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After a long hiatus, I am back to bring you more of my book-in-progress Blackwing.




Miles of flat land –that’s all Mark saw in this place. There was nothing of any value to be had out of here. He guessed it was all for the best though. Mr. Dagman brought him out here to get away from the pain he lived in California.


“Stop here. This is where we will duel.” Her tone was flat, with a touch of sadness in here voice. Mark wondered about this girl –what did she want? And why did she want it? Was there any truth to her claim of him having to be tested? These questions would be answered soon enough.


She threw two blades on the ground. Mark took off his shoes and button-down to reveal a muscle shirt, and tossed his Stetson aside. He then picked up the sword and took it out of the scabbard. It was black steel with a very stylized pommel that paid homage to the raven, with two black steel wings protruding from the top of the pommel.


“Promising, but nothing is for sure yet.” She picked up her sword, took off her jacket, and took a stance. “Attack! Make the first move!”


Why not? Mark thought as he charged at her as fast as he could. Instantly, all of his muscles cried out in pain, crippling him, bringing Mark to the ground. His strength hadn’t been restored at all since that battle with Whitewing. He still felt like genuine, 100 percent crap. But he needed to move. That was his main concern.


Then the girl’s voice became human sounding. “Aren’t you the man who defeated Whitewing in LA a few days ago? Pitiful. I expected more out of a warrior like you. Worthless fool. Why did I think you could be the fulfiller of legend?”


Rejection. It cut through Mark’s soul like a cold sickle. Being discounted as second best had happened all too often. The anger inside him reached a breaking point, exploding into the black wings he had used before.


“Do you wanna fight me now?” The rage in his voice was thick, edged by anger and fury.


“Perfect. THIS is what I wanted to see.” A pair of wings appeared on her back as she took to the air. “The first move is yours!”


Taking to the air, Mark moved as fast as he could, swinging his blade at the girl’s head. She easily parried the blow and landed a kick to his chest, then followed up with a stab.


His eyes closed, time slowed once again, letting him dodge the biting tip of the sword and charge his energy, readying a ball just for her.


As time moved back into phase, Mark launched it at her back, releasing a stench filled cloud of feathers and smoke.


Mark had defeated her –or so he thought. She redoubled her efforts, flying with wild abandon as their weapons clashed again, trading nicks for cuts, grazes for nicks, slashes for slices.


Finally, Mark got the upper hand, delivering a blow that knocked the girl to the ground. She slammed into grass, making a satisfying thump as she hit.


Battered and beaten, Mark landed next to his fallen opponent. As he looked at her, in spite of her choice of make up, she was a delicate, beautiful woman. How she was able to fight so tenaciously was beyond him.


He sat down next to her resting body, thinking about being a chosen warrior. Why was he brought back to life if he had been dead for so long? And then he started to notice something –a foursome of scars, clean and smooth, on either side of the underside of his jaw, and above his ears. It felt as if there were metal plates inside his head, when he came to think of it.


The girl rose, wings beginning to suck into her back again, picking up her sword and getting up to leave. “You are the warrior of prophecy. I must take my leave.” Her voice became flat, as if none of this had happened.


“No. Tell me –why did I get brought back to life?” Mark rose and put his hand on her shoulder. “I need to know.”


She didn’t move. “I needn’t tell you a thing. You must find out on your own. The more you fight the minions of evil, the more of your past will be revealed to you.”


Mark moved his hand and knelt to pick up his blade and place it back in its scabbard. “Who must I defeat? What must I do? I want answers. NOW.”


In a single move, she had turned around, taken out her steel and placed the point to Mark’s neck. “Do you really want to know? Do you really want to know why you are here to deliver the world from evil?” Her voice was heavy with anger as she dropped her blade and pressed close to him. “In order to know the burden which has been sited on you, you must have another placed upon you!”

*

*

*

*

*





Mark came to his senses naked, her holding him tight on top, his manhood plunged deep inside her. He tried to think of what had happened to him –one moment he was trying to find responses to his questions, and then he was rolling on the ground, making madly passionate love to a girl he didn’t even know.


Then another revelation came to him –he had no protection! He might get her pregnant! He scrambled to his feet, pushing himself from inside her, gathering his clothes, and then stopping dead in his tracks.


“Yes, you must keep me to you at all times, husband.” She purred in his ear.


“Why did you do this to me?” Mark asked urgently.


“You are the bearer of my seed, just as you are bearer of sin. These have not been placed on you by choice. God Himself has chosen you to be his warrior on earth as he wages spiritual battle in the skies of heaven and the depths of hell.”


Mark’s breath caught in his throat. Chosen by God Himself? “Why would this be placed on me?” He fell to his knees, unable to stand.


“Because you were deemed worthy by His hand. You were an embodiment of excess, a life of sin. He chose you because you had sins enough for a thousand men and never atoned for them.”


“How did I amass such evil in my life then? Explain THAT to me.”


She laughed sarcastically. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what you were before you died? Do you think you were such a mad genius that your parents were completely ignorant to your psychotic escapades? Of how you were a respected racer on the LA street circuit? Your drug problems? Your constant need to fornicate with any girl who would spread her legs for you? Do you REALLY think they wouldn’t notice at all?”


Mark became defensive. “So I committed a few sins. So what? That doesn’t mean I’m gonna become a bearer of the world’s evil!”


“Of course it does. You could have led a life of good, but you squandered it on the pleasures of the world and have been sentenced with rescuing it. That is your mission, plain and simple. The burden of the world itself is on your shoulders, as well as this baby you will have from my womb.”


Mark fell to the ground, curling up into a ball, crying. “As if my life didn’t suck enough!” He said through his sobs.


“You’re gonna need some training on how to become Blackwing, you sad sack of shit. Get up.” She pulled Mark to his feet. “The name’s Loretta.”


Mark’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “He’s gonna fit into all of this somehow, isn’t he?”


“He’s Daravor, Keeper of the Holy Ground, wielding a mighty war hammer that can split the earth in two in a single stroke. Just giving you a head’s up.”


“Quit talking. I’m already pissed of as it is right now. Don’t make it worse.” He gathered their clothes, put them back on, and the two drove off back to Mr. Dagman’s house.


------
I think sigs are dumb.


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