The Angel's Sword, chapter 1(rated 12+ for violence)

Chapter 1

Moonlight glinted cruelly off the edge of the blade. Held at ready, the knife was a weapon that had spilled blood before, and would do so again. Soon. Concrete thudded under the man's boots. His knuckles were bloodless and white from the strength with which he gripped the knife. His life-line.

"Where is he?" the man hissed.

A flash of lightening illuminated the alley.

Nothing.

Lurking behind the crates at the other end of the alley, a man in black held his darkened blade lightly. His mouth was closed in a grim line, muscles tense and ready for battle, as he waited.

Waited for his opponent to come nearer.

Thunder rolled in the distance. The storm would be there soon.

"Raphael!" The name echoed in the deadly silence, rebounding of the opposing brick walls and sending a ghostly sound into the night air.

Raphael shook his head. "Fool," he whispered, barely moving his lips. "Do you want us caught?"

He made a mental check of his weapons; a dagger, a sword hanging across his back, and a .22 revolver; and stepped out of the shadows.

"I am here Willard."

Willard pivoted toward the sound. Raphael was all but invisible.

"You came," Willard mocked.

"I rarely break a promise."

Willard laughed mirthlessly, "rarely?"

Raphael tightened his grip almost imperceptibly. "Enough. Let's finish this."

With a flash of metal, Willard attacked Raphael. Raphael quickly, and easily, countered.

Willard stayed his hand a moment. "You fight well."

"I should. I've killed enough people."

"And you think you're so much better than the rest of us."

"At least I don't smuggle children!" Raphael punctuated his last word with a swift blow toward Willard's head. Willard ducked and retaliated with a strike to Raphael's arm. Raphael flipped his sword around to block it and winced at the ringing sound of steel on steel. He backed up.

Willard laughed. "Come on, is that the best you can do? It seems everything I've heard about you was an exaggeration."

Raphael half-smiled. Willard started circling, his eyes fixed on Raphael. Raphael stood perfectly still, only his eyes moving to follow his enemy's movements. Contrary to his relaxed posture, and the loose way he held his dagger, he was prepared to move swiftly and with deadly accuracy. He remained still when Willard passed beyond the boundaries of his sight.

Seconds passed. Neither moved.

Suddenly, Raphael dropped to the concrete and spun, his dagger finding its mark on Willard's unprotected legs. At the same time, Willard's knife slashed the air above Raphael's head and rain began pouring down.

Willard fell to his knees, blood streaming from the cut across his thighs. With a grunt, he barreled into Raphael's legs. Raphael fell over Willard's back, loosing some of his ankle flesh to his knife. He rolled to his feet and spun to face Willard.

"This is easy," Raphael muttered.

A blast of thunder seemed to answer, along with a fresh downpour of rain. It was all they could hear, pounding on the concrete. Visibility was zero.

Willard leaped for where he knew Raphael was. The impact sent Raphael's dagger flying.

"Stupid!" He lunged for his blade, hitting the concrete with a smack and skidded across it. He felt for it and finally touched the blade with his fingers, slicing open the fingertips, but he ignored the pain and fought to take hold of his weapon. Willard dug his feet into the concrete and dove for Raphael, crashing into him head on, and landing on top of him. His arms were pinned beneath him, his dagger out of his reach.Willard raised the knife.

"All right, so it's not!" Raphael whispered, barely able to breath with the crushing weight of Willard on his stomach.

Lightening cracked, hitting a nearby gas station full force. The brilliant light blinded Willard for a second, a split second of hesitation. Raphael gathered all his strength and twisted to his side. Willard's dagger plunged into his shoulder and ripped out again as Willard fell onto his back. Raphael rolled to his feet and ripped the sword from it's scabbard, wheeling to attack Willard. Willard leaped over the sword aimed to cripple him and lunged for Raphael's throat. His knife threw aside the protecting blade of Raphael's sword.

"I don't think so!" Raphael muttered fiercely. He jerked back fast, but almost not fast enough. The edge of the blade brushed his throat. The attack unbalanced Willard for just long enough. Raphael used his sword hand and shoved him into the empty crates. The plastic crates fell over backwards, taking Willard with them. He dropped his knife as he fell, and Raphael kicked it out of his reach. He stepped backwards and crouched, his sword point down on the ground so he could rise quickly. His blood had mixed with sweat and water until it was impossible to tell the difference. He could have attacked Willard, but his short, uneven breaths warned him that a brief respite would be better. Willard seemed to know that, and didn't move for a second, drawing in deep, sweet breaths of the night air. The rain was beginning to let up.

But the lull couldn't last long. Willard stirred, and Raphael stood, gripping his sword tighter in preparation for the next storm. Willard struggled to stand, but the crates moved every time he put even a modicum of his 160 pounds on them, making him fall flat on the ground again. Raphael almost laughed at the pitiful sight. If Willard had just used his legs instead of the crates, he would have met with better success. The wound Raphael had given him made it painful to do that, though. When Willard was on his feet, he reached his hand behind him with a grimace and drew a broadsword from a scabbard similar to the one that Raphael had. Raphael grimaced; a broadsword was much heavier, and so, stronger, than his medieval style sword. The two swords clashed, and Raphael's rebounded, narrowly missing his head. He grunted; he had obviously underestimated Willard's strength. Willard seemed to be thinking the same thing about him. He waited a second before he attacked again.

"Are you finished?" Raphael asked, with a slightly mocking tone. He was good. Willard couldn't even tell that he was breathing hard.

"I came here to kill you," Willard growled, approaching again with his sword raised. "And I intend to do it."

"Why?"

This brought Willard up short. "What?"

"Why did you become a Believer?"

"Because I learned the truth. There is so much more to this world than what we can see and touch."

Raphael's voice was tight as he answered. "You learned that the wrong way."

"You don't have to fight us Raphael."

Raphael laughed harshly, "That's where you're wrong. I mean, if I didn't fight you, what would I do to pass the time?" The thick sarcasm in his voice did not escape Willard's attention, but he ignored it.

"You could join us."

The rain veiled Raphael's movements as he tightened his grip and clenched his jaw.

"Not in a million years."

"Well, how about now?"

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear." Raphael said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "The answer is no."

"The Prince of Power could really use some-one like you."

"No!" Raphael roared, and charged Willard, his sword flashing.

Willard returned blow-for-blow.

In a few seconds, it was over.