Percival was stunned. He looked towards Larlock, whos eyes were locked onto him. Long sword in hand he stood, unmoving.
Larlock started to chuckle, "what will you do now? The two heavy hitters have been taken down. By the looks of it, you're all brain, you couldn't hurt me if you wanted to. It was pure luck you dodged my bullet, and pure luck you caught onto my facade. That's all you are..
"The lucky one"
Larlocks eyes moved towards Lisa, still hunched over, then towards Alastair, whos back lay flat upon the broken pile of wood below him, which had once been a bar. Alastairs head peeked over his chest, he glanced towards Percival, a stunned look, almost horror within his eyes. Larlock took a step forward, taking the stance he used when he was about to lunge towards his opponent.
One second he was standing near the door, still a distance away from Percival, the next he was in front of him. His arms stretched back, long sword in hand, ready to thrust through Percivals heart.
Percival closed his eyes, the feelings on guilt and regret were flowing through his veins, he had been face to face with death twice in the last 3 days; far too much for a boy only young.
Letting out a sigh, the guilt and regret vanished. Instead he thought about the peace that death invited along with it.
Slict!!
The long sword pierced through Percivals chest, blood sprayed the walls like a new coat of paint. The pain, agonising, intense. The end of the sword had been thrust straight through Percivals back, coated in blood the cut seemed to have been made swiftly and cleanly.
Percivals eyes narrowed unwilling. His vision, fading. His body, numb, unresponsive. He looked down, noticing the sword that had penetrated through his chest, his eyes widened, his pupils dilated to the point you could barely make out the green shimmer of colour.
A pressure seemed to fill the stmosohere around the bar. Everything around him went black. Silence filleing the void in his vision.
A tear rolled down Alastair's cheek, having seen this with his own eyes, he had no doubts. Alastair closed his eyes and silently said his goodbyes.
Lisa, still kneeling down, hands covering her face, couldn't help but sob uncontrollably. She had felt that Percival would've been a good addition to their group. The one who brought with him the intelligence they lacked.
Larlock pulled the sword out of the body of the boy now kneeling in front of him, he turned; a smile plastered across his face, his eyes unfeeling to the massacre he had brought. Step after step he made his way towards the door to the bar.
All of a sudden Larlocks vision blackened, a void filling his eyes, the room around him disappearing along witj its forthcoming. Silence, filled his ears, echoes of a heartbeat occupied his chest.
They all turned their attention towards the boy, kneeling on the ground, head faced towards the ceiling. The void faded, the sound returned. A great weight could be felt on the shoulders of all three, a pressure so immense it felt like gravity had doubled in the room around them.
Percivals eyes no longer lingered towards the ceiling, instead his eyes shot to Larlock. The one green eyes faded, instead something different, sinister filled the border to his pupils. Blood red eyes, which seemed to melt into the skin around them, smoke rose off the shoulders of the boy, as black as the void that had engulfed Larlock moments ago.
Percival stood up. Completely unwavering, unfased to what had taken place. As he took a step forward, the hole in his chest started to grasp at the skin around it, flesh holding onto flesh, tightening themselves around other strands, pulling the wound closed completely. The blood that had been pooling moments ago, had stopped at the source.
Percival straightened his arm, he stuck his hand out, palm facing towards the floor, fingers open. Within the space of his hand, materialised a weapon. Hard wood, where his hand would grasp started to grow. The wood forming the shape of a stick, with a slight curve towards the top. Stainless steel reached from out of the wood, almost as if trying to grasp the air around it. Sharp, smooth, the blade formed the shape of a crescent moon. The wepons tip glowing in a dark tinged state. As if it had been dipped in oil, then strung over water. He wielded within his palm a scythe, that seemed to fit almost perfectly within the crevices of his hand.
Percival walked towards Larlock, intensity filling the air around them. Larlock blinked; it was as if Percival teleported to him, the speed at which he lunged was too fast for any of the three's eyes to follow.
Clang!
Larlock instinctively parried the attack that had come his way. His long sword thrown back by the force of Percivals swing. Larlock backed away, his eyes frantically searching the room. From behind him, percival chuckled. His voice resounding with an intensity unlike anything they had heard from him in the past.
"I imagine you have no idea what to think right now, do you? You seem lost. Like a lamb amongst a pack of wolves. But there is no pack. No larlock, right now, It's you.. and me".
Larlocks eyes widened. He grasped his left forearm, a revolver tearing through layer and layer of skin. It was quick, blood strayed from the depths of the tears in his skin. But larlock hadn't cared. The pain was regular to him.
He turned around, grssping the revolver as tight as his grip could. He aimed directly at Percivals forehead. Then chuckled. "You may be good with blades, but nobody can survive a bullet".
Bang!
The bullet that left the chamber of the revolver spun in the air, landing a direct hit into Percivals forehead. This was where Larlock had aimed, and his aim was always perfect.
The hole where the bullet should've hit, was no longer visible. Percivals skin had repaired itself at the same speed as the bullet that penetrated his skin.
Percival looked towards Larlock, a deathly hatred welling up inside. From within the deepest part of Percival, arose a voice that seemed to bring with it, excruciating animosity. A voice that wasn't his own.
"You slice the girl who protected me from death. You kick my mentor halfway across the room, crushing his back on what was the bar. You pierce me through the heart, clean enough for your blade to come out the other end.
"I'm sure you understand, you won't be walking out of this room".
Shink!
Percival had blocked the incoming swing from the long sword. It's sound sending echoes through the bar.
Click! Clash! Clang!
Quick and deadly strikes followed, the two who were locked in an intense clash seemed to both strike and deflect every attack that came their way. The sparks from the metal flying in all directions.
They struck faster, faster, and faster. Their movements now unable to be seen by the two who lay around them. Then suddenly, Percival disappeared from Larlocks vision.
Shrk.
The tip of the scythe now hung upside down out the front of Larlocks chest like an ornament. Blood pooled the floor below. Causing the man to fall to his knees.
Larlocks eyes widened, then dimmed.
His body, became limp, although with what little life left, he muttered. "You.. what are.. you?".
Cough. Cough!
Blood strayed from Larlocks mouth with every cough. He hadn't lost a battle in his life. So feeling defeat for the first time, he turned to what he knew.
"Once.. my people find out about what.. you've done to me... they aren't going to hesitate... to come after you. You... and this cruddy bar.. will fall".
As percival tore the scythe back out the way it came, the man in front of him fell. Silent. Lifeless, as grey as his eyes had been. His heart could no longer be heard. His breath, not longer felt.
Crack. Crack.
The hole in which he had been pierced with by Percivals own hand, started to crack. As if growing from the hole like a disease. Small cracks widened, then shot out, glowing a dull black, like s void had been ripped into his soul. The cracks spread fast throughout his entire body, until it reached down to his feet.
Crumble.
The man infront of him broke apart, completely dematerialising. It was as if he had never been in that room. As if he had never existed.
Percivals red eyes no longer glowed, his vision faded. His scythe dematerialised, the metal, unforming into the wood, the wood, unforming where his palm was. He fell to the ground. Losing conciousness.
The bar around them was silent, unmoving. The battle that had taken place, the blood that soaked into the grain of the planks. The bar stood, but no longer did the inhabitants.