The Arbiter Chronicles

Hello all, I know it's been forever since I posted something, but here is the first piece of a story I've been working on. This is an ongoing story I've been mulling over and working on and have several segments already written! I'll be putting up snippets as I finish each one, but I definitely have at least three or four more pieces that will be going up throughout the next week or two. Welcome, to the beginning of the of The Arbiter Chronicles.

The tall, middle aged man raced down the alleyway, nearly tripping over a pair of trash cans as he looked back behind him. He caught a flash of movement from several forms loping behind him, easily keeping pace, not close enough to catch him, but not far enough away to allow time to think about where he was running. He tore out into the street, dodging around a car as he crossed the street, the driver swerving and laying on the horn. He barely noticed the driver's enraged diatribe as he tore down the street, the two figures cackling behind him. He reached out and grabbed the edge of a chain link fence as he flew into the Albany Yacht club parking lot, then raced down a set of docks. At the very end of the farthest docks, a dilapidated old cruiser sat waiting. The man pulled an enormous knife from his coat, hacking the two mooring lines apart as he reached the end. He started to climb over the edge of the boat, when suddenly, another figure rose up and delivered a brutal underhanded blow with a large aluminum bat. The older man flopped back off the boat and smashed to the dock, groaning in pain. He slowly rolled over and started to crawl away, shaking his head to clear it. The man with the bat hopped over the side of the boat, landing nimbly on the docks. He stepped forward until he was next to the man, and crouched down next to him, resting the tip of the bat on the small of the man's back.

"He Meynard?" He whispered caustically. "Sit down!" He growled, shoving the bat down mightily, knocking Meynard back to the docks and driving the breath from his chest again. He stood up and started to walk away as Meynard rolled over, gasping in pain. The thug walked several feet away, to where a small gathering of individuals stood watching. Slowly, Meynard clambered to his feet, fighting in breath after agonizing breath. The group of thugs slowly parted to allow a monstrously large man through. Even Meynard, who stood a few inches over six feet, barely came up to the man's shoulders.

"Hello Nelson." He rumbled out. "This pathetic little game of yours ends tonight. Where have you hidden the Michael Sword?" Nelson glared back at him, then wordlessly pulled a large revolver from a shoulder holster. He held it and his knife, sliding into a tired stance. Rafe glared at him coolly, then nodded in acquiescence.

"You want the blade Rafe?" Come take it." Rafe made a dismissive gesture to the others standing next to him, The thugs all raced at him, Nelson fired several shots, reducing three of the thugs to ash before the baseball bat swinging maniac closed on him, swinging wildly at him. Nelson ducked under the wild swing and slashed back, burying his dirk in the man's back. He pulled it out with a contemptuous grunt, and the man fell to the ground with a short shriek, crumbling to ash as he hit the ground. Two more were wiped out with a quick slash and shot from the revolver, when suddenly, a pair of bullets slammed into his chest, throwing him to the ground once again. He lay there, gasping, chocking, as Rafe walked up to him, tucking a pistol back into his waistband. He knelt down next to Murdock, who lay there, his life's blood seeping out onto the dock, limbs askew. He turned his head and looked up at his killer. "You'll never succeed Rafe. The council will kill you." He gasped out. Rafe smirked cruelly.

"Don't worry Nelson. The council won't have any idea until they are as doomed as you, especially now that I also have the Michael Sword." With that, Rafe reached out and pried the revolver from Nelson's grip. The gun shook for a second, then rippled, shifting form, lengthening and growing thinner, until a large dirk sat in his hand. Rafe's eyes opened wide, staring at the blade reverently. "So, the legends are true. The blade does take the form of its bearer's desire. He stood up and turned away, waving at his men. As they strode away, he pulled a cigar out of the breast pocket of his jacket. "Let's go boys. I've got a city to conquer." He gritted out as he lit the cigar, leaving Nelson's lifeless body sitting on the dock behind them.