The Last Stand

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: House of Ghosts
One vengeful night.

Submitted: April 09, 2016

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Submitted: April 09, 2016



A cold mist settled a few inches off the ground, concealing foot prints of both the sable stalking predator, and its prey: two noble warriors of white and black. Yellow eyes stared, unwavering, out from the darkness from the predator as it circled the two warriors. The scene set under dim moonlight on some open field, as both sides would soon see their fates.

The predator circled the warriors, who stood back to back to one another; makeshift shields and long swords held in hand. Warriors and predators were fearless this night, for they'd set the stage the night before, when the warriors avenged their young on the predator's litter--killing the predator's young as the predator had killed the warrior's young.

Now it was only to see who's desire for retribution was greater by the judgement of God and patron moon both.

The predator swung back from its circling and pounced, claws out, fangs bared. The black warrior shielded himself from her anger with his shield and sword, and was only saved from falling backward by the back of the white warrior--the former's mate.

Once mother and father, white and black, struggled to stay upright against the bigger, vengeful mother. Neither side would give ground this night, nor mercy.

The predator rolled with the black warrior, separating him from his mate. The black warrior rolled with the predator in turn, stabbing and slashing wildly at its mortal enemy as his flanks were slashed and torn by the predator's claws.

Neither side made a sound as they fought in a furious death ball of claws and blade.

The predator, bleeding from a dozen small wounds, jumped free of the black warrior, then quickly left him behind to assault the white warrior, who slashed at the much bigger predator with her sword, warding the predator off.

The predator screamed in pain. The black warrior had sliced half the predator's tail off, and was now hacking at her backside.

The predator spun and slashed in retaliation, catching the black warrior across the face, blinding him. The predator took advantage of the black warrior's wound to dive in with fangs, catching the black warrior around the neck.

Yet the black warrior wasn't done just yet. He plunged his sword into the predator's neck, and bit down hard with his two teeth, as well, aiming for her jugular.

The black warrior's neck snapped with a jerk of the predator's head, killing him instantly. But the black warrior still held his enemy's neck in his teeth with a dead grip, not letting go, even in death.

The predator shook her head, trying to free herself from the dead warrior's grip, when the white warrior dove below the predator's belly and slit her mate's killer's belly open from side-to-side.

The predator screamed then, breaking the self-imposed silence of the night's deadly play.

The white warrior slashed vengefully at the predator's belly, cutting it open many times, bathed in the killer of her babies' innard.

Mortally wounded, the predator ran away, still carrying the black warrior on her neck, and collapsed a dozen feet away with a pitiful mew.

The white warrior was victorious, yet saddened, for her mate had lost his life in the fight holding the agile predator in place for the white warrior to strike. She wailed once in the darkness for her mate, then fell silent once more, 'less she attract more predators of the night.

The white warrior returned to its empty nest, where it collapsed in the straw and paper and wept for her lost children and mate. At least comforted knowing vengeance, she cried herself to sleep in the safety of her nest as morning dawned azure over the killing fields known as Jensen's farm.

The two-legged tall ones weeped for the predator, as the white warrior weeped for her own losses, ignorant to the murder that preceded the violent night. Thus what speaks the night of beasts, below and invisible from the sight of humanity. One awful night--the last stand of Rodentia.

© Copyright 2018 Jack Motley. All rights reserved.

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