The sphere was tossed in through the shattered window rather gently. For a single instant time appeared frozen, as Michael scrambled to get up and away from the sphere. The object in question was a transparent sphere made of glass. A black misty gas was roiling around inside the confined space, trying to break free. The sphere rolled lazily under the dining table, and came to a stop as Michael tried to put some distance between him and the object. His instincts were back full throttle, as he tried to put distance between the object and himself just in case. ‘Just in case’ turned out to be a good idea. The swirling black mist inside the sphere suddenly sped up its movement, just as the glass sphere shattered and chaos prevailed as all hell broke loose. A strong unnatural wind suddenly kicked up inside the dining room actually buffeting him backwards. The black mist from the now broken object, coalesced into a single mass and hung still in mid-air. The dining room and the kitchen actually occupied an entire lower wing of the house, which was really a mansion. There was an L- shaped marble island with stoves installed on one arm. The other arm had a dryer and dishwasher. Cabinets with various kitchen implements were above and behind the island. All that occupied the entire west wall. The wall perpendicular to it had the door which led to the drawing room and main entrance. The remaining sides held the sliding glass doors, which led into the backyard. They had shutters which could be lowered by remote.

The wind shattered the remaining glass on both sides. The cabinets flew open and spilled dishes and other sharp kitchen objects. Michael, katana still in hand dove to one side to avoid the knives, forks and broken glass which suddenly flew at him. Plates shattered and knives quivered stuck to the wall behind his former position. The dark mist which had so far remained motionless in air, flew towards him without any warning, forcing him to roll sideways once more. Michael got on his feet once more as the black mist came at him again, incredibly fast. This time, he had no more space to dodge. Michael knew with absolute certainty that the mist was bad news, especially if it touched him.

Time seemed to slow down once more as what was almost certain doom, came for him. His vision grew sharper as his perception of the world around him increased. He was suddenly aware of the spirits around him, and he knew that the black mist was a wraith. A tormented soul who had died in suffering and grief. The insubstantial mist started to look more solid in his new vision. He could fell the torment and pain the wraith was under. The fear and revulsion he felt for the thing was gone, replaced by pity and a desire to free the soul from its suffering. He acted half on instinct and half with knowledge that had suddenly appeared in his brain. He moved towards the wraith, rather than try to avoid it and was somehow able to snatch the thing out of mid-air. Michael could feel the torment, the soul was under. Images of its life when alive flashed through his brain trying to break him with self-inflicted torment, to shatter him into a mindless husk. Just a vessel for the wraith to possess and cause more suffering to the world which had caused it so much pain. Stopping the flow of images with his will, he took away the pain and all the negative emotions from the wraith inside himself. Before the darkness could overwhelm him, Michael locked it away in a ‘glass box’ and hid it away inside a dark corner of his mind.

His job done, Michael released the soul from his grasp. He couldn’t help but gasp in surprise. The black insubstantial mass, which had so filled him with dread had turned a pure glowing white sphere. The soul pulsed once in thanks and then disappeared. Michael could feel that somehow the world itself was thankful for what he had done. The soul had moved on to wherever it was that souls went in the afterlife. Even the wind had died down.

Before Michael could process whatever it was that had happened to him, before he could take a breath in relief several figures dressed in black materialised outside the broken sliding door to his front. There were six of them, each person dressed in body fitting black ballistic armour. They had black cloth masks to cover their faces, and SWAT style goggles for their eyes. Apart from the silenced MP-5’s they held pointed at him, each figure also had swords strapped either to their back or the side. Two of them were wearing short swords, while the remaining four had long swords.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

There was no warning of any sort, the men opened fire at him in short bursts. His senses sharpened enormously and increased as time seemed to slow down for him. They stepped towards him and spread out in a semi- circle. The intention to catch him in a slight cross- fire was obvious. But to Michael’s increased perception their movements appeared incredibly slow. He could see the expended shells pouring out of the sub-guns, the movement of the slide as shells were ejected and count every individual bullet as they shot towards him. The rounds reached Michael and bounced off an invisible shield. The shield would flicker green every time a round would impact of off it. The guns ran out of rounds at about the same time. For a single moment, the world was quiet and seemed to be completely devoid of any sound. As the slides locked on empty, Michael made his move before his attackers could reload.

He sprinted towards them drawing the katana from its sheath. Time sped up slightly, as his perception reduced somewhat and cold anger burned in his gut. These people had dared to attack his home, his domain. Which was why, they would pay. He would make them pay! He struck out sideways with the sheath, the power of the strike instantly shattering a neck vertebra. At the same instant, he used the katana in his right hand to slice upwards diagonally, cutting through the armour and flesh of another attacker like butter. Both of his victims collapsed boneless to the floor, as Michael felt himself automatically absorbing ‘something’ from the fallen men. However there was no time to ruminate over it. There were still four intruders left to take care of.

Michael was starting to sweat by now, all the exertion starting to eat at his stamina. But his movements were still as fast and crisp. He turned his sideways to avoid a bullet, from a 1911 colt. The bullet whizzed past his left cheek, leaving a slight burn from the superheated gases trailing in its wake and a slight ringing in his ears. Luckily for him, but unlucky for his attackers the dodged bullet killed another attacker coming up on his right. Skull, brains and blood splattered in a circle, as blood got on Michaels t-shirt and face. Having no time to wipe it off, Michael moved towards the attacker with the sidearm and knocked it off his hand with the sheath in his left hand. Before the man could draw another weapon, he was run through with the katana.

Time sped up to normal, as Michael’s boosted perception and senses returned to normal human levels. By now, he was beginning to pant as sweat was streaming down his body. His muscles were screaming in protest at the abuse they had been put through, but there was no time to rest. Michael had to turn around to block and deflect the sword strikes of the last two intruders. They attacked with their short swords in perfect tandem and co-ordination making things difficult for Michael. His brief burst of superhuman strength, reflexes and senses had allowed him to deal with four of the attackers at once. But now the boost had worn off leaving him tired and worn out. He was beginning to slow down, while the attackers were relatively fresh. If he kept on the defensive he would lose. The killers would alternate sword strikes with kicks and elbow strikes occasionally catching him by surprise, leaving bruises and small cuts on his body.

Deciding to take the offensive, he used a very minute gap between his attacker’s movements to strike out with the wooden saya. The wooden material which it was made out of was hard enough to shatter bones, given enough power. It forced the attacker to his left to back off minutely giving Michael the opening he needed. A quick snap kick to the left knee of the attacker on the right misbalanced him. A quick sideways slash severed his jugular. The last attacker on his own was outmatched. The mysterious power, which Michael seemed to be able to absorb when killing someone rejunavated him briefly and was able to give him enough of a boost to deal with the last attacker. The last to-be killer was quickly dealt with via a stab through his heart.

Michael took a deep breath to try and stave off the nausea. The coppery smell of blood permeated all around him. The only thing going through his mind was that he had clean the mess before his parents returned home. With shaking hands, he sheathed the katana. Surprisingly there was no blood on the sword. But he was too shaken to care about it. Around him the bodies of his foes littered the ground. The floor was completely soaked with blood, along with pieces of brain matter and bits of skull. Without any warning he collapsed unconscious to the floor, amidst the blood and bodies. The katana was firmly clutched in his right hand, even as consciousness departed from Michael.

…………………………