User blog:Black hawk/Death Knight II: Part Three

Next segment of DKII Please comment and enjoy! -Black Hawk  Talk! 00:18, 29 January 2009 (UTC)

Reader Discretion is Advised...

Chapter Fifteen: Crimson Ink
Inkeyes kept his head down and his eyes drooping as the door creaked open. He wrinkled his nose slightly. It was the white cat. He smelled better than the others. The wildcat walked with a purpose, straight towards the otter. What was he doing?

Matar stood in front of him, reaching to his waist. He fiddled with the ring of thick keys fastened to his black belt as he spoke.

“Awaken, waterdog. You’re being moved to work detail.”

Inkeyes feigned fatigue and confusion. “What? Work?”

The wildcat held up his key ring, flicking through the various keys as he explained. “Masonry for you.”

“Is that good?”

Matar stared into the otter’s dark eyes. His eyes narrowed and his ears flattened against his head. “You’re not that tired, waterdog. You’ll do your work whether it’s ‘good’ or not.”

The otter bowed his head again slightly as the cat stepped closer. “Of course, sir.”

Matar flashed close. His paw gripped the otter’s ragged shirt. “Are you patronizing me slave?”

Too much acting, then. “Never” You’re not worthy to lick the filthiest pot of the Northern Brigade.

Matar rolled his eyes in disbelief and bent down to reach the lock around Inkeyes’ ankles. With a click his left leg was free.

Now or never.

Matar unlocked the other ankle and stood. “Remember, try anything, and you’re dead. Disobey, and you’re dead. Try to run, and you’re dead.”

“Of course.”

Inkeyes, snapped his eyelids shut as Matar leaned forward to reach his arms, lest they reveal him. He casually slid one paw down as it was unlocked, making no sudden movements. Matar slid the key into the final lock. With a near silent click it opened. Inkeyes smiled. Idiot. Unbeknownst to him, Matar saw the grin.

Quick as lightning, his knee flew up. Equally swift, Matar jumped to the side. His claws extended and he lunged. Inkeyes’ battle instincts, nearly forgotten in the dark hell, arose so quickly even he was surprised. With one paw he batted the veritable scythes away, the other reaching for a choking hold.

The other prisoners seemed vitalized by his resistance.

“Give it to the pussycat!”

“Kill the demon!”

Matar ducked. His left arm bent to hold the otter back with his solid forearm as his right went to his waist. He curled his white digits around the grip of his knife. Inkeyes gave a throaty grunt as his mildly atrophied, but still powerful arms encompassed his oppressor. The two were engaged in a vicious wrestling match. The prisoners were now shouting. The younger slaves yanked at their shackles and howled.

“Kill the cat! Kill the cat!”

Inkeyes stared into the inner black of his foe’s eyes. His arms were wrapped around the cat, one paw forcing its way from the back of the neck to the front, the other pulling the cat close. Matar’s drawing paw was pinned to his waist, the other keeping the otter from completing his death embrace. Hardly able to move the arm, he used his claws to scratch away at his opponent’s shoulder. Both flexed their muscles, trying to gain any small advantage. Matar had the easier time, awake and healthy, and his paw slowly drew up the dagger. He smiled.

“You are about to die, waterdog. Give up now.”

Inkeyes’ face hardened. “I will die a hundred times before I think to yield to you once!”

Matar gave a mighty thrust with his left elbow, breaking the otter’s grip and sending him backwards. The cat lunged forward, driving his dagger upwards into Inkeyes’ gut before he could react. He grunted, and his arms seemed terribly weak.

Time seemed to flow slowly. He breathed out. Matar jammed the point higher into his ribcage, shoving out the last breath of air with a grunt. Inkeyes’ gaze focused on the cat. His slovenly face broke out into a large smile. He uttered his last words as his eyes began seeing another place.

“I win.”

With an audible exhale, the otter fell back, carrying the lethal blade with him, still lodged in his heart. He was a prisoner no longer. He was free before he worked for his enemy.

Across the room, the door opened. Three guards rushed in, then abruptly stopped. They eyes drank the scene. Every single prisoner was staring, mouth agape, at the corpse of an otter, mouth still twisted in a triumphal smile. As one they sank back down in silence.