Damned bandits!
More resigned than angry or annoyed, Zelgadis disarmed his opponent with a twist of his wrist, then turned his sword on the hapless would-be robber and put a quick end to his existence. Unfortunately for him, there was almost immediately another one to take the dead one's place.
This was getting ridiculous. Zelgadis had always known that trouble stalked Lina Inverse with the same doggedness with which she stalked her next meal, but really, had her possession by the Lord of Nightmares stirred up the girl's 'hi, I'm here, come and attack me' vibes until she was as potent a lure to bandits and beasts as spilled syrup at a picnic was to every ant in the area?
Sighing, Zelgadis shifted his stance, turning to face his new opponent and readying his blade. He was not being fair, he knew that. Lina had done nothing to encourage so many attackers. In fact, she had actually been somewhat subdued lately, not causing any mayhem or destruction in either of the two tiny hamlets they had passed through recently.
Zelgadis had no explanation for why there was such a heavy concentration of bandits in the wilderness they were traveling through, but he was getting heartily tired of them all. He was beginning to know how his friends had felt when they had played tag with the bounty hunters while trying to rid themselves of the prices on their heads, for in the week since leaving Martina's wedding, they had been attacked on four separate occasions.
Just as all the others, this bandit seemed to move in slow motion to Zelgadis and like all the others, he easily parried the man's seemingly clumsy swing and took advantage of the resulting opening to rid himself of the pest.
Why didn't they run? What in the world did they think they could gain that made them persist in their attack even after more than half of their number had been cut down?
Zelgadis spun as a flicker of motion in the corner of his eye interrupted his reverie. He turned the spin into a lunge at the last moment, smiling grimly as the newest bandit ran himself straight onto his sword.
Pathetic!
Placing a boot to the dying man's chest, Zelgadis pulled his blade free, then brought it back up into a guard position as he searched for another opponent. He relaxed just a little when it became apparent that there were no more unoccupied ones to be found. Close by and to his right, Lina was facing off with four more bandits, Amelia backing her up with a drawn dagger. Farther away to his left, Gourry was polishing off the remaining three.
That was quick. Either the bandit breed in general was becoming more inept, or he and his companions were just getting better.
Zelgadis shook his head. Again, that wasn't fair, but lately, he had not thought any of their adversaries worth the expenditure of magical energy. None of them had been sorcerers and none of them had possessed even a fraction of the skill with a sword that he, Gourry, or even Lina possessed.
Maybe it was just that after dealing with greater mazoku and other similar nasties, these petty bandits seemed like children.
"Flare Arrow!"
"Elmekia Lance!"
Well, Lina and Amelia certainly didn't need any help.
What about Gourry?
The smile which had begun to tug on the corners of his mouth after the girls fired off their spells faded as Zelgadis turned to contemplate the swordsman. In the past, this question would never have occurred to him. He had seen Gourry handle many more than three, oops, make that two, foes with an ease that even he envied at times. However, since they had recovered the other man from Fibrizzo, he bore watching.
Setting his pace to a brisk walk, Zelgadis began to cross the wide clearing which separated him from Gourry. The swordsman should be able to hold his own against the remaining two bandits, but as he studied the other man's movements, which were as hesitant and uncoordinated as they had been in the last several battles, he decided he wasn't willing to wager Gourry's life on that supposition. Which was a good thing, since it was becoming more obvious with every passing moment that his friend needed help.
Spitting a curse, Zelgadis watched Gourry stumble several paces backwards, knocked off balance by a blow from one of the bandits. The swelling worry and concern which quickened his pace to a lope when the swordsman barely brought his blade up in time to defend himself from the strike of the second mutated into a horrible sense of foreboding when the bushes at Gourry's undefended rear began to shake as though buffeted by a strong wind when the air in the clearing and the neighboring trees and bushes were utterly still.
And, Gourry didn't seem to notice!
"Gourry! Behind you!" Zelgadis desperately shouted as he blurred forward, reaching the upper limit of his mazoku speed within a few steps. Though Gourry began to turn, Zelgadis was helpless to do anything but watch as the blade of the bandit who had materialized with such startling suddenness bit into the swordsman's exposed side.
Cold fire sent finger flames of frostbite throughout Zelgadis' chest even as it fanned to life a rage which had him showing his teeth in a soundless snarl as the Hikari no Ken dropped to the ground and Gourry himself sank after it. That bandit might as well reconcile himself with whichever deity he favored, for he would be joining it soon.
Zelgadis pushed himself even faster. He would not permit Gourry to die, not the man who had come to mean so much to him. Gourry had become an integral part of his life, his friendship a blessing which could, perhaps, be considered recompense for the perversion which had been his existence up until a year and a half ago. The swordsman had become the focal point of all his longing, of the almost nightly dreams which, more often than not, were powerful enough to keep his normal night terrors at bay and were vivid enough to leave him aching for the other man's simple presence come daytime.
He would be damned if he would allow Gourry to die!
The grass of the clearing muffling the sound of his approach, Zelgadis was able to come to a halt directly behind the nearest bandit and wrap an arm around his neck before he was noticed. "Surprise," he snarled, as he wrenched the startled man's head back and drew his sword across his now exposed throat.
Even as the other bandits recovered from their shocked immobility and began to raise their swords, Zelgadis lifted the corpse of the man he had just killed and threw it at the bandit who had cut Gourry down. Seeing that man reel backwards and fall, he pivoted to check the location of the other bandit, who was much too close to Gourry for comfort.
Dropping down to one hand, Zelgadis swept a leg forward and into the bandit, knocking him off his feet, and as the man fell in a heap, he continued his circular motion, twisting his hips so that he came to rest in a crouch with his own feet beneath him.
Glancing back at the first bandit, Zelgadis saw him finally struggle out from beneath the corpse of his compatriot. He brought his sword around and thrust it with vicious firmness into the chest of the second bandit, just as the first regained his feet.
He's too close to Gourry for a spell!
Desperate to protect the swordsman, Zelgadis lunged back to his feet, but as he threw himself forward, the hilt of his sword was wrenched from his grasp.
Damnation!
With a single glance over his shoulder, Zelgadis was able to determine that his blade was still wedged in the second bandit's ribs, but with the first only a pace away from Gourry's unmoving form, he had run out of time. Abandoning his sword, he plunged between Gourry and the bandit's descending blade, raising his crossed forearms high above his head to block the strike. As he turned his face aside to protect his eyes, he had the satisfaction of hearing a shrill, metallic clang as the sword rebounded off his skin of stone and a sharper twang as the overstressed steel snapped.
Zelgadis bared his teeth in a savage grin as the remains of the bandit's sword fell from his undoubtedly nerveless fingers. He followed as the man stumbled backwards, fisting one hand in the front of the other man's tunic and pulling him close until they were face to face. He drank in his foe's growing terror and panic with great relish, and this once, in the case of this man who had hurt Gourry, he regretted that the ability to truly feed off negative human emotions was not one of the mazoku traits which Rezo had instilled in him.
God! What was he thinking?
Zelgadis shook his head, the blind rage which had swept his rationality and control beyond his grasp receding. His grandfather had warped him enough as it was. He would not permit Rezo, from beyond the grave, to warp him further through the actions of this man.
Sobering, Zelgadis freed his dagger from its hidden sheath beneath the sleeve of his tunic with a practiced flick of his wrist. He was not mazoku. He would not make the bandit suffer. He thrust the dagger into the man's chest and steadfastly ignored the tiny surge of sensation which thrilled along his nerve endings as he gave it an economical little twist, a sensation that was closely akin to pleasure.