendril, armed with the rapier, lunged to the side to gather up the sabre, too.
His opponent stumbled backwards, eyes wide as he stared at the two blades Nicolai held in his Soul Sense. His face was tense as he stopped, and his gaze settled onto Nicolai. The Cultivator lowered his arm and stood there, resolute. The face of a man smart enough to understand that first blood was just a phrase, and that the steel of the blades hanging above him held only death.
But the thrill within Nicolai had turned slow, tolerant, joyful, even oddly loving. He was having too much fun to end this now.
His Soul Sense tendril flexed and released, and the sabre spun away, unguided, towards the Cultivator whose Soul Sense snatched it reflexively from the air, eyes wide with confusion.
Nicolai did not communicate with words, but with his body. He shifted his pose, ready, the rapier coming to hover before his outraised arm. A smile pulled at one side of his mouth. His eyes shone with eagerness. His fingers twitched in a come hither.
A sudden smile creased the Cultivator’s face, understanding, and Nicolai saw a faint relaxation in the man as he realised that right now, this wasn’t a fight to the death.
It was a sparring match.
The blades danced, and now as they did so Nicolai and the Cultivator stepped left and right, back and forward, using their movement to aid the dance. A step to the side to get into position. A step forward to strike. Ducking backwards to help bring one’s Soul Sense away from an attack.
Nicolai no longer had any interest in ending this fight, and his movements reflected that as his style became less aggressive, more thoughtful and considered. He had experienced something of this when Soul Sense sparring Beth, but now he tasted the true version. The swords changed everything, made it far more interesting. The Thrill purred through his Soul, a deep and pleasant joy. Every step and every slice taught him more, as he was a novice in this kind of combat and thus all experience gave him significant insight.
His opponent was not having an easy time. The man wore a faint frown, his focus on the dancing blades. He made a face as Nicolai seized his sabre once more, caught it when it was returned and drew an Oma crystal which he turned to dust; his Node must have ran dry from the frequent recharges. Nicolai didn’t yet have that problem; with the two minor lung Nodes he’d created, he found himself with an advantage in terms of Oma—both a larger store, and a higher rate of recharge.
Nicolai kept track of each win as they fought, adding it to a personal tally. He wouldn’t be so boorish as to bring it up, but it gave him great personal satisfaction. With his edge in Soul Sense combat, and the rapid experience he was gaining and using to constantly refine his methods, Nicolai’s skill was keeping well ahead of his opponents.
However, despite the mounting losses, his opponent didn’t show any signs of overt frustration, just a rueful shake of his head each time his sword was taken from him. Nicolai appreciated this. The other man was a good sport, which was one of the qualities Nicolai felt a Better Man should possess.
Over the past few bouts he’d observed the man was working to a specific aim. Nicolai could see the guy had worked out a little trick he was trying to use to tangle up Nicolai’s Soul Sense and take the sword. He was just a little clumsy as it, which made it easy for Nicolai to avoid. But he was getting better all the time, continuously trying that one method, working to refine it, accepting his losses as he went.
Nicolai enjoying seeing the man’s process as he worked it out. He was beginning to feel little bad for winning so many times in a row, and also felt that the sparring had about run its course; he’d seen the shape of this game and improved as much as he could against an opponent that he outmatched to such a degree. Now he needed some time away to think on what he’d learned and consider new methods.
So, he opted to, at a moment when the man finally got the technique right but Nicolai, having seen it coming for so long, could have easily avoided it… to move his Soul Sense a little slower, to not react properly to the trick.
He let his sword be taken, and gifted his opponent a single win.
The man stood there, face blank with shock as he held both swords in his Soul Sense.
‘Well done,’ Nicolai congratulated him, smiling. ‘You worked it out.’
‘Ah. Aha. Yes.’ The Cultivator gave an uncertain grin, and Nicolai could feel his pride seeping from his Soul Sense.
But much more than that was seeping from the man’s Soul Sense. From what he felt, and what he read from the man’s face, Nicolai could guess at the man’s thoughts: he was now in a place to strike, and win by first blood; or even to go further. The man’s eyes darted to Jo and Beth, the guns in their hands, and Nicolai felt the indecision in him. Then they returned to Nicolai, and there came a moment of consideration, the culmination of which told Nicolai he’d read the man right.
The Cultivator’s Soul Sense flicked, and he tossed Nicolai’s rapier back. Nicolai caught it from the air with his own tendril.
‘That was fun,’ said the Cultivator, with a faint smile. He sighed. ‘I think it’s clear you won.’ He raised a hand and caught his sabre from the air. An expression of deep regret formed on his face as he looked it over lovingly.
Nicolai raised a hand, catching his rapier from the air. He slid it into its sheath. ‘Don’t worry about what I said earlier,’ he said, flapping a dismissive hand. He smiled as the Cultivator looked at him. ‘It was unkind of me. You had to agree to the duel, because of the implication. Keep your stuff. You fought well.’ After a moment, he added, ‘I… had fun too. Go on.’ He tossed a thumb over his shoulder toward the exit, then flashed a cheeky little grin and a wink that said I could kill you but I’m not going to. He congratulated himself for being so charming. Look at me, making friends. His Mask was very happy with him.
Nicolai had greatly enjoyed himself. His opponent had been a good fighter, worthy, and he wasn’t one of the Chosen (though after what he’d experienced, Nicolai felt he likely wouldn’t have killed him even if he was). The calculating core within him might’ve killed the man anyway for efficiencies sake, and greed for the sword and the man’s Symbiote, but with the Mask, combined with the deep sense of joy and relaxation Nicolai felt, he truly didn’t want to kill the man.
It would ruin the precious moment they had engaged in together, both experiencing something new and wonderful. The vision of the sword switching from one Soul Sense to the other following a double beheading, seamlessly caught and the fight rejoined, was repeating in a beautiful loop in his mind.
The man paused, chewing at his lip, thoughtful. Looking like he wanted to speak but knowing that doing so might be pressing his luck. He decided to speak anyway. ‘How’d you get all the gear? You guys look like Chosen, but… you don’t act like Chosen.’
‘We’re traders,’ said Nicolai. ‘Can get anything you want from the Trade Link.’
‘Oh, really?’ His eyes widened. ‘So… can I buy something? I’ve got points-tags.’
Nicolai tilted his head. They weren’t carrying any goods but he could spare some supplies. ‘What do you want?’
‘Any shotgun shells? I’m out. And if you have any spare pistol rounds, I’d like some of those, too. Uh. Any food? I don’t suppose you’re carrying clothes?’
‘No clothes, we can spare a little ammo and food, though.’ They made the quick exchange and Nicolai even gave the guy a good price for the bullets and nutrient bars he sold. Obviously not at cost, but he added what he considered a very reasonable hike of only 50% to the Trade Link price. Until this moment, he’d yet to sell anything for any less than double its true Trade Link value.
‘You have a radio?’ he asked as the Cultivator was tucking the shells into a pocket. He knew the guy had a radio but he was making small talk.
‘I do.’
‘Keep an ear on Channel Two. Maxine might be arranging trades in the coming future. If you want more goods and have points-tags to spend, you will be able to arrange things with us by speaking to her.’
The man nodded, a look of surprise on his face, which transformed into deep consideration. ‘Just, uh, who are you guys?’
‘The saviours of the world,’ said Beth, striking a pose. ‘Here to take out Chosen, crack undead skulls, and sell shit to shitters.’
The Cultivator stared at her. Nicolai shrugged. Close enough.
‘This guy could join,’ spoke Jo over the Local between them. ‘He seems pretty cool. Knows how to fight. Could be useful.’
Nicolai nodded, considering. She had a point, and his Mask was quick to add its vote. The realisation that this would allow him to spar more with the guy rose alongside these thoughts, more convincing than any of the rest. On top of that, Nicolai’s paranoia was quiet. This Cultivator was unusually frank and honest. He’d even been willing to hand over his sabre after “losing” the duel. This, surprisingly, made him a good fit for someone like Nicolai, who was the complete opposite. The kind of person he was willing to treat with a kind of guarded trust.
He stared thoughtfully at the man, who stared back, sensing that something of import was about to be said.
‘You want to join us?’ Nicolai asked.
The man blinked, surprised, then he smiled and he actually looked quite regretful as he shook his head. ‘I would like to. You guys seem decent, now we’ve spoken. But I can’t. Sorry. I’ve got… things I need to do.’
Mysterious. Nicolai shrugged. ‘No problem, then.’
###
As they left, Nicolai heard the girls talking quietly behind him, as well as a few laughs. Actually, more like snickers. With his Soul Sense he saw them glancing at him and smirking, and heard his name mentioned.
‘What’s up?’ he asked, peering back.
‘I guess you are a man, after all,’ said Beth and laughed, Jo smirking with her. Both looked quite amused in a way he found unaccountably concerning.
Nicolai wasn’t sure what that meant. ‘I am,’ he said anyway.
‘Boys and their toys, eh?’ added Beth.
‘Always eager to whip out their rods and start slapping them against one another,’ said Jo, grinning, and Beth howled with laughter, slapping at her sister’s shoulder.
Nicolai shook his head and kept walking. It had been an enjoyable and fruitful sparring match, that was all. They could think what they wanted.