Noise of two blades clashing produces a spark. And when two blades clash in front of two friends, it lightens up one's face for a brief moment. A fraction of a second. And during this fraction - you see fury, disappointment and loss of hope in the eyes of your, now, enemy.
Jerriah did not stand a chance when grim figure stepped into his house, filling space around him with darkness. Yet, it's in human nature to fight through everything. No one wants to be a victim of natural selection.
Old, mature trader, who knows nothing of fighting grabbed his blade. The grim figure in the doorway knew the panic took over old man, so he gave him a chance to catch his breath. This chance resulted in one minute of complete silence between two ex-companions.
"Liar. You are a liar, Jerriah of Khand'', spoke the grim figure at last, ''You skunk. Abomination of a human being. Disgrace to your land.'' The way he said it did not sound like a growl or a shout. More of disappointment. The same disappointment that flashes during the spark. But now expressed in words.
''We had a deal, Zain. If you knew what is happening on the South - you would've left me here, forgetting about our business'', said the old man, more like barked out since he was nothing but Zain's dog.
Suddenly, the sound of blade rubbing against metal binding of sword sheath is heard. The shadow figure does not prefer to talk. Old man, who lost hope long before Zain came through the door, grabbed his own sword, not intending to attack but defend.
One zink, two zink, three zink. Fourth wasn't coming. Three swipes was enough for the conflict to escalate. Old man dropped to his knees, gasping for air as his throat rapidly fills up with blood. He bows his head, trying to free his throat from suffocating and his lungs from drowning.
Zain still had mercy left in him. As soon as Jerriah kneeled and bowed, another sweep was heard. A cutting one. Bang. Old man is dismembered. Head rolling a few inches before it stops, motionless body slowly drops in to the pool of own blood.
The shadow figure is done. He wipes his blade against his cloth, which adds extra glare to his already crimson attire. The only difference is that not it smells, which was never a bother to the lurker.
Zain left, no longer wishing to spare a moment of his time in the house of once his friend. A fate, which awaits every friend of his. A game of survival. If Zain does not kill them first - he will put himself in a position of a walking dead. That is what he learned at home.
