Cairo - 15 Cairo

By this time of night, the only light I could see was the one inside Alastor’s house. The light reached a fair distance onto the beach, and it showed enough of what I wanted to see.

As I stood on the porch, wearing nothing but a cloak, my underwear, bandages around my arms, legs, and stomach, and a pair of house socks, I noticed the three gentlemen stop just at the perfect distance so I wouldn’t be able to see their faces. I didn’t really understand it until the biggest man — the one who tripled my height — sent the other two towards me.

I kept my gaze locked onto them, signaling to Alastor he should probably go back inside. “This might get dirty.”

Alastor chuckled, “Don’t be foolish. Watching fights is what I’m best at! Unless of course, you think they’ll come on in and have a cup of tea with us?”

I ignored him respectfully, fixing my gaze onto the slow arrival of Mooks by my side. Luckily, he brought me a pair of clothes that weren’t mine. I assumed they were Alastor���s, as they took me a solid minute to squeeze into.

“My my, you must be careful now,” Alastor provoked me with a smile. “The remedy I gave you heals your wounds, but it won’t reduce the pain inflicted upon them.”

I nodded, making my way further into the sand until I stood face-to-face with the two men. They wore green matching outfits that tailored to their knees, then a pair of black leather boots below them. Both wore a stern look, and both looked more surprised than I was. I couldn’t blame them though, I looked like shit.

“You looking for me?” I asked them, not even slightly intimidated.

One of the men pulled out a piece of paper from their pockets, examing it for a few moments, then putting it away. The man then nodded to his companion, and he drew his sword from the holster around his waste.

I sighed, “I’m to assume that’s a yes?”

The man on the left didn’t even hesitate to swing his massively large chunk of iron at me. He held it so uncomfortably I almost wanted to correct him to at least make a valuable effort out of his swordsmanship.

Instead, I took a single step back and the sword almost swung into the other man.

“Are you crazy!” The man shouted at him, “What in the hell are you doing?!”

“Well we’re supposed to kill him ain’t we?”

“Yes but not like that!”

“Yeah well how we supposed to do it then?”

They kept shouting at each other as if they completely forgot I was even there. The large man in the back still hasn’t moved, making me slightly concerned of what his plan was.

Was he just using these two to bait me? Were these two his babysitters or something? No, perhaps he was using them to focus on me, watching my moves, and learning my weaknesses. Weaknesses I didn’t have.

The other man drew his sword now — the only way I was able to tell was the loud sound the blade made against the edges of his holster. Luckily, this man knew how to hold a sword. He also seemed pretty loose on his feet, and his weight was evenly distributed throughout his body. This was a man who knew how to fight.

However, the first man pushed him out of the way and started aimlessly swinging his sword at me.

I took step back — then to the left — I ducked — jumped back this time — then I realized I was just being mean. On the next swing, I leaned back slightly, watching as the weight of the sword seemed to control the man more than he could control the sword.

I took this opportunity to leap forward and knuckle him to the jaw. His face twisted and he fell without even making a single squeak.

All I did was knock him out. I just didn’t know how much force to use so I possibly applied too much for him to handle. Either way, his sword fell into the sand, and his partner looked furious. However, he didn’t attack me. Instead, he thought an introduction was necessary.

The man bowed, “It’s a pleasure to be in combat with you sir! My name is-”

“Don’t care,” I stopped him. “We either fight or you leave.”

His face instantly stirred with anger and frustration. Even his eyebrows seemed to drop so low I thought they were going to fall off any second. A vein popped on his forehead and he grabbed his sword again.

Immediately, he went for a low swing, hoping to catch me off guard with an unpredictable move. It was actually quite clever, and it would of probably hit me if it weren’t for the sword getting caught by the sand.

Nevertheless, even though I was able to dodge the swing, I wasn’t able to dodge the sand that came crashing into my eyes with it. The sand caught me by surprise and lowered my guard, so I leaped back and tried to blink furiously until the sand fell off.

With the constant blackness flashing in my vision, it became hard to predict and avoid this man’s movements. He noticed it too, finally thinking he has an opening.

The man swung again — from the left this time. I ducked, but the man switched his grip mid-swing and the tip of the blade came crashing down on me.

I felt my heart skip a beat as I just barely pulled my body backward, the tip of the blade nicking my hair like a pair of scissors. I grunted as my body came crashing down into the sand, and I realized that was enough glory for the man to walk off satisfied.

I propped myself back up, shook off the remaining sand in my face, and waited for his next attack.

“You’re dead!” The man yelled as he came charging at me with his sword in the air like a marathon runner holding a torch. What a foolish mistake. Arrogance and confidence had stolen his pride away. A simple mistake I’ve fallen victim to too many times.

He plunged his sword from the sky like a bolt of lighting. No aim. No precision. No chances to withdraw.

I stepped to the side, palmed his hands with my own to make the blade fall out of his grasp, then heel-kicked his diaphragm and sent him rolling and tumbling into the sand. His body twitched a few times as he wheezed and gasped for air. I watched, and he slowly fell into unconsciousness.

I guess the King was recruiting anyone at this point. These men were soldiers, yet they couldn’t handle a beating for the life of them.

I sighed, now focusing my gaze onto the hulk-of-a-man in the distance. Alastor clapped and cheered, as did Mooks by his side. “Would you like some help with the last one Cairo!?” Mooks howled at me. I turned my head left and right.

The man started to approach me, because what else was he supposed to do. Every single fight I’ve been in has always been the same. The so-called ‘boss’ would send his underlings or minion to fight in his place. The minion would either get killed, or do enough damage to me and then get killed. The boss would make his introduction, I would sigh, and we would fight.

It was so cliche, boring, and always ended the same. I’d rather listen to Mooks howl all night long then go through the same process again. This man seemed like the sort who thinks their all tough and unbeatable because of their size. A man who would cry like a baby when pinned against the ground with no choices other than to beg for forgiveness and mercy.

“Are you bleeding man thrown off ship?” The man called out to me from afar, his voice as stale and low as the back of a cupboard.

I raised an eyebrow, a tint of confusion in my eyes. “Does my answer matter to you?” I yelled back. “Do you not care for your men?”

The man looked down at his fallen soldiers. “What men?”

I was waiting for him to follow that statement with something like, ‘These are just children that are in my way.’ Or perhas something like, ‘Men who lose are not my men. They are weakling I don’t associate myself with.’

He, however, remained silent. No dumb-for-nothing speech. No prideful claims about how many fights he’s been victorious in. No extraordinary mentions about his powers. He just stood there, patiently waiting… I liked this man.

“Well,” I started, “If you’re not here to fight then what do you want?”

The man came out from the distance and reached inside the fallen soldier’s pocket. His fingers were so big he could barely fit them inside the man’s coat. He pulled out the piece of paper, took a few looks at it, then took a few looks at me. He repeated this process about five times or so, finally making his approach towards me. “You are bleeding man from ship.” He grumbled, cringing his forehead.

“I never said I wasn’t.”

The man stopped about six feet away from me, looking down at me surprisingly respectfully. “Your name?” He asked.

“Cairo. Yours?”

“Beljuan. Iron fist for King Richard, second.”

I could tell he struggled with words. His throat was so big and packed with muscle it must’ve restricted his speech to a noticeable degree. His head was actually quite small, meaning his brain was too. Not just because of his head being small, rather the amount it needed to work to operate such a creature.

Beljuan clenched his fist and raised it in the air as if he was holding a one-handed axe. He then plummetted his fist into the sand, sending a massive shock wave that not only reached Alastor’s house, but sent me flying in the air.

I was nearly twenty feet off the ground before I could even react. I knew this was going to be one hell of a fight.

The man stretched his hand out to grab me mid-air. I barely managed to plant my feet onto his big-as-bread finger just in time to give myself a solid landing, because if he managed to grab me — I’d pop faster than a balloon.

My landing sent a few pieces of sand into my mouth, and I took this time to spit them out and observe my enemy. He was approaching.

How was I going to win against a man this big? I thought to myself for a moment. I could use my-… No, that’s only for emergencies only. I could faze him, disorient him using his vital points, maybe even muster enough strength to break a bone or two. I could even throw sand in his eyes to land a hit, but no hit from my body would knock this man out. I could of course — kill him. But that final spot on my arm was for the king, not for one of his loyal servants.

Beljuan walked over to a sharp rock about the size of a wooden cart sticking out of the ground. After dusting off a circle of sand around the rock, he pulled it out with ease and rested it on his shoulder.

“Grrr,” he grunted, lobbing the rock underhandedly into the night sky above us.

Looks like this man was smarter than he looked. Not only would I have to keep my attention on the boulder, which I couldn’t see anymore due to the lack of light — but I’d also have to keep my attention on him. I wasn’t cross-eyes, nor did I have special powers to make me have ten eyes around my head. This was indeed a very strategic play.

Forthwith, and without hesitation, he began charging at me like a bull seeing red. Nothing but his eyesight and steps guiding his path.

Two options laid themselves in front of me. I either dodged his attack and only hoped the boulder won’t land on where I stood, or, I face a punch from his meaty fist straight on and only pray it doesn’t hurt as bad as it looked.

I decided to take my chances with his punch or even a kick if he was feeling generous. Kicks are usually a lot easier to withstand, but I doubt he would give me the privilege. So, I took a deep breath, braced my core, tightened my back, and placed both my forearms in front of my face. “Bring it,” I whispered loud enough for him to hear.

From the tiny crack between my forearms, I could see his fist clench tightly, almost as if they were marking their target. However, I noticed something else unusual — his fist was shining. Shining in a way I couldn’t quite explain with words alone. It was like a tiny sparkle under the moonlight, glaring into my eyes and making me squint them.

That’s when I realized why he said ‘Iron fist’ after his name. He was a Gifted, one that can turn any part of his body into forged steel. Even his fingernails seemed to tighten and slide across his ever so solid skin.

As he stepped beside me, he caulked back his fist so fast I didn’t even see it happen. I gulped, seeing his fist traveling towards my body faster than the speed of light.

Suddenly, I heard a sharp noise ring through my ears like two rocks clashing against each other. That’s because it was exactly that. The boulder he threw traveled so high it landed at the top of the ridge — it was a trap. A trap I foolishly fell for.

I, for once in a very long time, had made the wrong decision.