Legend Land: Tale of the Nameless God

Chapter 7.2: Mercy

Part 2

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A step gives way with a sharp snap. My body tips backward into darkness. Shit! I grab my kusarigama, but Wikolia reacts quickly and yanks me onto the next step. I put my hands on my knees and take a deep breath, dropping my weapon back in its rightful place. That was close. Too close. Am I getting sloppy? I straighten, rolling my shoulders.

"Thanks," I say, searching for the outline of the Wyvern in the darkness.

"You can repay the favor later," She replies, opening the doors to the kitchen. Yeah, Naiomi would definitely like her.

The kitchen and storerooms are similar to the rest of the house: abandoned and falling apart. I carefully step around the pots and pans that have been strewn haphazardly about the floor, as well as a decaying rolling pin. Can you imagine if I had stepped on that? The comedy would have been priceless. Not that Wikolia would appreciate it. I'm not sure the lizard would know humor if it hit her in the head. Do reptiles even have a sense of humor?

"Stop that," Wikolia says, stopping at the door to the kitchen.

"What?" This time, I really wasn't doing anything. Honest.

"You're thinking negative thoughts about me," She replies softly, keeping her back turned to me, head down.

"How would you know that?" I retort, leaning against the wall. Termites only eat wood, right?

"Thoughts have particular tastes and smells," She explains, slowly opening the door. "There are certain ones I've learned to identify, like positive and negative. I tend to read negative thoughts a lot around me." I open my mouth, but close it again. Is she really that sensitive? You'd think a woman covered in scales would have thicker skin. Damn! Did she smell that thought too?

We plod on the carpet in the entryway, dust rising with each step. The locked double doors to our left lead to the courtyard, while two large staircases curve on opposite sides of the room, meeting on the second story landing. Rich red carpet eaten by moths covers large sections of the floor. The grand ceiling curves upwards, swooping out of sight, the wooden rafters barely visible from the first floor. Kamapua'a's bedroom is probably on the second story, which is where he'll be hiding...whatever it is we're looking for. Wikolia mounts the staircase on the left and I take the one on the right. The steps groan under my weight. I'm really starting to dislike this house.

Suddenly, I'm thrown from the staircase, wood splintering under me. I fly through the air, slamming into the opposite wall. The impact caves in the weak wood. I groan and pull myself out of the hole in the wall. I think my spine is bruised, if that's even possible. I gingerly rub my neck and shoulders. There's a painful click every time my shoulders rotate. A large man towers above me, rushing in my direction. I guess he's the one that did this to me. His tattooed fist is nearly the size of my skull, and it comes crashing down like a comet toward my head.

I roll out of the way, slicing at one of his calves with my kusarigama. The blade barely pierces the scarred, tattooed, skin. Tattoos ripple across his body when he turns, a wall of muscle rushing towards me. Curly black hair streams out behind him like a mane while I backpedal. I'm having to work overtime to dodge his unrelenting attacks. There's a sharp crack from behind. He roars, turning to face his attacker. Wikolia stands, whips at the ready, slowly circling him like a predator would prey.

"Get out of my house!" He roars, leaping forward, oblivious to Wikolia's attacks, slamming his fists down. She barely has time to slide out of the way, coming up beside me.