Tevun-Krus #100

55 - Half-Light: Passing the Torch - @AngusEcrivain - Space Opera / Alt-U

Half-Light: Passing the Torch

By AngusEcrivain

An Idiot's Guide to Killing a Golem

Dan grimaced, his body wracked with no small amount of pain. This should really have been of no surprise, for he was definitely getting on a bit. His appearance may well have been that of a caucasian male in his mid-to-late thirties, but chronologically he was older than time itself; there had never been enough candles, nor would there ever be enough created, for it to be possible to celebrate a birthday in the most traditional of fashions.

Rain poured from the sky in torrents, as if every iteration of every deity were communally emptying their bedpans. As silly as that sounded he knew that it could conceivably be the case as he had spent time with a deity or two over the years, in the biblical sense.

The falling water mixed with the blood, his blood, with which his face was coated, and each drop that hit his face stung many an open wound.

"I know for damn sure golems never used to be this fucking hardcore." He muttered the words as he struggled to his feet, his aching body protesting with every single movement. "Time and space, space and time. All of it, and the world I get fucking trapped on suffers frequent demonic incursions. Just my fucking luck."

He was not expecting the creature to reply, it was essentially nothing more than hardened clay with a fire behind its eyes, after all, and was therefore not surprised when no reply was forthcoming.

Dan reached over his right shoulder, and briefly fumbled around in the pocket of temporal energy that resided there. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for. The time was, aeons or perhaps weeks past, time held little meaning to a man who had seen the end and the beginning and all in between, after all, that the pocket knew exactly what it was he needed. When he pulled out a pair of hedge trimming shears and flourished them menacingly before realising what, exactly, he held in his hands, he sighed.

"Well, fuck..." For the briefest of moments he pondered, as still the rain siled down and huge rivulets of water ran down his greying, unkempt dreadlocks.

The golem approached, the fire behind its eyes burning more brightly as it called upon more of the magic from which it was created.

Dan, or Sir Daniel James Colt to use his full title, was in no doubt at all that he could not go another round with the creature. Back in the day he'd have kicked it so hard in its clay-moulded nuts that it would have run crying to its clay-moulded momma telling stories of the mean kid who'd stolen its lunch money.

But this wasn't back in the day. This was now.

Still the golem approached, lumbering towards him with hefty, deadly purpose.

Sir Colt reached a decision. He flung the sheers high into the air, waited a few seconds, and leapt after them. He never took his eyes from the golem's eyes, and watched as the creature followed the shears' trajectory closely. Dan then flipped in mid-air. Catching the shears with the full force of his right boot he sent them straight into the golem's eyes, one shear in each.

Immediately the fire behind the creature's eyes went out, extinguished in the most unlikely of ways, and as Dan landed easily, albeit a tad painfully, upon his feet, he swore he heard the creature mutter, "We looked at the stars to see the fire in their eyes..." as it teetered and eventually fell to the ground, whereupon it shattered into thousands of pieces.

The Occasional Hate-Fuck

"The Sun does not abandon the Moon to darkness." Dan inclined his head slightly left as the speaker, a rather attractive redhead, took a seat beside him at the bar.