Click, click, click. Zahul pulled the latch, let his mag drop to the floor, pulled another one out, shoved it into Nastya, and kept firing. Though he was consumed with anger, he did not let himself give in to the berserker rage. Yet. He leveled again, looking down the sights, so ready to train them on that elf and blow his skull apart-

  “Hold your fire, filthy orc!” Drizzit had rolled over to Githarie’s unconscious body, grabbed her, and now held it in front of himself- an orcan shield.

  Fuming, Zahul kept his sights trained on Drizzit, but he couldn’t risk a stray shot. Not for his beloved Dolphin.

  “COWARD!”

  Drizzit sneered. “Ah but don’t you know, orc? Discretion is the better part of valor.”

  “You do not know valor, elf,” Zahul spat.

  Drizzit what are you doing?!

  I’m improvising.

  “Let her go. Now.” Gravelly and menacing. But the command was not heeded.

  “And let go of my leverage? Come now, orc, surely even you can’t be that stu-”

  BANG!

  Another bullet ripped past Drizzit’s exposed back, turned as it was against the captain, cutting across it and giving him a wound like the one he’d inflicted on Githarie. Sneak attack.

  “Gah!”

  He dropped his orcan shield.

  Chance.

  Zahul grabbed the haft of his warped axe and charged.

  “DIE, ELF!”

  He raised his smashed axe – the blade-edge was so bent that it was no longer effective, so it became a bludgeon instead of a slashing weapon – and brought it down.

  Drizzit recovered just in time, and he drew Icingdeath, and pulled the trigger. The blast of nitrogen splattered all upon the warped axe, and with a follow through of his first swing with his other scimitar, Drizzit shattered the warped axe into a million little pieces.

  There was only one arena that Vyerna took direction from Drizzit without question, and that was the combat arena. While Vyerna was an assassin, this meant having the upper hand and never being in a compromised position. Drizzit, as a soldier and ranger, lived his whole life escaping compromised positions.

  I will handle the olog orc! And you counter snipe!

  I have your back, brother.

  Vyerna rolled over to the tree where she left her relic rifle, fell into a prone sniper’s position and began her sniper duel with Gnosta. She had a rough idea of where the shot came from by triangulating the sound. Now all she had to do was find Gnosta before Gnosta found her. But it was dangerous without her spotter. No matter. Cool Hand Ani Oakley, thinking she saw a glint, peered through her scope and-

  CRACK! The fallen bundle of bamboo she was using for cover exploded into a flurry of splinters. Bitch orc had found her first! Vyerna ducked back, breathing hard. She could not expose herself again or she would die instantly.

  She has me pinned!

  I thought you said you had my back?!

  She can’t shoot you now without losing her mark on me. This is your window. Finish him!

  Sick reference, sister, your references are-

  Focus, Drizzit! Focus!

  Zahul and Drizzit were now circling each other, properly sizing each other up for once. Drizzit brandished both scimitars but did not load up a second nitro for Icingdeath, for he had only one left, and he had to make it count. And still, Zahul did not rage.

  “Give up now, orc, and I shall spare thee. As you can see, you cannot defeat the superiority of elvan magick.” He licked Icingdeath, still covered in frost.

  “Rely on sha tricks, coward. See where that leads.”

  “It will lead to your end!”

  Duck turning into a blade dancing dervish, Drizzit attacked, his furious swipes a maelstrom of gryphantene. Zahul was able to backstep, parrying most of the strikes with the remaining haft of his axe, but at the end of the combo, with one last slash, Drizzt cleaved it in two. Zahul now had fresh cuts all over his forearms. Drizzit danced away.

  “Your axe is broken. Let us see- how long can you dance with death?”

  This orc knew how to fight. Well met. Drizzit hadn’t been challenged like this for so long, he almost missed it. Wholesaling crystal meth got boring. But this! This is what he lived for. This is what he was made for!

  Zahul threw the broken halves of his axe haft to his side.

  It was exactly the thrill of being on the edge, standing upon the precipice, knowing that one false move meant death – the orcans called it Tar O Dar – that was what made him feel alive. But he mustn't be reckless. He only made it this far by respecting the Tar O Dar. If he could not connect the last nitrogen canister…

  Zahul lunged for a takedown. If he could only grapple the elf, he could not strike back with those dancing blades, for Zahul could twist his limbs where he wished. And where he wished to twist them was off.

  “Hah-ha!” Drizzt spun away and countered with a dozen landed grazing cuts. If it hurt Zahul, he made no indication. And yet he was still not berserking.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Foul villain, I have you now!”

  He would wear this orc down. Death by a thousand cuts. Once enough blood was drawn, once the orc was weakened, so that the coup-de-grace was a sure thing, he would finish him. Fatality. Icingdeath, deliver me.

  “You cannot beat the blade of a master blade dancer, fool.”

  Zahul now stayed very still. He did not speak. He did not reply. He only took careful steps – the footwork of a warrior – to make sure Drizzit could not take his flanks.

  Enough! It was time.

  Drizzit dashed in and slung a flurry of chops at Zahul. Zahul only stepped back, not trying to find an opening, only focusing on escaping the reach of Drizzit’s scimitars. And still, he did not rage.

  Stop wasting time!

  You go for the package, and I will keep him distracted.

  Did you not remember I’m pinned?

  Did you not remember I was shot twice?! Drizzt pushed his palm to his neck. I can’t do this alone, Vyerna.

  Goddess damn it. Vyerna tried to peek over her cover to-

  CRACK! Another shower of splinters.

  She had to risk it.

  Get rich.

  Or die trying.

  “DAMN YOU, ORCS!” she cried out, hoping it would take away Zahul’s attention just enough for Drizzit to stab him in the gut, but of course it didn’t- Zahul completely ignored her.

  The duelists had circled so much that the coast was clear. If she could just sprint to the orc gurl and grab her…

  Now or never. Do or die.

  Vyerna sprung to her feet and dashed for Githarie, putting all her spirit lithiated energy into the gryph-fibers into her calf.

  BRAK-thip. “AGH!” A bullet cut through her thigh, and she stumbled, but she grit her teeth – oh how she wished she could pain block again! Dump it all on Drizzit – but she pushed forward, pushing, pushing…

  “En garde, barbarian!” Drizzt whirled into another dervish, then switched it up by crossing his blades, lunging down and then up, slicing outwards to throw Zahul off by coming at him from below, seeking his neck by ducking under his defense. Your head will make a fine trophy, orc!

  Zahul had no weapon now, but he could block the cross-slice with his boot– the blades ripped through the sole and cut into his foot, but not all the way. With the blades still caught, Zahul stomped down to push the blades on the ground, before throwing a snap kick straight into Drizzit’s face. Red trailed through the air from the wake of the cut boot.

  “Kh-Kha!” Drizzt flew back. His nose was broken. Black spilled all over his lips and chin.

  All the red and black blood rained down from the air and splattered drops into the soft earth, and it all mixed and mingled, staining it dark.

  Zahul squared off into a boxing stance.

  Vyerna had made it to Githarie. CRACK! Another shower of bamboo splinters. The rogue trader threw her arms over her precious nazge and hugged it tight to her body, before rolling into an earthen depression that barely gave her cover. CRACK! A shower of dirt in her wake.

  Drizzit kipped up, wiped the blood from his lips. Damn! He had not expected the orc to know the counter to Death From Below. Think, Drizzit, think! He is an even match, but I must find the advantage. Never give up an advantage. Demoralize. Bring this orc’s spirit’s down. This will be easier when he cannot fight anymore.

  So Drizzit continued his taunting, “You have no weapons. I have disarmed you. Admit your inferiority, orc, and surrender. Perhaps I will spare you.”

  Zahul did not move. His eyes stayed trained. The look of intensity began to put fear in Drizzit. This orc was not like any he had encountered before. Disciplined. Controlled. Was he looking for another counter? Stick to the plan.

  Drizzit darted in, playing it safe with reaching swipes. Zahul weaved out of the way, but Drizzit still landed three raking cuts. They were not deep though.

  DRIZZIT! I have the package! Let’s go!

  Just a moment sister. I have this. We’ll not flee like snagas.

  Drizzit!

  Blood now pooled where Zahul held his step with cut boot and foot. His forearms were crisscrossed with cuts. Cuts both shallow and deep laid fresh upon the web of scars all over the sharku’s body. Thin lines of red blood streaked down every wound, every mark where Drizzit’s scimitars had sung true.

  And still, he did not wagh.

  Drizzit popped the empty canister out of the hilt. He retrieved his final blade-mag. Slotted it in and twisted the hilt to lock it clicked. Then he sheathed both blades, put one hand on Icingdeath’s scabbard, the other on Icingdeath’s grip. He entered iaido stance- if he could do this right, let the built force of the blade exiting from his scabbard surge into the strike, he could blow through any limb the orc used to parry, and Icingdeath would sing true. The ultimate. The ougi. The risk was acceptable now. Time to die, orc.

  Zahul dug his uninjured foot into the ground. Eyes burning with hatred, behind folds of fury.

  Time stood still for the two samurai.

  Zahul only thought to himself: Lok Tar.

  “Ki-yaa-aa-h!” Drizzt flew at him.

  O Dar.

  Icingdeath began to release from its hilt. Drizzit summoned every ounce of his strength into the blow. Victory is-

  PRAA-AK-

  And then Zahul punched straight through his chest.

  Yes, by total coincidence, the Chief had named his bike the exact same thing Zahul named his gun.

  Gnosta was a little bit more confident than that though.

  Obviously a cliche.

  Gnosta could not risk hitting Githarie so she left herself the largest margin of error for her called shot, even if it meant it would not be a lethal one. She just needed to inflict enough pain to make him drop her little gurl!

  No lie.

  An Arctic Warfare Precision Magnum, or ‘AWP’.

  The twilight sky reflected against the lens and gave her away.

  Damn! So rusty!

  A bit cliched.

  Also cliched.

  That such a fate had befallen his son, well, the irony was completely lost on Zahul, so engulfed was he by combat focus.

  Cliched, and anyway, isn’t he the one that’s villain coded? He’s trying to kidnap a little girl for only Goddess knows what. He’s a father trying to rescue his little girl. And yet still, orcans are villains, and elvans are heroes?

  Sub-zero style. Sick reference, indeed.

  Really cliched.

  What up, Ani? What up, cuz? What up, gangsta?

  Many orcs. Many, many, many, many orcs. Wish death ‘pon Ani. Goddess, she don’t cry no more.

  Incidentally, the music of the Godlike Curtis James Jackson the Third, known as ‘50 Cent’, was Cool Hand Ani Oakley’s favorite jam for practicing on the range.

  So cliched.

  So, so, so cliched.

  He should have known about this counter, really.

  Skai! When was the last time she missed?

  Get it together Gnosta! You cannot fail now, Githarie needs you!

  Cliched! So cliched!