Author: David VC / Labels: , ,

The Clay Men are not known for their stealth. But this one barged his way out of the inky mists like a smuggler's steamer racing for the last open dock. A faster, more calculated lumbering than the gait of most of his ilk. He closed in upon the slower one from behind. He carried an axe behind him, his fist gripped the inverted weapon near the head, which was already smeared with fresh clay and grit. He gained speed as he flipped the weapon around and raised it over his head to strike.

Ash spun at the last second, closing in with his fist arcing upwards. The thunder of crashing rock echoed through Wolfstack Docks. Unblinking eyes beheld his attacker, writhing on the cobblestones with a pulverized jaw and a dented skull. He felt the sand in his veins escaping the wound in his shoulder. With the hand that bore the ruby ring of his allegiance he tugged the axe blade free from his earthen flesh.

Was Jack of Clay shrieking incoherent curses at him through half a face as he rose to his feet? He could not hear to tell. But the finger he raised to him told all. You. You are not supposed to fight back. You are not like the others. You are Unfinished.

"I may not be Finished..." Ash mouthed as he loomed over his foe, "...but you are."

The haft shattered to splinters as a steel wedge cracked through Jack's sternum.