The Takedown
The Takedown
The woods were thick and shadowed. Kane's boots pounded against the forest floor as he ran, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts as he moved forward.
His heart hammered in his chest. Adrenaline surging through his veins like fire. The little boy was just ahead, moving with an unnatural, trance-like purpose toward the clearing. Kane could see the man waiting there—tall, pale, with that same cruel smile and the glinting hook in his hand.
Martin Carey. Kane may not have seen his face yet, but he couldn't be missed. This was definitely Martin. Back from wherever he was cast to, back to continue what he started all those years ago.
Kane didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, grabbing the boy by the shoulders just as Martin’s hand reached out.
“Get away from him!”
He swung his axe with all his strength, burying the blade deep into Martin’s back. The impact jarred through his arms, the metal sinking into flesh with a sickening thud. But Martin didn’t scream.
He only staggered slightly, his body twisting unnaturally. With a casual, almost bored motion, he reached behind himself, bent his arm at an impossible angle, and pulled the axe free. Blood dripped from the blade, but Martin’s smile never wavered.
“Well, well,” Martin said, his voice smooth and mocking. “Kane Baker. You just won’t keep your nose out of this, will you? Perhaps it’s time you were claimed as well.”
Kane looked up at him. "We both know what happened all the other times you had me in your grasp. You didn't have the balls to finish the job."
"I'll make sure to finish it this time around," Martin snarled.
Kane backed up, breathing hard, his hands empty now. Martin tossed the axe aside and lunged. Kane tried to dodge, but Martin’s hand clamped around his throat like a vice. The grip was iron-cold, crushing. Kane gasped for air, clawing at the dead man’s wrist as he was lifted off the ground.
With a casual flick, Martin tossed him hard against a nearby tree. Kane slammed into the trunk, pain exploding through his back and ribs. He slid to the ground, gasping, the world spinning.
Martin turned his attention back to the boy, reaching for him again. However, the child suddenly shook his head, snapping out of the trance that had held him the entire time.
His eyes widened in terror. “Mom! Dad!”
He turned and ran, crashing through the underbrush, calling desperately for his parents. Martin’s face twisted in rage. “No!”
He spun on Kane, who was already forcing himself back to his feet, grabbing his axe from the ground. Kane swung again, the blade whistling through the air. Martin ducked effortlessly, then brought out his hook. With a vicious throw, he hurled it at Kane. The hunter barely wove out of the way, the hook embedding itself in a tree behind him with a loud thunk.
The boy’s voice faded into the distance as he escaped. Martin’s eyes burned with fury. He charged at Kane, brutally attacking with fists and the hook. Blow after blow landed—Kane’s ribs cracked, his face split open, blood spraying across the leaves. Just as Martin raised the hook for the killing blow, voices echoed from the edge of the clearing.
“Jacob! Where are you?”
The boy’s family had come looking for him. Martin hissed in frustration, glancing toward the voices. He couldn’t be seen. Not yet. With a final glare at Kane, he melted into the shadows, disappearing into the woods.
Kane collapsed to the ground, injured but alive, blood pooling beneath him as the family’s voices grew closer. He had just stood up to a vicious killer and barely made it out. Thankfully, he was able to save the boy from being Martin's latest victim; that was more than enough consolation for Kane, despite the wounds he got for his efforts.
.
.
.
Meanwhile, at the train station, Kivior approached the two teenagers with calm confidence. The station platform was busy, the air filled with the scent of coffee from the small kiosk, the metallic tang of the tracks, and the faint, oily smell of the train idling nearby. The teens were laughing, passing the two daggers between them, examining the blades in the sunlight.
“Excuse me,” Kivior said politely, smiling. “I couldn’t help but notice those knives. I’m a collector of rare metals and I have a lot of expertise concerning the worth of things like this. Mind if I take a look at them?”
The teens hesitated, but the girl nudged the boy. “Let him see. Maybe they’re worth something.”
Kivior took the daggers carefully, pulling out a magnifying glass from his coat pocket. He pretended to examine them closely, turning them in the light, tracing the ancient symbols with his finger. “Interesting pieces. Antique, but not particularly rare. I’d say they’re worth a few bucks at most.”
The boy looked disappointed. “Really?”
Kivior smiled warmly. “I’ll give you two hundred dollars for both. Cash. Do we have a deal?"
The girl’s eyes lit up. “Take it, Jake,” she whispered to the boy. “We can get that new shoe you wanted, plus a few other things.”
The boy hesitated some more, but he agreed. The exchange was quick. Kivior handed over the money, and the teens left happily. He now held Orishirishi’s twin daggers in his hands, the metal cold and heavy, the symbols pulsing faintly.
He looked toward the train as it pulled into the station, the attendant calling for passengers to board.
Kivior stood there, bag in one hand, daggers in the other, torn between leaving and staying. His children needed him. But the town… the town still needed him too. He'd never been the type of person to run away from his duties, so now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
He wanted to leave. But was that the will of God for him, or just his own fears dictating his actions? He had to come to a decision.