Knife To Meet You (Emblem)

The sound of sirens in the distant traffic caused him to hesitate, fraught with indecision and pain. What if they caught him now? What could he really do about it? That victim back there had almost killed him. Sliced his arm so clean that he could have been a filleted fish. And that was what he'd call a simple kill. Feckless, frail, exactly where you'd want a target. But he'd missed his first thrust. And it just went downhill from there. The knife snagging on bone, the lack of finesse, screams alerting witnesses.

This world was so wrong. This body was wrong. His mind was wrong. He didn't dither. That wasn't him. It wasn't... It...

The murderer forced himself to cross the street. His good arm cradled the bad, a black raincoat hiding a crimson-stained vest beneath, one sleeve dangling loose. He passed people. He didn't look at them. He hurried on. If they remarked on him later to some officer, so be it. It was vital he reached his destination.

Where he came from there was no such reality as magic. There wasn't any need for it really. The superpowers were a fine enough mess all by themselves. But this Earth had a few extra ingredients ready to add to the pot. And it had been his intention to partake. But getting the information about a lone bookstore in a place called Steel had been a chore. It had proven to himself he could not operate in this reality with the blasé ease he was used to. Circumstances were always so... inconvenient. It was necessary to fix himself first.

The murderer made himself small at a bus stop until he could be sure Firebrand had emptied out. Then with the call of more sirens in he city he slipped himself through the door. He took a large doorstop out of his pocket and dropped to one knee, jamming it hard into the door to prevent it from opening. You probably still could but most people would likely turn away on first failure, assuming it locked. His search for a handy 'open' sign to flip over proved fruitless, and he gave up. It would have to do.

He wanted the magic man to have no distractions.

Sweat trickled down the grubby nineteen year-old's brow. From his sleeve he drew a long, pointed, sticking knife and brandished it with his good hand. Then he soft shoed across the shop searching for the proprietor. Above the counter he caught sight of the twin axes he'd been told to expect.

Emblem sighed deeply, slowly.

The moment someone came into his shop, he felt something was amiss. There was the little bell that chimed it’s merry sound through the space itself, but it was the only sound that had a little cheer to it. The shop itself was empty, and he had figured he could use this lull in patrons for some research. It was usually empty at these hours anyway.

To brandish a weapon so quickly after just getting in…lowlife Steel thugs usually had more sense than that! He’s seen on almost  every camera the devil’s bookkeep owned. But just handing this boy over to the authorities was no fun…and it was about time for some fun. Because this one looked desperate enough for a deal..

With a press of a button, the window blinds started to go down, restricting the light inside. It was going to be almost pitch black in half a minute.

Emblem moved out of his study niche, which was located at the side of the shop. His current customer was viewing his axes, and he wasn’t yet sure if he was noticed. As the blinds kept lowering, the only form of illumination left were lanterns, with fire that danced merrily and unending.

‘Welcome to my humble shop..’ said the dealer of death as he took a step forward. The golden swirling patters from his suit would surely reflect some of the light. His customer might even see his golden eyes light up. ‘…it seems to me you have two options. Either you put the knife on my counter and we talk..’

As he moved his hands up, flames from the lanterns shot up and expanded, lighting the entire room for a brief moment, before leaving small strands of flame that caressed his axes. Emblem had taken care not to damage any of his wares. With a jolt, both axes dislodged from their bearings and appeared in the hands of their owner. A microsecond later, they burst into flame. It brought a smile to the Trailblazer’s face, every single time.

‘…or you’ve brought a knife to a fiery axe fight.’

This was it for his patron. What would he do?

The unknown heart in his unfamiliar chest sped up. There was no sense of control. No grim satisfaction. Where he used to wait in anticipation, he now feared the unseen move. The change of lighting suggested he was walking into a trap. Vacant prey. The murderer tensed like a fresh quarry. He flashed the end of his weapon at the emergent silhouette knowing he'd forfeited all surprise. There was a tremor in his hand which infuriated him.

What had been his error? Perhaps he'd thought a man with his own personal library would be more... bookish? The axes suggested different. Despite the parlour tricks, he didn't believe he was opposing smoke and mirrors.

Where to stick the knife? Planted in this man's eye, he could be sure to keep clear of those axes. But any brawler worth his salt protected their head. A leg then? Hobble him and escape. Step ladder through the window? The room was not his friend. Who knew what this magic could do. Perhaps then a killing blow. Feint the head, plunge into the chest. But he needed this magician alive. Or more importantly, himself.

And he was all out of time to make a decision.

The knife clattered onto the counter. In the torchlight a coat of dried blood was visible down its length. The murderer held up his good hand, "It was a tool for expediency. Foolish really. Man in a bookshop. I expect you've weathered more than your fair share of cuts." He kept his tone casual, could do nothing about his eyes. Still making up his mind over ways to take the situation. But the advantage had been handed over to the magic man.

His hand lowered. A finger found the service bell upon the counter, "You've a customer."