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pure and red. My forebear’s axe moved through the world
without resistance, passing through stone and steel as
easily as smoke, its killing edge irresistible as time. The old
mansion within which we sheltered cracked and split as he
charged.
When at last we came together in perfect violence, I truly
believed the resulting calamity cowed the storm that hung
above us—lurking and looking upon our contest with some
interest, no doubt. His first blow sent my knives tumbling
from my hands where they met the falling axe, casting my
body through the air, a wall, and a third-story window.
Laughter like the end of the world followed me the entire
way, gnawing at the raw tips of my every nerve. What I took
for more thunder became the sound of my father smashing
through the wall next to the window he’d sent me through—
axe raised above his head, descending from the black, stormy
air, laughter exploding past his frothing, gaping jaws.
Asserting my own strength, I lunged into the air, thrusting
my shoulder into Father’s hurtling mass. Reality might
have buckled slightly as I denied the inertia of his attack,
delivering us both deeper into the dilapidated manse,
crashing through its layers and roaring through what was
left of its cellar door. The underground darkness was quick
to obliterate us, but not before I hoisted the axe-bearer from
where he struggled upon my shoulder and threw him into
the churning pitch.
Not entirely to my surprise, there came no hint of the
near giant man crashing down, only empty silence waiting
to be filled with the din of war. My father, like myself, was
friend to both darkness and silence. Suddenly, the silence
broke as my father’s axe was tossed carelessly into a corner,
clanking down upon the cold stone. Then came the sound
of stiff joints being cracked loudly, in preparation for a final
confrontation of the most primitive and brutal kind. A voice
exploded through the darkness. “Come, boy! Show me what
you’ve learned!”
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