Companionship - beyond flesh

Madness

C-Buck couldn't resist, "Damn, no pink fluffy unicorns."

***

To Churchman, a hilt in the hand was a comfort; it took him back to his early years in the Custos Sancti, the Death Squad. Life was simple then: kill for God--train--kill again for God--repeat. Each thrust, each slice, that he made at the creature she had called her offspring, was a moment reconciled from history. A Thrust! It was the same forward motion that he had stabbed into the old woman's heart--that woman was the first death under his protection. She had believed that she would live forever, an immortal laughing in the face of God. Even then, he thought, I knew I was an Angel.

The old woman bled badly and was too dead to parry. But the spider creature crossed it's weapons to block his move as if it had known exactly how and when Churchman would strike. He knew the thing was significant to Emma and Max, but to him, it was an abomination. As the fight commenced it had twisted into a new form, its four front legs had joined to form two deadly arm-like blades, it's body thinned and formed to segments consisting of an upright torso and hind legs moved on a back section in a way that optimised its balance. It looked to be a headless praying mantis, and it fought well--very well.

And it was fast. Churchman coupled his weapon's retreat with a pounce backwards. His new satyr form was powerful, and the move launched him flying back in the air. But his opponent followed, jumping forward matching Churchman's near inhuman speed. Emma's offspring threw its weapons forward as one and Churchman was forced to divert his swing, switching from attack to defence and barely catching the exotic cyborg's weapon-arms on the flat of the greatsword blade with the ching-ching of metal hitting metal. Churchman had been in this position before when an auger from Elephantana had surprised him with an assault of twin knives. Then, he had collected both enemy stabs with the blade of his short sword. He remembered also how he had dispatched his would-be assassin a move that he would bring to this fight. He lifted one of his goat-like legs and threw it sideways across his opponents legs with the aim of tripping it up. One dropped, but rather than stumble and fall it used the momentum of its movement to reposition one of its arms as a slash against the bare skin of Churchman's abdomen. As the blade arm drew across Churchman's toned body, Churchman's skin parted, but he did not bleed. Instead, the sound of metal drawing against metal filled the air as an inner layer of armor within the man resisted the cyborg's opportunistic attack.

Churchman's move was not supposed to end like that; history had the auger's knees on the ground and head in the air. Instead, One moved forward, attacking again, and again. A blow from the crystal-like blade was blocked by Churchman's tempered orr forearm; beside their bronze colour, his remade limbs were too natural in their appearance and movement to be described as mechanical, but, at the microscopic level they had been constructed with mechanics beyond his comprehension.

Many of Churchman's opponents in the past had been skillful warriors. Living with a death mark augments an individual's will to survive, it makes them smart, deadly or both. The fight at Black Star, a forgotten colony somewhere in the Vela Association was the one that reminded Churchman of this fight the most. There three opponents faced the lone Churchman. They had already killed two of his fellow clergy sent to dispatch them when Churchman's assault had hit them like a thunderclap. He remembered most the smell of the bloody room after he broke in, and, amid ballistic fire, sliced and thrust into arms and necks, faces and bodies. Today he was stronger and faster than ever before, and rather than the short foot long blade, here his greatsword pummelled as if he was smashing his opponent with a tree.

The cyborg met Churchman's fury blow for blow as the malformed Angel screamed. But, in the end, it was fear that forced One's retreat: Churchman's face was wild in a berserk fit of rage and determination, his eyes wide-open and red, spitting saliva, his teeth were bared and sharp spike-like horns born forward. To it's young mind, One was struck with fearful dread as if it was facing the face of fear itself. Inexperienced, it could find nothing in its relbase that could prompt a reaction to the onslaught. Its defence became confused, and an arm missed the downward swing of the greatsword. Churchman howled as the blade fell with speed and force onto One's body. Such a blow on flesh would have shattered bone and hewn a great lump of meat from the victim, but instead, the blade bounced off the body with a discharge of white sparks. The energy from the blow travelled back up the blade causing the hilt to jump unexpectedly out of the Churchman's grip. The sword seemed to flex impossibly with the residue vibration as it flew into the air and landed on the gold ground with a thunk.

Any surprise he may have felt did not register on Churchman's face. He assumed a stance in readiness for hand to hand combat and moved forward cautiously.

As One retreated, Max, who had been watching the fight nearby, ran forward shouting with an anger that Churchman had only seen in a few men or women before. "STOP THIS!"

Max stood between the two combatants; he was panting, and his face was dripping sweat into his thick beard. "Churchman! Have you gone mad?! This beast that you have become is not the man who was my friend. And you say you are an angel! I'm sorry, but it is you who are the devil here."

Churchman stepped forward, his muscled chest heaving as he drew a clawed finger towards Max. "Never, ever little man, doubt my allegiance to God. If you have known the number of people that I have killed--"

Emma's advance was so fast that her petite pregnant form blurred as she moved to Max, her tall Amazonian aspect that watched from the hill behind moved simultaneously to stand to the other side of Max and also facing Churchman. Like the strike of a snake, the small form of Emma threw out her hand to catch the wrist that the madman had postured towards Max. Churchman's surprised expression turned to pain as that part of his arm beneath Emma's grip became white hot. The Amazonian Emma commanded, "Do not threaten my Max again." Then her smaller form drew Churchman's arm down, and with a flick of her wrist tossed the man back into the air as if his great form weighted next to nothing.

Max stepped back so that he could turn his to both forms of his Emma. "Why! Tell me why do you treat me like this. What do I mean to someone like you? Just tell me or put me out of my misery!! Don't you know, I'm just a fucking worm and you're a--", Max paused before he said finally as his eyes darted crazily around within their sockets, "you're a beautiful burning star." He collapsed exhausted and shaking to the ground, "Tell me, why am I so important to you?"

The two forms of Emma joined their mass, and the resulting orr figure grew until she towered above the feeble man before her. "I do not know Max. You are important to me because you are."

From the hilltop, a crowd had been watching in stunned silence. Ven Verde whispered to no one in particular. "It's love. She loves him."