Today's Art-ifact (Patreon)

Final storm fight.  And great use of chopsticks.  This piece has been stolen before, but it's really well known.

Chapter 3- Storm

Darts of rain shot the earth, throwing up puffs of dust as Xyk scrambled into the nearest alley.

Through the buffeting air, a call rang out.  Spotted.

He didn't slow, ramshackle crates and refuse blurring as he sprinted for the next corner.  If he could just lose them in these back alleys…

Skidding around the bend, he saw the path ahead blocked by one of the tavern thugs.  This close, details jumped.  Angry mountain of a fox, jagged white eyebrows, decked in spectacles and a pocket watch.  The genteel accessories might have been an amusing counterpoint to the brute, but the way he was dangling that dented horseshoe from a chain rather drained the humor.

Xyk twisted to reverse course, but stopped in his tracks at sight of the second thug.  This one was lightly built, tan fur, his eyes young under a brown fedora.  

Shing!

Lightweight drew his katana.  Bright and eager, the blade was sharp enough to flay rawhide.  Highlights glimmered as the sword rotated forward to point up at Xyk's throat- a classic Chudan-no-kamae stance.

Cold water slashed Xyk's muzzle, drenching his coat as the rain crowded in.  A flash of lightning threw the scene into sharp relief.

Cornered.  They knew these back alleys and had trapped him expertly.  Wasn't teamwork magical.

Xyk felt in his pocket, wishing he could pull out a pistol.  Instead, he produced the wallet and held it high, raising his voice to be heard over the gale.

"Fellas!  I had no idea that was Ju- Greenwell.  Just take this back, I'll jump town, and you can tell him I was punished so hard I vaporized.  Do that, and I will keep you in my prayers for two weeks.  Deal?"

Chain-Swinger spoke up as he inched forward, voice deep.

"Sure.  One wallet, and one hand.  It'll only take a second."

Xyk hurled the wallet at the brute and tensed to leap past him.  But Chainy didn't take the bait, and Lightweight leapt to pursue.

Perfect.

Instead of going past Chainy, Xyk whirled and sprang towards Lightweight's sword- the stupidest of his two options, with a high possibility of instant death, and not what one would expect of a sane individual.  All he had was that instant of false expectation.

Time stretched as Xyk reached for that gleaming blade, swimming amid a galaxy of meandering water droplets.

Lightweight's eyes adjusted focus, his mind shifting from 'pursue' to 'counter.'  But his feet were already in motion- a mistake that would take almost half a second to correct.

Before then, Xyk's palm was on the flat of the blade, guiding it to the side, just inches from his ribs.  As momentum carried him past, he twitched his hips, slapping his tail across the young fox's face.

Lightweight spun and slashed, flinching back from the fur raking his eyes.  Xyk felt a sharp pluck at his shoulder, and then he was running clear.

Forked lightning blazed through canyons of dark clouds, thunder rattling timbers as Xyk splashed through the wooden labyrinth.  Rounding a corner, he glanced back.  Lightweight was hot on his heels, while Chainy calmly leveled a pistol.  A smaller, sharper thunderclap blew a nest of splinters from the crate by Xyk's head.  It felt like they all tore through his ear.

The elements drowned out obscenities and unlikely promises as he sprinted onward.  At least the bastard's shot was spent; reloading took time.

How much time?  Maybe a minute… maybe his last.

Probabilities ran through Xyk's head, cold puzzles that, unsolved, would end in death.  These guys knew the city up and down.  They were fit and well-fed.  There was no outpacing them, and the longer this went, the worse his odds.  Even if he managed to elude them, a local would probably turn him in for a penny or two.

Above the pounding chorus of rain on wood, splashing footfalls were gaining ground.

That left one option.  He had to choose his ground well and neutralize their advantages.  What he needed was someplace confined, restrictive-

There.  The next alley over, a network of scaffolding rose around a slumping water tower.  It might-

Something heavy struck his calves.

His legs caught in mid-stride, Xyk tumbled to the mud and slid into a wall.  Spitting out a mouthful of muck, he looked incredulously at the coils of iron links around his legs.  Shit, who would guess you could pull that off with a chain?

Lightweight stomped up, blade high, and slashed downwards.  Xyk raised his feet and caught the strike on the chain, sparks flying past his nose.  Lightweight drew back for a stab, but Xyk thrashed out with a savage kick to the belly.  The chain flew free, flinging mud into the fox's eyes.

Quick as a rat, Xyk vaulted up the crates onto the low rooftop.  Chainy grabbed at his ankle, but missed.

Lightweight wiped the muck from his face and roared, "You sonuvabitch, I'm gonna chop your feet off!"

Running breathlessly, Xyk was abruptly rankled that he didn't have a pithy retort.  That little jerkoff wasn't even witty.

Coat flapping as he leapt over alleys, Xyk arrived at the maze of scaffolding surrounding the water tower.  It loomed in the low light, curtains of water dribbling down its flanks.

He entered the network of wooden supports and struts, brandishing his only weapon-

Chopsticks.

When his pursuers crouched to follow under the low crossbeams, Xyk attacked.

Lightweight raised his katana for a fatal downstroke.  Xyk darted in, gave the thug’s collar a sharp tug forward, and the blade thunked solidly into an overhead beam.

The next moment a horseshoe whistled towards his skull.  He ducked and felt his ears sting as the chain twisted around a nearby pylon.  Xyk jammed a chopstick between a few links to lock the chain in place, but then a foot shot into his gut, ramming the wind out of him.  He staggered back, watching Chainy advance in a controlled low stance- was that Choy Gar style?  What a pain in the ass.

Lightweight tugged his blade free, and the fight was rejoined.

Close, choppy, chaotic.  Lightweight didn't seem capable of adapting his swordsmanship to the confined space, stabbing and jabbing like he had a kitchen knife from hell.  Xyk dodged, took a glancing slash, and reeled back- good form or not, the weapon was lethal.  He tried to keep Chainy between them, throwing long, low kicks to keep the fighter off balance.

Easier said than done.  Without a second glance the fox had abandoned his chain, improvising smoothly in the confined space.  Fighting him was like trying to box a loop of silk- if silk could punch back with arms the size of hams.  Besting him would require Xyk's total attention, and that would land a sword in his back.  But if he tried eliminating the younger fighter, the older would exploit that moment.

Xyk fought to keep them at bay, gasping for breath, arms feeling heavier by the moment.  He would already be dead five times over if it wasn't for the nest of wooden barriers around them.  Lightning flashed as the katana thunked into another rafter, and Xyk started climbing like a maniac.  He had to kick his coat free from Chainy's grasp, gaining just enough height to evade another swipe from the freed blade.

Lightweight began clambering up, but cut himself and cursed.  Chainy was not so encumbered and effortlessly ascended through the slick beams.  Xyk scrambled higher into the rickety edifice, letting the gap between the two fighters grow.

Seizing a loose board, he turned and began battering Chainy in mid-climb.  The fox gritted his teeth, ignoring the blows, still pulling himself up.  Gods, this guy really was a beast.

Balanced on Xyk's beam, Chainy took his wide combat stance, arms free to deflect the striking plank.  Obscuring his view with a sweep of his jacket, Xyk fired a kick directly to Chainy's groin.

The fighter's bushy white eyebrows shot up, breath catching in his throat.  His spectacles tumbled into the darkness.  Xyk levered his entire body to smash an elbow into that stunned face, pitching the fox off the beam.

Chainy plummeted, smashed through a platform of planks, until a solid crossbeam stopped him cold with one final thud.

Thunder rolled, more distant now.

But there was no time to celebrate.  Lightweight had pulled himself up, and he was charging.

The coyote jumped down to a rooftop at the base of the water tower, boots hitting home solidly.  He turned as the young fox flew down after him, blade stabbing forward.  Xyk feinted left, then leapt straight for his attacker, chopsticks in hand.  Still in mid-air, Lightweight had no means of avoidance.  A more experienced fighter would have predicted this move, presciently adjusted his stroke, and skewered Xyk right then and there.  But not this one.

Xyk drove the butt of his dining utensils directly into the fox's solar plexus, amplifying the blow with the full weight of his descending opponent, who uttered a deeply satisfying "GRUH."

The two of them crumpled to the rooftop together, sword jammed into the boards, ringing beautifully as it shuddered in place.

Lightweight was heaving, trying to get his wind back.  Xyk rolled to his side, gripped the fox's head, and smashed it into the boards as hard as he could.  Once, twice, three times… and finally unconscious.

There.

The coyote caught a glimpse of the fox’s new face and couldn’t help but wince.  The world was a little uglier than it had to be, but sometimes that’s what it took to stick around in it.

Xyk wavered to his knees, chest heaving as water droplets plonked the rooftops like applause.  He'd done it!  Two armed thugs, and he was still alive.

Both hands, bitches.

A raspy chuckle squeaked out between his ragged breaths, then another.  He felt delightfully lightheaded, drunken relief bathing the world in hilarity, and only dimly aware of the various pain signals his body was grimly trying to deliver.

Get a grip, Xyk.  How much blood are you losing?

He checked himself over, confirming an impressive collection of scrapes and bruises, a handful of very sore spots, and a few gashes.  But the grand prize went to the one on his torso, a three-incher across the ribs.  It would need to be plugged before he could head for the hills, or he'd only leave a trail to follow.

He rummaged in Lightweight's baggy pants to find a roll of paper- probably meant for tobacco, but it would do.  Whatever it took to get on his feet and out of here.  Once it became known that he had tangled with- and beaten- a couple of Junior's thugs, this town would lose that rustic charm he had come to know and love.

A gap in the cathedral of clouds admitted a wash of evening sunlight, illuminating towering thunderheads- and, standing on a crossbeam ahead of him raising a derringer, the geisha from the tavern.

He'd forgotten about her entirely.

There was only an instant to rue his stupidity, and then the gun fired.

He jerked, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut...  Oddly, it didn't hurt as much as the last time he'd been shot.

Didn't hurt at all in fact.  He opened his eyes, patting his torso- and then heard a guttural rasp from behind.

There, not twenty feet away, lay Chainy, arm outstretched, his pistol aimed at Xyk.

A red spot emerged above the fox’s pocket watch and spread rhythmically.  The pistol tumbled from his fingers to the earthen street below, and Chainy reluctantly, ponderously slid from his perch to follow.

"You.  Thief."

The feline's voice was low and penetrating.  Xyk turned to her.  She stood casually silhouetted against the ethereal cloudscape, wind tugging insistently at her dress.

"Come with me.  Quickly."

"Like hell," said Xyk.  "You're the one who sent these goons after me in the first place."

She hopped down, landing with a sound that would have been unremarkable in a quiet room.

Xyk got to his feet as she came near.  The way she moved reminded him of Vritra.  He was aware that, yet again, he was pointlessly gripping a set of chopsticks.  And a roll of paper.  They didn't even go together.

"I am not making a request."  She eyed the paper in his hand, raising an eyebrow.  "You're going to get infected, coyote."

“Name’s Xyk.  Rhymes with…”  He lurched, his vision swimming.  “Urgh…sick.”

"You're going to get infected, Xyk."

"Like that's never happened before.  I can handle it.  I handle things.”  Mustering charm, he twisted a grimace into a grin.  “Uh, Rosa, was it?"

Her eyelids descended fractionally.  Given her demeanor, Xyk took this to convey extreme annoyance.

"Come with me, allow me to bind your injuries properly, or I will have to kill you now."

"You want to bandage me up?  For what, exactly?”

She reached out, a slim hand caressing his throat in a purely gentle threat.

"It will be very hard to tell you if you're dead," she said.

Before she turned and strode to the edge of the roof, he caught a strange glimmer in her eyes.  He'd seen that same glimmer before.   In the gaze of someone so ravenous that they no longer cared what lay between them and food, or in the stare of a commander about to order a gloriously futile charge.  It was that glazed intensity that signaled when restraint was sacrificed on the altar of a longstanding desire.

"Come, before you're too weak to follow."

He had a bad feeling about this.  Boy, was she gorgeous.  But still: bad feeling.  What was her game?  Why had she shot her own lackey?

If he remained behind, none of his options inspired hope.  Fight off an armed woman, hide in the streets, get infected… all to end up starving in the desert.  Again.

But if he went along, well…

Xyk rolled the dice.