Darkvision - Bruce R. Cordell [26]
In a more assertive tone, Warian told the man, "Put that bar down if you don't want to be the one who chokes on it." Warian raised his prosthesis and pointed it directly at his foe.
Revi's eyes widened slightly and he backed up a step, but then the man's friends rushed into the room. One yelled, "Plangents are tough, but not tough enough for one to stand against five!"
"I'm warning you…" proclaimed Warian, feeling foolish.
Greasy-haired Revi swung the pry bar like a sword at Warian's head. Warian's arm was still extended from his failed threat, and he needed only to raise and angle it just slightly to deflect the blow, which he felt only dully through his shoulder.
One of Revi's friends simultaneously kicked Warian in the stomach, something Warian wasn't prepared for. He stumbled back, and two more rushed up and easily grabbed his arms, one on each.
"Hold him!" directed Revi. "Watch his implant!"
Warian struggled, but as always, his prosthesis was about half as strong as a real arm. Another two goons grabbed him, three on his crystal arm.
"We got 'im," one grunted. "He don't seem so tough."
Warian desperately tried to recall-what had he done to trigger the arm the first time? He'd been in that tavern, and what's-his-name had gotten him around the throat… he had started to black out. Darkness had threaded his vision, and he was reminded of the dark tendrils he'd noticed within his prosthesis.
"Look at me!" yelled Revi. The man's lip was swelling and blood trickled a red streak down his chin.
Instead, Warian concentrated on his memory. If he didn't figure it out, the lights might go out for good…
Wait-light! What was it about light? As he'd been choked, darkness had pushed in on all sides-he'd mentally tried to push the darkness back, to illuminate it. He'd been pretty muddled as his brain starved for air, and had gotten a little confused on which darkness to illuminate-his tunneling vision or the black hazing in his prosthesis.
Revi wound up with the iron bar. Warian concentrated on the threads of darkness in his arm, willing them to shrivel away, to light up, to be revealed in the clarifying light of the sun.
The prosthesis flashed into bonfire brilliance, lilac in hue. Sensation shot from his shoulder to his crystalline fingertips, as if transformed from an inert sculpture to a live arm, or something that felt even more vital than flesh.
It was alive again, as it had been at the tavern in Dambrath.
His captors' grip on his arm suddenly seemed as light as tissue paper around a name day present. Lavender luminance lit their faces as they stared at him, alarm slowly overtaking what had been naked glee and the anticipation of a beating. They seemed caught and slowed in the syrupy radiance.
Warian laughed and gave his artificial arm an experimental shake.
He was free. The three on his left arm, his crystal prosthesis, scattered a few paces, yelling warnings with strangely deep, distorted voices. Warian lifted his left arm high, triumphant. He made a fist, thinking to scare those who'd grabbed him with an impressive threat.
The iron bar clipped him on the forehead and pain sawed through his brain. All the quickness in the world couldn't protect him from inattention. He'd seen the brutal end of the bar at the last instant and managed to flinch away, just enough so his head hadn't shattered like an egg… he hoped. It sure hurt, though.
Dazed, Warian went down on one knee. He cradled his throbbing head with his right hand. His aggressors moved in, thinking to fall on him, Revi in the vanguard, the bloodied metal bar raised high to finish the job.
Without standing, Warian reached with his left hand and grabbed Revi's lead leg just below the knee. He could feel Revi's muscles and bones through the crystal. He squeezed. The muscles and bones pulped in his hand like rotten fruit.
Revi dropped sluggishly to the floor, screaming and clutching at his ruined leg. The iron bar spun free, then clattered dully to the floor.