Angry Jasper: Thirty-five

They had come to kill Jazz, men from Thomas’ mysterious and infamous elite guard. There could be no loose ends, after all. There should be no chance that anyone would interfere with Thomas’ rise to power, or his ultimate plan. It wasn't personal. These were the burdens of power. For political power is an animal that saw in every ambitious man a threat, and every honest man a liar. Perhaps most dangerous of all was a man of unknown character. Jazz was, for Thomas and the rebellion, unknown, and most certainly a character.

The guard Jazz had left unconscious in the cell was just coming around when the men arrived. He feigned a dumb smile and winced at the pounding hurt pulsing through his head. Truth of it was, the poor fool was terrified and trembling worse than he could ever recall. The look of these men, their faces like costume death masks, their putrid smell and merciless eyes brought to mind all manner of hideous fates. They were only confirmed when the commander noticed the open cell door and fumed.

“You let him escape!”

“I, uh, they must have jimmied it somehow,” the guard swallowed hard.

“And how did he overpower you?” the commander shouted, the tones and frequencies of his voice seeming to split and tear themselves in two before coming back together.

The guard looked to each of the men, his throat sudden too dry and hollow to speak, even if he could form a semi'cohesive excuse. The commander’s eyes were as black as night, like a cat’s eyes at night. The guard instantly thought hybrid, but then saw something else that caused him to stumble backwards. He bumped into one of the others and saw that same thing in his eyes as well. The breath fled from his lungs, and he knew what was about to happen.

“What a day,” he groaned as something appeared from the commander’s side. It was a blur really. It reminded him of, well, a spider’s leg, but was far too fast to see clearly. In the blink of his eye the guard’s head was separated from his body. Strange, the poor fool thought as his head tumbled through the air, he was still cogniscent of what was happening. Oh, there was ample confusion, to be sure. The blur of landscape and shadows processed slowly in that confusion. The best he could figure was that he was spinning in midair, rather than sailing across the passage way. As luck would have it he landed forehead first against the thigh of his dying body and rolled upright so that he was looking directly at the commander. It wasn't the commander though, but something….At that moment the world faded to a painless and merciful darkness.

“I want the bounty hunter found,” ordered the commander. “Whatever it takes.”

“Commander,” said one of the others, “there was a boy in the cell also. I assume...”

“Both of them. Bring them both to me, whole or in pieces, but do not fail me on this!” snapped the commander. He glanced down upon the guard's head, and into those lifeless eyes. He spit and kicked the head hard, connecting at the right temple. The head sailed away into the shadows where, unseen, it smashed against the wall with a sickening splat.