The Paradise Gate

Ch.8.1 A Devil's Minuet

The sight of the ornate handles of a brace of pistols on the hips of the one in directly in front of her daemon brought a wash of fresh dread over her. Could Lycinder handle something like that? He might be able to take the damage, but no construct she'd ever seen could move faster than a bullet.

Lycinder shifted his weight slightly- casually- as the masked man with the pistols moved a step to the right. It made Dalli think that he somehow knew she was there just behind his heels, and that he'd moved to protect her from view. Cursing her own stubborn inability to listen and stay put, she inched herself back a bit from the edge of the bed.

A voice more cultured than the rest came from directly in front of Lycinder.

"Conjurers' tricks are just that: tricks. It doesn't matter what he is; if he can bleed, we can kill him, and he looks like flesh to me."

The sound of one blade being unsheathed seemed a signal to the rest, because then the noise of metal sliding against metal came from every forward direction.

No matter how confident Lycinder had appeared, icy fear flooded Dalli like a crashing wave. Those blades had sounded long, and her bedroom wasn't that big. What if he couldn't avoid them all?

She gritted her teeth at having to stay hidden and being unable to see properly, pressing her cheek as close as she could to the floor and straining to get a better view.

"Now, now, didn't your fathers ever teach you to fight fair?" Lycinder still didn't sound worried, a smirk more than evident in his voice as though he'd found what he'd just said to be particularly entertaining, but Dalli didn't trust that.

She heard a rustling of fabric and saw the hem of his brocaded outer robe move slightly, but she could only speculate at what he was doing since her view was capped by the bedframe.

Another round of surprised gasps from the intruders heralded some change, but she couldn't puzzle out what had happened until the tip of a brilliant, glowing blade made of a substance Dalli couldn't identify came into view at Lycinder's side. The length of it, nearly touching the floor, extended as it was to Lycinder's right, meant that it had to be a sword, and a graceful one at that, with a narrow blade that held just the slightest curve and was inscribed with symbols the likes of which Dalli had never seen.

There was a long beat of silence, and then that blade disappeared from her frame of view. He'd raised it to guard, she assumed.

"Well, come on, then," Lycinder invited in that low, sibilant tone she'd not heard since he first appeared.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Dalli had no idea what was happening. She just heard an animal snarl, a wet, sickening impact, a cry of pain, and then assorted shouts and grunts. All she could see was a dark blur whose movement was punctuated by the occasional crash of a black-clad body hitting the floor.

Finally, the sound of blade meeting blade that Dalli had been expecting reached her ears, but only once before it was replaced by Lycinder's manic laughter. Some quiet, reptilian corner of Dalli's mind shivered in fear of her own defender, but the greater part of her was busy clenching her fingers until they were bloodless and holding her breath in hope of his success.

Dalli started as the blank, empty eyes of one of her would-be attackers suddenly stared at her above a throat opened ear to ear as the body fell right in front of where she was hiding, further blocking her view. That wasn't a clean cut. His claws, then. She grimaced and screwed her eyes shut, squirming over to the left side of the bed and away from the pooling blood.

Surely it must be over soon, right? It seemed to Dalli that she'd been hearing the ugly music of death and its dealer for minutes, though it had likely only been moments.

Then, she heard the noise she'd been most dreading: the cocking of a hammer.

There was a pregnant pause, wherein the night, itself, seemed to hold its breath with her.

And then the percussive explosions began.

One, two, three shots.

"How did you...?" came the shocked voice of the assassin who'd seemed to be in charge. "How are you not dead?" he cried, a frantic edge creeping into his voice.

Dalli dared to peek out from under the bed again to find only two sets of feet left standing: the leader's and her servant's.

Lycinder took a step toward the man.

"No," the assassin growled. "Not like this."

Lycinder took another slow, measured step.

A fourth shot.

A gasp.

Another step.

The last two shots blasted Dalli's ear drums in quick succession as Lycinder got within a few feet of the desperate assassin.

"This isn't possible!" came the almost plaintive exclamation.

Lycinder said nothing, just took another step.

It was a flight of fancy, but Dalli couldn't help picture him smiling that secretive, knowing, superior smile of his as he stalked his prey, bottomless black eyes narrow and empty. She shivered.

Lycinder's strange blade came into Dalli's view again, and then, to her astonishment, disappeared. Not as if he'd raised it, but as though it had just ceased to be.

The assassin's feet stumbled hastily backward, and Dalli could hear him fumbling with the hammer of his second pistol.

The low growl Lycinder released was almost closer to the purr of a satisfied jungle cat than the true anger of a beast.

A quiet, dry sob preceded three more quick shots before there was an abrupt metallic crunch, followed by an awful wet ripping noise, and then the man's wasted body slumped to the floor at Lycinder's feet.

Dalli's muscles were completely locked up in shock and fear, and she didn't relax now even though she knew it was over; Lycinder had defended her and won. Easily. It was a slaughter.

She heard a sigh, and then the shadows roiling about Lycinder's feet melted into nothingness and the air seemed to return to the room. She watched his progress as he walked toward the bed where she hid, and around to the left side where she was still pressed to the floor, subconsciously trying to be as small as possible.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting when he bent down to peer underneath the bedframe to locate her, but it definitely wasn't for the waterfall of his silky hair pooling on the floor to be followed by his too-lovely face, his feline eyes warm with concern.

A monster, she realized with a guilty start as she glanced over at the creeping spill of blood still widening from the fount of some nameless assassin's torn throat. She'd been expecting a monster.

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A/N: This is the first action-driven scene I've posted on here. What did you think? Was the pacing adequate? Not enough detail? Too much? I'd love to hear all your thoughts and opinions. If you're having fun with the story, please consider leaving me a vote/comment/follow/adding me to your reading list(s)-- I'll love you forever and ever 😊