The Desert is Cold in the Dark [Dark Data]

[Summer]

The two darklings continued to tenaciously harass Somerled, careful to stay on opposite sides of him even as they dipped in for a quick slash or poke. The monster whipped around with each prod, barely managing keeping pace with their steady footing. He swung a frantic strike with his right hand at the clawed raider, spinning around in the hope he could catch it as it stepped in for another swipe, but rather than going for an attack, it flung out its arm and all the dust in its rags went right into the spirit’s face.

“Fuck!” A short, sharp exclamation escaped Somerled, his eyes now burning. “Off!” He finished his shout and leapt forward. He didn’t need to see if the enemy was in his grasp. His right hand grabbed onto what he assumed was its upper arm, and his momentum carried both of them right off their feet and onto the sand. The bandit’s free arm scrabbled along the monster’s back, failing to find any flesh through his jacket. Somerled sprung back up again, the clawed hand of his opponent falling away, and his grip shifting along its captured arm to his wrist.

“Fuck you and your god damn teamwork!” he yelled, and with one foot planted solidly on the darkling’s chest, he gave a mighty yank, tearing its arm right out of its shoulder with a beautiful fountain of blood. The monster whipped around again, eyes blinking furiously, clearing out just enough sand so that he could faintly see. Through his blurred vision, he could make out the rough silhouette of the second, spear-wielding outlaw charging him down. He kicked off the chest of the first bandit, leaping to the side.

Somerled swung the arm forward by the wrist as the darkling frantically tried to bring the spear to bear, hoping to put the pointy bit between it and the frenzied, limb-wielding youkai. The wooden shaft slammed into the spirit’s limp arm and the severed appendage cracked the bandit’s head simultaneously. The raider reeled backwards, head snapping to the side, but the monster didn’t do so much as flinch, and pressed on, releasing his grip on the arm on the follow through and letting it fly away to safety. His now-free hand shot down, closing around the shaft just below the spearhead with a powerful grip.

Putting all his weight onto his left leg and leaning slightly away from his opponent, he lifted up his right leg. A tremendous crack sounded as he put his sole right through the darkling’s left knee, bone and cartilage shattering beneath his monstrous strength. With a  single, swift motion, he twisted away, planting his foot back onto semi-solid ground, ripping the spear right out of its grip, and whipping around the commandeered weapon with all his might.

CRACK

Wood splintered and exploded against the head of the one-armed bandit, who now suffered the misfortune of standing up too soon. The sheer force of the strike knocked it off its feet yet again, and tore the pole free from Somerled’s grasp.

“Ganging up like fucking cowards!” he shouted, spinning around yet again to face the outlaw he liberated the weapon from. The robed being leaped forward with its one good leg, snarling and screaming, barreling into the monster, throwing them both back onto the ground. Clawed hands scrabbled against his face, tearing shallow wounds through his skin. Gritting his teeth against the rather weak onslaught, Somerled shot his good hand up, bringing it between him and the bandit straddling him, and closed it around its face with a crushing grip. Bone creaked and cracked beneath his grasp, and with a swift, powerful motion, he dragged the raider off of him and to the side, its clawed fingers leaving furrows in his cheeks as it desperately tried to hold on.

The storm spirit rose to his feet once again, lifting the darkling with him, which was now clawing at the arm gripping him, but finding no purchase through his coat. He cast a quick glance over to where his other enemy had been knocked over, a cruel grin spreading across his face as he saw its figure still laying there, motionless. Without so much as a word, the monster bounded over to its form, lifting his struggling foe up over his head, and with all the strength he could muster, slammed it down again, their two heads colliding with a solid and satisfying crack.

“You got in a little over your heads, don’tcha think?” Somerled said after a moment, releasing his grip on the outlaw’s head and straightening up.

“I think they were a bit too hot-headed.” For a brief moment, his other half hijacked his voice.

“In the end, they were headstrong for their own good.” The storm spirit responded and fell silent, but Sonny made no effort to pick up where he left off. “I guess I’ll go fuck myself then.” He leaned down again, using his one good hand to remove the rifles from their backs, and using his foot to hold down the barrels, bent them until they were unusable. Just in case they somehow survived that. The robes and bandages that covered them completely also concealed whatever wounds they might have, so he couldn’t accurately estimate how dead they were. Then, planting his foot onto the one-armed bandit, he bent over and grabbed hold of his bullwhip, still attached to its arm. His arm strained with monstrous strength, and rather than spending the time unwinding it, he tore that arm off as well, keeping the leather whip wrapped around it and turning it into a makeshift, meaty flail. Wordlessly, Somerled spun on his heel, and began to sprint back to where his allies were fighting.