He stood at the edge of town, wondering if the the effort would be worth while. His mind preferred not getting stoned over a piece of bread, but his stomach was rumbling all sorts of hangry. He pulled his black hoodie over his head, casting a shadow over his face, concealing everything except for the glowing red eye. Then he reached down, taking a small piece of cloth from his back pocket and gently dusted of his Jordans. They were old, but well taken care of. A lasting souvenir from a time when he was still on Earth.

Then, as he was standing up, he readjusted the 4 swords on his back. Touching the colourful woven grips as he made sure they were still locked in at 11h00, 12h00, 13h00 and 14h00 respectively. He barely thought about the little ritual, it had become a trigger movement of sorts, a way he assured himself that he was ready. Finally he slid down his left hand, checking and adjusting the sword seethed on his hip.

“Some food would be nice.”

He strolled into town like a shadow, passing a large notice board that read ‘Welcome to Lost&Found.’ Maybe years ago, back when he first arrived on this planet, a name like that would have struck him as a weird, however, since then, he’d seen so many wormholes opening in the sky dumping all sorts of random rubbish, so even if the town was called ‘Rubbish Dump’ it would still be rather fitting.

He made his way through the dusty streets, keeping his eyes open and his footsteps quiet. He kept an eye out for some sign of food, but the colourful metal houses seemed deserted. Non the less, he was hungry, and the next town could be days away, so he continued through the network of box houses, telling himself that somewhere, someone would be willing to trade a bit of food. Although, in the back of his mind he knew he had nothing to trade, adding to his predicament, he was considered to be ‘Undead’ by the natives. 

It had been funny at first, being called ‘Undead’, but after countless towns refused to trade with him, the joke really wore itself out. Luckily, most of his cybernetic parts could easily be hidden away: His left cybernetic leg was hidden away under a pair of baggy trainers, while his robotic arm easily disappeared inside of the oversized hoody. It was just the eyepatch that was a bit obvious, but thus far it had served him well.

The town was was empty. It didn’t make sense, normally people in small towns like these would be out and about during the middle of the day.

He stopped, dust swirling inbetween the empty houses. He looked down seeing a layer of dust already building up on his shoes again. He reached for the cloth in his back pocket, but stopped just short. There was a commotion. Somewhere ahead of him something was happening. He heard the footsteps of a crowd. ‘Trouble’ he thought, already turning away to avoid them. However, to his surprise, a crowd had already started forming behind him as well. All of a sudden people flooded in from everywhere; from around corners; climbing out of windows; even jumping off the roofs of some of the nearby houses. 

‘Could they have known?’ The thought crossed his mind. He’s been chased out of town before, but he’d never been ambushed before. Their numbers kept growing, people streaming in from everywhere, forming a wave that seemed less and less avoidable.

'It was all his fault!' The thought trigger a spark of anger within him. He was the one who brought him to RuHeap. His fault that he couldn't even enter a town without receiving vial stares. Why he always had to stalk around like some criminal. His fault that he cannot be with her.

‘Quiet’ his inside voice instructed. His cybernetic arm twitched as he took a deep breath. He was ready to defend himself. His right hand knew exactly what to do, it knew exactly where Dazed and Confused was seethed. The slightest sign of aggression was all he needed to draw the wooden sword. It wouldn’t kill anyone, but it would leave them dazed and confused. 

He steadied his breathing. Allowing air to move through him freely, just like his master had taught him. He lowered his stance, spreading his weight evenly, not too far forward, not too far back, the perfect offensive and defensive position. He waited. He would not be the first one to strike. ‘With great power, comes great responsibility’ his master’s voice echoed through his memory.

The ever growing crowd reached him like a wave, but then, no one touched him. The crowd split around him like a wave breaking around a rock, flooding back into one behind him. Unconsciously they understood, he was the shark and they were the sardines. 

He stood there, a statue. By now it was obvious they weren’t there for him. But then, for who? Or what? People don’t just crowd like that for no good reason. 

He turned, trying to see where the crowd was rushing to. It was a man, it had to be him, he knew in an instance. He stood out head and shoulder above the crowd, muscles bulging from his neck to his forearms. And even at a distance he could see thick veins running like wires under his skin.

The behemoth of a man was obviously a blacksmith, they always wearing some dark coloured heavy duty trousers, shirtless, and the trademark leather apron, and he was no different. Although, he had to admit that he’d never actually seen a blacksmith that was quite as tall, normally they were on the shorter side, the other thing that caught his attention was the fact that he was fighting. To his knowledge, blacksmiths preferred crafting to fighting.

He stood up out of his stance, relaxing his breathing. The crowed must have sensed it, because as soon as he let his guard down they stopped moving around him and instead, carried him along them. Curious to see who the blacksmith was fighting, he didn’t resist them, instead riding the wave to get a better view of things.

The blacksmith lacked any proper fighting technique, he though, keeping his eyes glued on him. However, whatever he lacked in skill, he more than made up for with the sheer brute force. Something his choice of weapons reflected, two forging hammer, if he had to judge, about double the size of any normal blacksmith’s hammer. Though he seemed to be swinging them around as if they were made of plastic. And if that wasn’t intimidating enough, he was smiling, even laughing, a deep primal laugh, signalling pure and utter enjoyment. It could be some tactic to get under his opponents skin, he thought, but then something just told him that it felt too authentic to be an act. 

He suddenly felt sorry for whoever had to fight him. Fighting an opponent that lives and breathes violence was easier said than done, they never yield, they never stop, they either win, or they die. And by the way things were going, he wasn’t dying.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The crowd started settling, forming a carefully large circle around the blacksmith and his opponent. The opponent perhaps not the main reason for the larger splash zone, seeing as the man was much smaller, wearing rounded armour making him look on the chubbier side, adding to that, from what he had seen so far, the little fat man hadn’t thrown a single punch. 

Although first impressions aside, he could see that the man wasn’t a complete amateur. The fact that he was still alive was a dead giveaway, obviously he was doing something right. The chubby armour took blow after blow, the sound of metal meeting metal and ever echoing sight. And yet, the fat man kept standing, taking hit after hit without fail.

“Why isn’t he fighting back” He whispered to himself.

“She!” 

“She?”

“Yes, the one in the armour is actually a she… and my student.”

“I apologise sincerely if I…”

“It’s all-right young man, most outsiders have a similar reaction… 1st, like you, they think she cannot possibly be a woman, then they reject her fighting style.”

He paused for a moment, looking down at the old lady that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

“So she’s trying to wear him down?”

The old woman started laughing uncontrollably, “Wear him down! Wear him down?” Her old bent over body shaking all over.

He paused, once again, unsure, feeling as if he had missed something, but didn’t know what.

“Young man, they’ve been at it for hours, does it really look like Chere is loosing any steam?”

“Chere?”

In a surprisingly smooth motion, the old lady’s cane flashed upwards whacking striking a lesson behind his head. His hand followed, cradling the pain where he was sure a lump would show up.

“Ouch, what…”

She twitched her hand and he recoiled without thinking, shutting his mouth in the process.

“I asked if you think he was loosing any steam?”

He took a moment to think things over, ignoring the fight and focussing instead on the old ladies cane.

“No, ma’am?”

She smacked him again, this time on the side of his knee.

“You didn’t even look at him!”

He took another careful look at the fight. Chere didn’t look tired at all, he was still swinging both hammer with vigour. And without any recognisable pattern. It just seemed like primal dominance. However there were two distinct movement patterns; he either had his fists planted together, swinging them like the two hammers were fused together; or completely separate, so much so that one might believe each hammer had a mind of its own.

The first he realised was a much stronger attack, but then, dodging only one attack was easier to deal with, even though only one hit could send someone flying through a few of the nearby houses. The real problem was when he swung the hammers separately. Most opponents didn’t have the sort of strength to swing two of those without using some type of dance to build up momentum, however he moved them through the air like they were nothing. Pretty scary, he thought.

He felt hard an impact in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and bringing him down to one knee. “So?”

“So?” He coughed out the word.

“Is he running out of steam?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good, now, look at her.”

He stood up, keeping a cautious eye on the old lady’s cane. ‘Note to self, the old hag is quicker than she looks’. 

He rose back to both feet, the wind returning to his sails. He was starting to really hate his new found companion and the conversation wasn’t really any better, but he had a feeling the old hag wouldn’t let him leave. He could always just beat her, if he had no other choice, after all, she’d only been able to hit him because he let his guard down. Just one strike with Dazed and Confused and he could slip away in the crowd, maybe intercept some food from one of the bystanders…

“If you think you can beat me, do it.” He saw the faint smile, the smile saying ‘come on, do it, make my day.’ 

“Do what?” He pleaded innocent, laughing it off with his hands.

“Good, now look.”

He did as she instructed and looked. He tried to focus on the fat armoured lady, but his eyes kept following he blacksmith. After all, he was the one actually doing something, for that matter, he was the only one doing something. So then, how did she remain standing? 

“Yes, that is the question.”

He checked his lips, making sure that they hadn’t in fact moved on their own, then looked at the old hag, wondering how she knew exactly what he was thinking. ‘I am not the boy you’re looking for’.

He waited for a telepathic response, but nothing happened. So he decided to ignored the old hag and refocus on the fight, while keeping an eye on the cane for good measure.

The fat fighter did move, but only slightly. It puzzled him. The blacksmith was making regular impact, yet, she remained standing, it was as if he’s hits didn’t carry as much punch as he originally thought. Somehow she was making his hits loose their impact. 

“You see it yet?”

“Her movements? She’s deflecting?”

“Redirecting.”

“So she’s waiting for an op…” She hit him again, this time on the forehead, triggering him instantly.

“She’s not going to attack.”

“That’s stupid!”

She tried to hit him again, but he moved. He could see a glimpse of surprise in her eyes, but only for a moment. Again she tried to hit him, aiming for the bridge of his foot and again he moved.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m leaving.” He turned around and started pushing his way through the crowd, still hungry, and now annoyed aswell.

“Young man, she is a student of self-defence, focussing on protection of self.”

He just kept pushing through the crowd, no longer listening to the old hag.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you all the food you could eat and a warm shower if you can defeat both of them.”

He stopped, “Now?”

“Right now.”

He turned around to try and judge whether she was serious or not. 

“If you don’t believe me.” She through a freshly baked bun towards him, “Proof that I indeed have food.”

He wolfed down the piece of bread, putting his hand on his chest as the dry bread got stuck in his throat. He waited for the pain to pass, then immediately lowered into his stance. He spreading his feet and softly bent his knees, keeping his weight centred. He steadied his breathing. Allowing air to move through him freely, just like his master had taught him. He waited.

His cybernetic arm twitched. It was ready. ‘White light?’ He considered, ‘No, I don’t want to accidentally kill them… I barely know them… Dazed and Confused? Going to leave a few ego’s bruised? Who cares, there’s food on the line…’ 

He pulled his hood over his face even further, hoping he could remove the eyepatch without anyone noticing the red glow of his eye. 

Then, slowly, took one deep breath, and bolted forward from his left leg, like lightning, leaning forward running. Light stepping through the final few bystanders, sliding through them like a hot knife, silently exploding out of the crowd. They came into view, the fat fighter to his left and the blacksmith to his right.

Breathing out with every step, he darted right, focussed his attention on the blacksmith first. He dashed in close, keeping to the side of his target. And as he had hoped the blacksmith didn’t even notice him approaching, he was too busy focusing on the fat fighter. He kept low, unseething Dazed and Confused within striking range and brought it down onto the blacksmith’s knee.

He could hear the blacksmith grunting in pain and stepped past him, keeping the wooden blade in the dust. He coiled himself down behind the blacksmith and waited… and waited… and waited… and waited… then, at last when the blacksmith had finally found him, hoisting his dual hammer high up in the air, he made his move. 

“Dazed and Confused!” he claimed, bringing the wooden sword off the ground with a quick rotating flash, aiming for the blacksmith’s chin, then striking it clean. Generating enough force to lift the behemoths off his tippy toes. The world went into a quiet shock. Perhaps the people of this town had never seen this giant of a man, hanging inches off the ground, defying gravity as he dropped down flat on his back.

He turned, uninterested in the silence, Dazed and Confused already reseethed. Target number two. He dashed towards her, setting up a head on attack. It needed to be a direct attack at first, otherwise, he knew, she might suspect. His hand jolted back to Dazed and Confused, swooshing it down into her iron helmet. She moved, just enough to redirect the wooden sword to the ground. Perfect! “Dazed and Confused!” He yelled once again, flowing with the sword, down low, but instead of hitting the ground, he caught himself with his right leg and jammed the sword in-between her legs. 

Startled by the movement, she tried to jump backwards, causing her to trip over the wooden sword. He reseethed Dazed and Confused faster than she could hit the ground. She wasn’t out, he knew, but she also wouldn’t fight back, so he just climbed on top of her. His weight, combined with the weight of the armour and the fact that she does fight back, meant she couldn’t get back up, making him the victor.

The crowd went quiet. The only noise was that of the woman in the armour throwing something of a tantrum. 

“He’s an Undead! Look at his eye!” One of the spectators yelled.

“Shutup fool! His with me!” The old lady yelled. And then, with a few more words, and after hitting a few bystanders with her cane, the crowd quickly dispersed. Leaving only the four of them standing there as if nothing ever happened.

“I promised you food didn’t I, so, let’s go.”