Bane

October 2, 1993

Impossible! No one moves that fast.

(...You've made a grave error.)

Be silent!

Bane emptied his pistols, and threw them down at his sides in time to meet Bart Walker head on. The man was large, broad shouldered, and strong. Almost as strong as he. The two collided, and Bane grasped Bart by his duster, stopping the old man cold in his assault. He raised him up, and for a moment he was weightless. Bane pulled him back down, and into the concrete floor of the building.

"Now!" Gerald's scream echoed off the concrete walls, and the young hunters, the men, and women of The Order drew their weapons and rushed toward Bane, and Bart, knocking over tables, toppling chairs, and three leapt over the tip rail, and onto the stage. They drew, and threw their blades.

Bane had no time to react. Before he could release Bart, before he could stand, he felt three searing pains pierce through him, one through his shoulder, and two through his side. To the hilt. Bart seized on the opportunity, and kicked hard, thrusting his legs into Bane at the knees.

Bane toppled, falling onto Bart, who used the momentum to roll with Bane, and mount him. He held the giant by its throat. Gerald, and the nine others rushed past them, through the entry hall, and out the shattered door.

Bart rolled off Bane, and to his feet. The giant stumbled to his.

"Just you and me, Jonathan."

"Jonathan Walker is dead!" Bane's muffled bellow echoed through the empty room.

"No need to shout, boy. Let's see what you've got. If you've got anything left."

Bane darted toward Bart. Bart closed the distance, side stepped, and scooped his instep into Bane's leading foot. The giant stumbled, lost his balance, and toppled through a bar table, breaking it in half. He pushed himself back onto his feet, grabbing the heavy remnants of the table, spinning and swinging it wildly at Bart. Bart dodged, and then ducked as Bane brought the tabled across him, overhead.

Bane's arm, his shoulder, and his side were saturated with his blood. He felt winded, and dizzy. He dropped the heavy, broken table, and reached for his shotgun. As he did, Bart aggressed, drawing his own dagger, and pushing the blade through Bane's throat. The long blade slid through the flesh, the muscle, and scraped bone as it came out the back side of his neck.

Bane kicked Bart Walker onto his back with a powerful forward thrust, and drew the blade from his throat. He stared at the blade a moment, and then down at the old, stunned witch hunter. He shook his head, and dropped the blade, turning for the door. He half-ran-half-stumbled his way through the entry hall, and out the door. The others were long gone, long retreated from the ambush.

Retreating (...just like you will...). Silence yourself already! You are long dead. Not but a weak collection of memories (but now your memories). Not mine.

Never mine.

(...yours now, and you cannot escape...)

Bane stumbled, regained his footing, and he fled.

He ran, dizzy, pulling the blade from his wrist, his shoulder, and two from his ribs. The pain was exquisite. Unbearable. I was never there. I do not know them. I never knew them.

I never knew them.

Never.

✟ ☧ ✟