Petyr could have sworn the earth beneath him rumbled a bit. But no doubt it was simply yet another thunder, messing with his mind. The Jungle did encourage all sorts of stray thoughts and the weather certainly wasn’t helping.
The rain was turning more and more brutal and the resulting din was putting him in mind of the applause of a massive crowd. It was all intercut with booms that seemed to be getting louder by the minute, not to mention more frequent. The sky was still winding up for the real barrage, and Petyr cursed his timing for the hundredth time as he stepped into an unseen, ankle-deep puddle. Again.
This second journey into the city’s own little hell ought to have been easier than the first now that he knew the way, but all the extra bother and even less visibility was undercutting his certainty. The Jungle wasn’t big enough to get lost in to the point of starvation, and however miserable the rain was, it wasn’t cold enough to kill him. But he’d really wanted to get in and out as fast as he could. A closer look at that arch, ideally a second and more conductive encounter with Redda, then right back the way he’d come. Before whatever he’d encountered in that unlit alley spotted him.
The first proper flash of lightning struck across the sky, followed by a shockingly loud boom a moment later. Petyr had never thought of himself as scaring easily, but something about such a godlike force manifesting so close made him stop in his tracks for a moment. The brunt of the storm really would break right over the city itself.
He shook his head and continued on, ignoring the flash that came next.
The arch. Redda considered it the remedy for those strange foes, and his own experience supported that notion. Absurd as it was, they had given up their pursuit after the two of them had passed through it, like zealots unwilling to bring their conflicts into a holy place or some such. But it would be of little help to him if they found him outside of sprinting distance to the odd structure. Or if they simply stood between him and it.
The walls, some broken, some standing, some in between, were alive with possibilities. Hiding places were the only thing the Jungle had in abundance, and shining his light into every alley, doorway, side street and pile of rubble was a hopeless task. Still, he tried, even as it slowed his progress down even further. The lightning strikes continued, giving him fleeting glimpses of this awful environment in awful, white flashes. It was always just enough to get a feel for what was around him, without being able to analyse it.
Was that a piece of rebar or something else? Was there something in that cracked window? Was that a silhouette up against a wall or simply man-sized damage?
Give me a fight, he thought. Give me corrupt leaders, thuggish cops, desperate wretches and the scars of war. Give me something I can see and understand.
All that extra caution made him incautious enough to trip on some debris. For an eternal instant it looked like he would land with his bad knee leading the way, but his left hand was able to bring the cane around. He strained his arm against the unexpected momentum and managed to stay mostly vertical. Disaster was averted and he clumsily brought his good foot forward with a grunt.
The sky boomed twice in rapid succession as Petyr found his feet. The second flash illuminated a solitary chimney, rising up from behind a half-collapsed wall. The sight was distinctive enough to assure Petyr that he’d remained on the same path as before. That apartment building where he’d met Redda shouldn’t be that far away by now.
He really had no idea if caution or haste was the better option at this point, but he did his best to go with the former, fighting the urge to reach the finishing line as fast as possible. The storm did the hurrying for him, getting closer and more intense seemingly every second. The constant booms kept Petyr in a state of near-deafness, shrinking his world of awareness even further. There was little in it except the cold, the pounding of the rain, the dangerously ruined streets and the pains of his injuries. He didn’t notice anything else until there was a momentary lull, as if the storm were holding its breath.
There was a scraping noise, much like the ones he’d been making with seemingly every other step on this awful journey. The semi-ruined houses around him made the source a bit vague and Petyr aimed the flashlight every which way. He was near an intersection and hurried on into the middle of it rather than be trapped in a narrow single-lane street.
The centre was dominated by a wide puddle that nearly reached his ankles, but the splashes were drowned out by the resuming thunderclaps. He ignored the cold that continued biting down to his bones and flashed the light into each of the four ways available to him. Then he decided that they were in fact five, and aimed the light into the corner doorway of the closest building. He saw nothing special in there, but the next flash of lightning illuminated a figure on a small balcony above the doorway.
His light did little except keep the figure visible, but the boom was immediately followed by another flash, and he could make out Wolf’s face. The man was leaning forward onto the railing like some gargoyle, and as the next boom died away Petyr caught the tail end of his happy chuckle.
“Found you, paperman!” the gang leader said, shouting to be heard over all the noise. “Thanks for shining that light around!”
The man’s ease made Petyr turn to look where he’d just come from, and now his light caught on two men just on the edge of the light.
“It’s time we finish, I think!” Wolf went on.
Petyr swung the light another way, and saw two more men.
“And I don’t think the Green Bomber is going to bail you out of this one!”
Petyr’s light showed nothing on ahead, past the building Wolf had chosen to be his auditorium, but a flash of lightning showed yet two more men. One had a bat. The other had a hatchet.
“There is-”
Wolf’s voice was drowned out by the next blast of thunder. He seemed amused by it.
“Alright, never mind!”
He gestured.
“Kill him!”
There was just enough momentary quiet for Petyr to hear the gangsters break into a run. He headed into the one direction he hadn’t checked yet, and the light swung about uselessly in his clenched fist. If he tripped over unseen debris he was dead, but if he didn’t move at full speed he was dead anyway. A flash of lightning gave him a glimpse of the narrow street he’d chosen and the single man blocking his way. The Hound had something in his hand and readied it at the sight of Petyr coming.
Petyr’s knee wasn’t up for nimble darting, so he simply maintained a beeline for the bastard and estimated his blind swing. Petyr struck with the cane and thought he got the man in the shoulder. It was a far from perfect hit, but made it easier to bowl the man aside with sheer momentum. The collision knocked some of Petyr’s air out but he kept on going. His thumb also flicked off the light, in faint hope that he might vanish into the blackness.
But the sky didn’t let up, and the next flash of course made him perfectly visible. It also showed him he was heading into something of a tunnel, created by one brick building leaning up into another. There was no time to see it if it was actually traversable, or if there was some convenient side-route. He just plunged ahead into the passage, and had taken two steps before his shin banged into something. It nearly sent him flying, but his arm caught up against broken stonework and the delay was only for a moment. He continued on, fully expecting another fall. Instead he actually made it back out beneath the sky, and another lightning gave him a map of the road ahead.
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The Hounds were at his heels, unhindered by old injuries and oddly silent. There were no shouted threats, no glee at upcoming violence... just the murderous task.
Petyr rounded a pile of bricks he couldn’t see in between the lightning strikes and arrived at a two-storey residential. It seemed relatively intact and the front door was even closed. He braced himself and charged into the door shoulder-first.
The lock burst open with a loud crack and he stumbled into the interior, and an even deeper darkness than the one outside.
“He went inside!” one of the Hounds shouted, and Petyr swung the door closed. He wished it had occurred to him to see if the door was even locked before breaking it. A quick click and sweep of the flashlight revealed a bookcase within arm’s reach of the door. He seized it with both hands and kept weight off his bad leg as he threw it to the floor, in front of the door.
He’d only taken two steps away when the door took a heavy hit and opened just slightly before meeting the bookcase. There was another hit, and another, as Petyr sought to get his bearings, and the case squeaked a slight distance across the floor.
There was a flash and a thunder, followed by Wolf’s voice telling someone to go around. Seconds later there was the sound of breaking glass somewhere in the house.
Petyr stumbled around in a disastrously trashed house, now freely shining the light around since it couldn’t make things any worse. The ceiling was leaking like a sieve and bulging downwards in multiple spots. There was no fire axe or decorative sabre or any other such miraculously convenient weapon in sight, nor did he immediately spot a back door. And it was already too late, as the sounds of breaking glass and moving feet were now coming from the backside of the house as well.
Up! he thought. Up and out a window!
His initial direction led only to a kitchen, and what he thought might be the entrance to a flight of stairs turned out to be an enormous closet. Even through another boom of thunder he got the distinct impression that someone had gotten inside. He went the other way, to the sound of the door being gradually forced open and rain beating down on the house.
His light caught on a handrail up ahead and he had his way up. That moment of distraction was when the blow came. Petyr managed to halfway react and take it on his arm rather than his head. The light fell from his grip, but he caught a glimpse of a short, thick club, before the Hound grabbed at him with his free hand.
Petyr barrelled into the man before a second blow could be struck, pinning him against the doorframe. They clashed blindly for a couple of seconds; it was probably an elbow that clipped his brow, and definitely a fist that went into his side. He managed to slam the man’s head into the frame, stunning him enough for a stronger slam right into the corner.
Petyr separated as the man fell backwards, heading back for the stairs. He didn’t waste time picking up the light, but its beam shone across the hallway and past his destination. He put his empty hand on the bottom post and swung his way around. A fist came out of the darkness with a man behind it and connected with Petyr’s face.
He was pushed back against the post. He kicked out with his bad leg without thinking, earning himself a stab of pain worse than the punch. It was a weak hit against the Hound’s legs, but delayed the man a moment. Petyr recovered his bearings a bit, and two-handed the cane in a blow. He wasn’t sure what he hit, but a lightning flash showed the man fall over. He wasn’t finished, though, and Petyr heard more movement coming.
Rainwater poured down the steps from and splashed about as he limped up the stairs in an awkward hustle. He was almost at the top when something hit his lower back. He fell forward, slamming onto the top of the landing. He twisted around and saw the outline of a man with a long bat, coming in for a downward strike.
Petyr twisted his legs out of the way of a knee-shattering blow, banging his head brutally on something hard and narrow in the process. He barely avoided another blow, then kicked out and thought he connected with the man’s hand. Petyr then got up on his good knee and wrapped both hands around the small radiator he’d hit his head on.
With a scream of effort and a body-wide shock of agony, he ripped it loose and held it over his head. He threw it down with all of his might and hit the bat-man, and possibly some others. He then picked up his cane and turned to face the upper floor. One and a half walls were gone, as was most of the ceiling. Lightning flashed as two men came at him, clearly having climbed up the exterior.
Petyr reacted with pure instinct as the hatchet he’d glimpsed earlier was swung at him. He parried with the cane, then transitioned smoothly into cracking the man on the head. His buddy lunged ahead with an outstretched arm. Petyr tried to hop back a step, but felt something in his chest. It could be a scratch, or a fatal puncture. He was too hopped up to tell which it was, or even really care. He just swung.
The gangster evaded. Petyr tried to follow with an attack, but his buddy recovered his wits enough to come sideways at Petyr with a grab. It trapped Petyr’s left arm. He brought the cane handle down on the man’s head with a loud bang, but though stunned he stubbornly held on.
A third man then came up behind him as they drunkenly swayed about the floor, and wrapped an arm around his neck in a chokehold. The one with the knife hesitated, seeking an opening that didn’t risk stabbing his comrades. The wobbly man clinging to Petyr’s arm swung a fist at his groin. It wasn't a direct hit, but sucked all the same.
Struggling to breathe, Petyr swung the cane at the knife man to keep him at bay for a moment, then swung backwards to crack the choker’s skull. It didn’t break the hold, but he followed by finding the man’s eye with his thumb and jamming it in. The man screamed and tried to twist out of the way, which allowed Petyr to shake him off and deliver a savage elbow to the face. The knife man came in for a stab, but Petyr swung the remaining grappler at him. The men collided and the knife man couldn’t regain his balance before Petyr came at him with a roar and a double-handed swing. The man’s arm broke and he lost the knife. Petyr smashed into him and shoved him out onto a part of the floor obviously destroyed by the elements. It could not support his weight and the man plummeted through with a loud crash.
Someone grabbed the cane with one hand and punched with the other. It caught Petyr right in the eye, the second punch started him on a backwards stumble, and the third sent him hard up against a wall. The next flash of lightning showed Wolf himself standing before him, holding the cane.
“Hey, bunny,” he said, just before yet another deafening boom. He threw the cane aside and slowly opened his coat. Petyr had managed to lock his knees and spine to keep from sliding down the wall, but honestly wasn’t sure if he could fully stand just yet.
Another lightning struck across the sky, providing a cold camera flash of the man’s lean, feral face, grinning happily as he took out a knife. Petyr meaningfully reached into a coat pocket as well, and in the instant of the next flash he took out an object and threw it at the man’s face.
Wolf’s reflexes made him bat an arm out in defence before he could realise it was just a spare notebook. Petyr launched himself from the wall and caught onto Wolf for support. They grappled in a grunting, angry stalemate for a moment, before Wolf swung an elbow up into Petyr’s face. Petyr almost lost his footing, but maintained his grip on Wolf’s knife arm and now grabbed with his other hand as well. Skill and luck came together in allowing him to twist the arm and force Wolf downwards. The man groaned as the knife fell from his hand, but then managed to kick out.
It hit Petyr right in the bad knee, and the leg simply gave up on him. It collapsed and Petyr fell to his knees with a pained yelp. Wolf kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling back.
“Oh, you are annoying,” the man said, and Petyr lost sight of him as he felt around for the knife, the hatchet, a brick, anything.
The sky went through a brief moment of peace. Petyr’s ears were ringing, every movement hurt, he could barely breathe, and his eye seemed to be filling up with blood. But he wasn’t done. He was still breathing, and so he wasn’t done.
He became aware of a scraping noise, and as his hand finally closed around a familiar object he found the source. Wolf was strolling his way at a leisurely pace, dragging his hand along a brick wall. Except it wasn’t him. The next lightning flash illuminated something else entirely; a hideous, twisted shape, whose fingers cut through the bricks like they were still wet clay.
It was impossible, and yet Petyr saw it. And when the figure lunged at him Petyr got to his feet and met it with a swordsman’s strike. There was a crackling flash of blue, a rending noise and a scream. Petyr struck again, yelling as he did so. There was another blue blast of energy, and Wolf staggered out onto that weakened part of the roof and went the same way as his man.
Petyr stood still for a moment, then swayed on his feet and had to use the cane for support. There was no time for reflection or attempting to understand anything at all. He knew what was coming; soon enough the battle fever would wear off and everything that had just happened would catch up with him. And he could still hear movement.
He hugged the wall as he inched his way to the edge of the great big opening in the damaged house. He waited for the next flash of lighting before choosing the place to drop down. The landing hurt and he rolled over into a sprawled heap. But they would find him, and so he fought against pain and exhaustion long enough to crawl over to a wall. It served as support enough to get him to his feet, and he scraped alongside it and began staggering away. He could barely remember what to do at street corners but somehow made it around the first one he came across.
He wasn’t sure how far he walked. There was just pain and debris and booms and flashes. He had blood in one eye and rainwater in the other. He dumbly wondered what had happened to his hat. Then he blacked out.