Battle on London’s streets
Battle on London’s streets
A mist of ash fell on the London's streets. Gray veils trickled down from the sky at rhythmic intervals, covering the entire scenery, clouding the inhabitants' minds. The streets of London were haunted. Something dangerous crept about in them, something that could not be seen. And the rain was just a harbinger that the curse would strike again.
Ash sat on the top of the rebuilt Shard skyscraper and looked down at the city streets. The building's facade, constructed of dozens of glass panels, which is why the Shard is also called a splinter, caught the surrounding lights and made them dance on its smooth surfaces. Ash's violet eagle eyes were alert, he could make out light sources below his vantage point; some of them moved, yet others went out as soon as they came on. Compared to before, there were far fewer light sources dancing down there, considering the circumstances that a world metropolis like London could conjure up a sea of lights at night.
"Come on, where are you?", hissed Ash from between his snow-white teeth. He was on the lookout for Derek, the Flying Death. They didn't call Derek that for nothing. He killed his victims while they were still in flight and dropped their lifeless carcasses to the ground like garbage. Pale moonlight poured in a silver glow on Ash's black leather jacket. There was supposed to be a breastplate under his clothes, but Ash hated those things. They constricted him in battle. Today he wished he had one strapped on. The very next moment, when Ash was sure he had shaken off his pursuer, he felt a violent kick in his back. And because he had clung to the topmost peak of the roof, he promptly lost his footing and plummeted to the depths. He didn't scream, no last desperate attempt to let the world below know he was falling left his throat. Instead, Ash's wings spread out in his fall like a rescue parachute. They caught him, giving him an instant lift, and Ash was immediately ready to fight. His attacker was close behind him, his wings serving him like a glider, ensuring that he came closer to Ash at breakneck speed as he fell. Derek grabbed his opponent by the collar, punching him in the face with his iron-gloved fist, causing Ash's eyebrow to crack. He put the blow away; as a guard, he was used to many things. His head tilted back, only to lunge forward with clenched force and headbutt his attacker. Derek lost his grip on Ash, who took advantage of the moment and did a wrenching turn before he would have slammed into the street and fallen in front of a moving car. Ash's experience in combat still benefited him every time. He rushed into a dark alley, where he retracted his wings and mingled with the crowd shortly thereafter.
Damn, London's streets have been busier,
he thought to himself. These cursed mortals and their atomic weapons! Well, it should be enough to disguise him for now. He pulled on the cloth hood of his leather jacket and hoped to somehow blend into the crowd. Quickly he ran across the street, the rain of ash had subsided in the meantime. His desire to sneak away unnoticed was thwarted when he felt a pounding pain in his left shoulder. That bastard Derek had thrown a projectile spear into his back, and Ash couldn't help but scream. The pain in his shoulder almost deafened him, so Ash began to stagger and bumped into a passerby who, burdened with his many bags, went down. Vegetables and fruit rolled out and scattered in all directions, a milk carton burst open and poured white liquid. Ash reached back and pulled the spear out of his wound. He dropped the weapon to the ground with a clang and continued to hurry away. His attacker also made his way through the crowd, Derek was reckless, and wherever someone stood in his way, he carelessly pushed them aside. Ash had to get away from here. He knew he couldn't take on the Flying Death today. He had only one chance, he had to get back to Westminster Abbey Church. The Guard left behind the stunned crowd, none of whom had any idea what was happening around them, and all of whom were standing on the roadway with eyes widened in terror and perplexed expressions on their faces. Ash ducked and weaved his way through. For a while, he crawled along the ground like a dog. He used the small crowd of people as camouflage, when he had passed the morons looking like stupid sheep, he jumped to his feet and ran. His path led him into a dark alley, where at least there were no more human eyes on him, but his pursuer had it easier. Steam rose from the drain covers and offered Ash temporary minimal protection. He made his way between the garbage cans, clumsily bumping into one that vomited its entire contents onto the ground. Flying Death was close behind him, Ash heard by the heavy boots stomping across the ground behind him with menacing speed like an approaching battalion. As Ash turned the corner, he could see them, the outline of his last lifeline. Then he felt a hellish pain in his shoulder again. Derek had reached him, had drilled his fingers into the spot where he had previously marked him with the spear. Next, Ash made the acquaintance of the wall behind him, face first. His other eyebrow burst open as well, and he felt blood dripping down. Damn, Westminster Abbey was so close, this couldn't be the end of him. He dodged the Guard's fist, which he saw coming at him like a catapult; it slammed into the wall behind him, broken bricks crumbling down. Ash now tried something he had rehearsed and refined many times during his training. It was also known as the Bruce Lee Kick, and he landed a hit to the other's face. Taking his brief advantage, Ash continued to run up the street. He was wounded, which made him move less quickly, and his attacker was again only a few feet away from him. Now he could see the church’s fence, could literally taste the metal of the bars on his tongue. Derek reached out to grab Ash at the last moment, catching him just short of the finish line. Although he was reluctant and had little energy left, Ash spread his wings, not without feeling another sharp pain. He struck the other Guard in the face with his unwounded right wing, causing him to stagger backwards. Ash pushed himself off the ground, did two wing flaps, and landed stumbling on the safe side of the fence. He was safe. Behind him, the church's front entrance twin towers stood out like two divine statues in the darkness. The Guard was still there, glaring at him through the bars, letting his displeasure at his failure be a witness on his face.
"You may have escaped for this time, lad, but next time you won't be so lucky. And then it will be my pleasure to bash your skull in", Derek hissed somberly.
Ash left him behind, limping toward the church. Once again, he turned, his pursuer was still there, watching him like a lion watches its prey. The moonlight fell on his ash-blond, shoulder-length hair and into his eyes; it made them light up like cat's eyes. Ash had escaped this brutal, but maybe Derek was right. Next time, maybe Ash would run out of luck. And as he pondered his miserable nighttime foray, a rain of ash set in again.