Arrow Hawk: Battle for the Ice - The Great NHL War (Book 4)

Battle #9: Brent Seabrook vs Steve Ott

Brent Seabrook wore a sleeveless red shirt over a bulletproof vest with green army cargo pants. Across his chest, he had two black straps in an "x" shape with kept his harness for his swords in place securely. He was a highly skilled, often wisecracking but greatly amoral mercenary who wielded a pair of katana swords with superhuman speed and skill sufficient to deflect fully automatic weapons fire.

Brent reached behind him and whipped out his two katangas. He growled and swung them around in a warm-up move. The corners of his mouth were twisted upward into a scowl as he stood on boards, which were over where the blue line was in the Blackhawks' practice facility, Johnny's IceHouse. The western IceHouse was currently under renovations, so the ice was covered by boards. The lights were dim in the arena, giving him little to no visibility past where the center of the rink was.

The echo of a low growling noise came from the shadows ahead of where he stood. It sounded like it came from all around him, but he pinpointed the location, based on the sound that followed, which was the scratching of nails or claws on the boarded surface.

"Why don't you stop being such a coward and come out and fight me already? What are you a pussy cat?" Brent called out.

"I'm no pussy..." a loud sounding voice came. "I'm your worst nightmare!" With that, the skidding sound of claws scampering on the boards sounded. Then a flash of golden brown flew from the shadows.

Brent swiftly moved his swords and he saw tiger-like claws hit the metallic blades. Steve Ott was glowering at the swordsman and he flashed a pair of canines at him. Ott was wearing a black trenchcoat with black pants like Victor Creed in X-Men: Origins. "What are you supposed to be?" Brent snarled.

"Does it matter, since I'll rip you to shreds?"

Brent drove his knee into the muscular goon's stomach. Ott swiped at him with his hand, but Brent was faster and he brought one of his swords up to deflect the blow. Ott swiped with his other hand, but again Brent caught him and stopped his attack. Ott growled and gave off a tiger-like roar of frustration.

Brent kicked out again and slewfooted the fourth-liner, sending him crashing to the boards. Then the swordsman pointed his swords down at the fallen villain. "Actually," the Canadian defenseman began, "How about I rip YOU to shreds?"

"With what? You're cute little swords?" Ott sneered, shoving the blades out of his face.

Brent recovered and moved them back, lunging down at Ott, until the blades criss-crossed over the villain's throat. Ott smirked at him. The villain slowly lifted one of his hands up and he gently pushed against the blades with his claws, careful not to cut his skin. He managed to get them a safe distance from his throat, still holding his exaggerated canine smirk.

"You're real cute, Seabsie, you know that? I commend your enthusiasm and all, but really, you have no chance against me."

Brent answered him with a sharp flick of his wrist to Ott's face. Blood was drawn from the quick cut. Brent then moved and got his other cheek. Ott chuckled, amused at the swordsman's bravery.

"You're really going there, huh?"

Suddenly Brent was thrown backward and he landed roughly on the boards at the far end of the rink, narrowly missing the wall and the vertical boards. He quickly rolled back to his feet. "Hey, that hurt," he snapped as he wiped some dirt off his pants.

"You wanna dance some more," Ott sneered as his tiger-like claws slid out of the tips of his hands and shone like moldy toenails in the dim arena lighting.

"Ott," Brent muttered, snatching up his swords and spinning them around once more skillfully in his hands, moving them in the air like a helicopter's blade. He managed not to harm himself with his deadly tricks.