He fell on one knee, supporting his weight with a tired arm. He had his hand in a fist as if emphasizing his frustration. Rivulets of sweat formed on his forehead and meandered their way to the tip of his nose. He let gravity do the work as he was too drained even to wipe it off. Beads of sweat fell to the dusty ground leaving a trail of smaller beads in its wake. Sporadic breeze tousled his hair, dropping it in a wavy mess around his face, obscuring his face from his foes and them from him. His lungs were screaming with protest, making his breath labored. His heart pumped frantically, sending hot blood that singed his veins like acid. His muscles responded to his commands with a sluggish recognition; he was acutely aware of every fiber in his body revolting against his commands. It was his resolve, more than his strength, that kept him from falling into a resigned stupor.
Never was he at a disadvantage under any situation. Never in his wildest dreams has he found himself so vulnerable. He had a contingency for every situation and the contingency for this one may not make it on time. Helplessness weighed him down more than his injuries.
They had his defenseless friends as insurance in case he gets cold feet. They stood around him in a loose circle, covering his escape routes; like he would abandon his friends to save himself! Their leader paced outside the circle, consciously avoiding his line of sight. He had already fought two of their best and laid waste to them, but not without accruing injuries of his own. His efforts were taking their toll on his body. He might win two more fights, maybe a lucky third, but all will be for nothing at the end, for, what they lacked in skill, they made up with numbers.
If the leader wished it, he would have been crow feed before he could have spelled crow. The leader’s sick sense of ego was the only thing keeping him alive. The leader wanted to personally kill him but was aware that he was no match for his skills. He wants him weakened so that he could finish him with his own hands. At the same time, the leader was careful enough not to let others kill him even by mistake. So, he was made to battle one on one instead of multiple fighters at once.
He must be breathing at the end of all this for any of his effort to be fruitful. This was one battle he cannot afford to lose (but which battle is?!). His options were scarce. He knew it would take a miracle’s miracle for him to survive. His lips curled up at one end in a mirthless smile. He gathered all the energy he could muster to face the next opponent. He dies fighting or dies after winning. Either way, he was dead.
Nevertheless, giving up was never an option.
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