Saturday evening. The sun had nearly set, but its final few rays of light were more than enough to illuminate my target - Zabulon. He stood, maybe shaking from the cold, in the center of the road. His left hand clutched a straight razor; in the right, the vial.
"Show yourself, you faceless bastard," called Zabulon.
I tried one last time to deter Zabulon, but I could not - my voice was blocked from the boy's mind.
"C'mon, c'mon," came the mutters. "Where are you?"
I could feel Master's presence growing closer. If only I had not hesitated.
"Third time's the charm." He hefted his little vial and shouted, "Get out here!"
Master appeared behind Zabulon at some twenty-five yards. Master was quiet, like the night sky, but all the same, Zabulon spun around in anger. He had not planned the moment out very well - only so far as getting Master to approach. He fingered the handle of the razor for a few moments; then, when Master did not react, Zabulon raised the vial, ready to throw.
Then I struck.
I knocked my target to the ground, having left both my knives at - at home. My mask fell away from me and hit the road some distance away, but my face was still concealed by the night's shadows. Zabulon groaned in what sounded like pain, and I raised my fist to attack. One. Two. One. Two. I punched and slapped and slammed until the moans stopped and Zabulon slumped against the asphalt. I sighed and stood up, ready to leave for the time being. Then I became the target.
The now-uncorked vial rushed at me, is contents spilling out and splashing against my face. I may have screamed - or tried to - Zabulon did not react as if I had, instead choosing to fall unconscious. Without a voice to scream with, I grabbed my mask from the ground and stuffed it into my biggest pocket, not wanting to get it or myself damaged any further. Then I ran.
I heard Master chuckling softly behind me at the carnage we had caused.
Zabulon's presence disappeared. He
-Amontillado
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