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Broad shoulders strode proudly in his potent poise. This time, he ignored any complaints that reached his ears from the pack of second-rate fighters he left agitated in his dust. He hoped they choked on the rash opinions they developed of him in their single acquaintance, be it the consequence of his behavior or not. Up ahead, the shadows of two adjacent buildings darkened the passageway that stretched between them.
Rolven felt instantly soothed the moment he entered the alley. The cold winds relaxed his muscles, relieving the stress of this ongoing façade he kept up in public. Now that he was alone and hidden, he could afford to be himself. His shoulders sank to comfort. But it wouldn't be for long.
A terrible ache lunged at his ribs all at once. He doubled over, clutching the pain throbbing deep in his side. Brown eyes were forced shut, tight. The small droplets, trapped in the corners of his eyes, fell to the smelly puddle in front of his toes. His mouth widened to complain but repressed the groan fighting to rip through the air, reducing it to a dry gasp. The pain was
unbearable. Still, he had to be thankful the Curse, as he had come to call it, chose to strike at a time when no one would be there to witness his weakness. He
detested weakness.
His back found a brick wall and slumped down its rough surface.
When will the pain go away? He gritted his teeth. He could never tell when it would leave, just as he could never predict its arrival. Every occasion was different to the next; some lasting hours, others seconds. He didn't know exactly when, probably after the second year the seizures from hell first attacked, he'd given up trying to calculate how and why they came. It was like the Curse had a mind of its own; a mind he had no access to.
He set his sword his aside. He could recover more comfortably without it pressing on his back. A sudden crash interrupted his chorus of heavy pants. His eyes snapped to its direction immediately, his quick hand finding the sword he had put on the ground next to him. He wiped the sweat soaking his face. The stabbing pain wouldn't let him stand, let alone fight, but he couldn't let the enemy see that. He'd have to put on a convincing front until he regained the composure to back it up with fight. But when a small, grayish-white cat stepped into view, he relaxed.
It looked at him with curious green eyes, probably wondering what intentions the trespasser had. The skeleton of a dead fish was ensnared between its jaws.
Pity, it must've found its meal in one of these dumpsters. He wasn't going to steal its prize from it, if that's why it was afraid to move an inch closer to him. "Heh…" He said in a soft breadth between pants. "Don't worry … I come in peace…"
Before it could react to his declaration, a black cat, three times its size pounced on top of it from nowhere. It made the reason for its attack very clear, having grabbed a bite of the fish trapped in its prey's mouth. There was barely any meat on it at all left to eat, yet the two battled for it like it was worth gold. The only thing that could possibly make the situation worse for the white kitty was the further two attackers that jumped into to the fight to aid the other. They looked a lot like their huge black brother.
"Cowards!" Rolven grunted. His eyes widened in shock at how much the scene resembled one of his younger days. It was always an army against him with no one to watch his back.
His fist trembled in anger. Not today. He grabbed the double-bladed sword and hurled it with all the strength he could. It flew through the air and pierced one of the black cats right through the heart. The other two attackers stopped when they noticed what had just happened and stammered away at once. The white kitty picked up its bones before limping in the distance on an injured foot. At least it retained what belonged to it. A genuine smile touched his lips for a brief second.
Why couldn't someone have done that for me? He shook the thought out of his head. It was too late to ask such questions. The past was the past and it was going to stay that way no matter how much he dwelled on it, so why bother?
It was then he realised that the pain had gone. When exactly it left, he wasn't sure. He wasn't going to sit around and wait for it to come back either. He had to make most of the time he had in between the Curse's attacks. With no signs of a cure in wake, he could never be sure that the next attack wouldn't be the last.
Having regained his strength, he walked over to the deceased cat and pulled the blade from its dead flesh. With a flash of his eyes, the blood painting the tip of the blade was completely repelled from the steal. He strapped it back over his shoulder and continued out of the alley. The sirens could still be heard. Perhaps it wasn't too late for a little amusement.
He stopped himself in his tracks. He could sense a presence not too far away. Even though he couldn't pinpoint its exact location, he was sure it was there - if his jittery nerves weren't toying with him that is.
Is somebody following me? He whipped around, weapon in grasp.
"Who's there!?"
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