Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

“Graham?” She whispered, and in an instant, he was against her, crying, clutching at her.

“Oh god,” he whimpered.

“Oh Graham,” she caressed his back. He shuddered as she held him, unable to keep control.

For several moments, he sobbed. Then, “please ask your guest to leave…” he sniveled. Elisa looked up at Joseph, still reclined in his chair, sipping his drink.

“…well… I deduce that I should be going…” he plopped both legs down and turned, arching his back, he stretched out both arms, and yawned exaggeratively “…okay then there now…” He slowly got to his feet. “…this was… admittedly… an unrivaled evening…” Graham lifted his head and glared. “…I mean that… unrivaled… as I am now… free to pursue the object of my desire as I see fit…”

“What?” Graham demanded. “What are you saying?”

“…you’ve very kindly discarded that which I want to possess…”

“Haddie?”

“…I couldn’t very well ask you to give her up…”

“You can have her,” Graham spat.

“…oh, I look forward to it… I imagine she’s quite something… those…”

“You’ve already…”

“…oh no… not honestly… those were… facets of my tactics… um, a more ethical person might call them… lies…”

And Graham was gone from Elisa’s arms. She saw his great shoulders swallow Joseph, a wet thwap, and her accomplice tumbling over the floor, slumping against the wall. Graham stomped towards him.

“I will kill you.”

Joseph began to pull himself up. Graham hoisted his arm in the air and brought it down on Joseph, who crumbled.

“Joseph,” Elisa screamed.

He leaned against the wall, unmoving, his right eye squeezed shut. Graham spun around and glowered at Elisa, ostensibly involving her. He lifted Joseph to his feet, and threw him roughly. Joseph slid and came to a stop against the doorframe. Graham stomped to him, grabbed his coat collar, and dragged him out of the room.

Elisa scrambled to her feet, catching only the corner of Graham’s elbow pulling Joseph down a flight of stairs. She ran after the two men, jumping down multiple steps. She heard glass breaking as she rounded the corner. Graham was standing before his cache, splinters of glass splashed around him. The artifacts from his collection (the largest in the northern hemisphere) lined the walls in special cases: a renaissance saber, a 13th century samurai sword, a foil from the French Revolution, a mask, a helmet, a jousting stick.

Graham held an ancient candelabrum that had once belonged to Pope Julius the 14th. He had smashed one of the cases, the one with the double-edged long sword (reputedly that of William of Orange) and pulled it out of its sheath.

“Stand up,” Graham said softly, holding the sword towards the unarmed, seated man.

“Please, allow me to defend myself. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“You get one choice,” he replied, stepping back.

And Joseph got to his feet and walked towards the armory, carefully perused the collection and like a dodgy fiancé picking out a fine ring, pointed his finger in a raptor arch to a Sengoku period katana that had been owned by the infamous Kensei Miyamoto Mushashi. Graham obliged him and smashed through the case with one great swing of his double-handed sword. Joseph carefully removed the sword from the glass, tested its weight and slid it out of its scabbard.

“Give me your pardon, sir. I have done you wrong, but pardon it, as you are a gentleman. As we all know and it must have gotten back to you, how I am punished with a sore distraction. You have no such excuse, save your own desire. You are angry, but I know your shame. My madness is my enemy. Yours is a sister’s raided grace.”

“I should have known you were involved,” turning to Elisa, who receded against a wall as the two faced each other.

Graham lunged forward, but the angel moved to the side. He swung a dangerous blow towards Joseph’s head, but it is blocked, and the two clashed.

“This likes me well.”

Having taken fencing lessons as a boy, Graham began to take the offensive, lunging forward with great strides as Joseph retreated, climbing up the steps to stay away from the blade, swinging furiously to block Graham’s trained blows. He stumbled over a step and scrambled backwards just as the master of the house’s sword collided with the granite floor. Elisa, in disbelief, followed the two onto the first floor.

“A hit, a very palpable hit,” Joseph remarked, clutching his arm and then returning to the play.

The two locked blades and Joseph made three swift shots at Graham’s chest, all of which he avoided, the last touching his skin, but not leaving a mark. Graham returned with a volley of blows that sent Joseph backwards. Like a masked marauder in children’s films, Joseph began to leap over furniture, on top of counters, as he blocked Graham’s blows, avoiding them, swinging, thrusting forward, and then darting over a love seat. Graham continued his aggression, his hand on his hip, his sword forward, as Joseph begins his pirate technique of pure intimidation. He spun in circles, colliding with Graham’s blade, nowhere near his mark, but causing his adversary to retreat. The two duelists scrambled into the living room, the den of the metal clanging through the house, the sound of agents coming nearer, their flashlights already appearing through windows.

“A touch, a touch, I do admit it.”

Graham struck another hit on Joseph’s side, causing a pond of blood to appear on his shirt. Joseph beat back though and clipped Graham’s left ear, enraging the trained swordsmen. He began his own knightly technique against Joseph’s less heavy sword, knocking it down every time his adversary lifted it. At this point, the angel chose to flee and leapt head first out of the glass doors, landing in the patio. Graham was right behind him and tried to strike him down as he rolled away from the glass. Joseph parried, blocked several thrusts and scrambled to his feet.

The agents, Captain Vincent included, circled the warriors, calling for them to throw down their arms. Neither responded and Elisa joined the crowd out on the terrace. Joseph and Graham stepped back and forth, neither gaining the upper hand, both attempting dangerous strikes, almost losing their arms, being stabbed slightly, breathing heavily.

Again, Joseph clipped Graham, this time on his forearm and he surged forward to strike back, swinging his great battle sword like a berserk Norsemen after the cherry of an Englishwoman. But Joseph’s able to stay out of his way, dodging, blocking, until the two are caught with their arms locked. Graham is the first to try for release and kicked Joseph in the stomach, but he returned with a blow across Graham’s jaw and took advantage of his stunned enemy and threw him over his shoulder. The broad sword twisted against the ground and Graham almost lost it as he hit the marble floor. Joseph attempted to gut him, but Graham moved and kicked his sword away. Joseph stumbled after it and Graham leapt to his feet and hit him in the back with a deep stab.

He had struck Joseph most appropriately in the artery; it was a vain blow. He fell over, clutching the wound. Joseph tried to defend himself, but Graham had the advantage and plunged his sword into Joseph’s belly. He collapsed around the injury, defeated.

“O villainy. You’ve succeeded; it was an arresting display. Let the door be locked.”

“JOSEPH,” Elisa ran to his side as Graham hovered over him, his blade smeared with a ruby tinge, dripping onto the marble floor. The agents remained in their circle, unmoving. Graham stared down at this adversary, a small pool of blood forming under his body, slowly growing. No one had seen a murder before; there had not been a violent death in over a century. “Joseph, no, no, no… we haven’t had enough time, you can’t leave me, not now, please josEPH, PLEASE.”