Ideas for "Infinity's Edge"

I knew it was going to be one of those days when I heard a spitting sound behind me, followed by the sensation of something wet and viscous colliding with the back of my head. I flicked my right ear once, then ever so slightly pinned them both back. This mustn't register on an emotional level... I thought to myself, taking a slow, deep breath. My temper, at an all-time high whenever I took this form, was threatening to burst loose.

Grabbing a handkerchief from my cloak as I turned around, I wiped the back of my head as best I could. I looked the offending unicorn in the eye, fixing him with an impassive, thousand-yard stare as I noted both the knife he was levitating and the look on his face. Time slowed to a crawl, and my perspective shifted into third person, hovering over the two of us as I planned.

«First, distract target.» I thought, and saw myself flick the handkerchief in my opponent's face.

«Then deflect his blind stab, & counter with cross to left cheek: discombobulate.» I watched as my corporeal form brought his hooves down, hard, on the other's ears.

«Dazed, he will attempt a wild haymaker: employ left elbow block, and horn shot. Block feral left, weaken right jaw. Then, fracture.» I winced as an uppercut to his jaw fractured the bone, and lifted the unfortunate stranger onto his hind legs.

«Crack ribs, traumatize solar plexus; dislocate jaw entirely.» Two body blows, and a right hook to the jaw hinge, brought this fight all the closer to an end.

«Kick to diaphragm...» My mental avatar finished with an upward surging of wings, and a Sparta kick to his opponent's chest, sending him crashing backwards.

«In summary: ears ringing, jaw fractured, horn and three ribs cracked, four ribs broken, diaphragm haemmorraging. Physical recovery: six weeks. Full psychological recovery: six months. Capacity to spit at back of head: neutralized. Thank God for the Night Guard training...» My perspective returned to normal, and I put my plan into action.

I flicked the handkerchief forwards, obscuring the would-be assailant's view of myself. In response, he sent the knife surging at me, a little wide. I ducked and moved left a bit, bringing my right foreleg up. I deflected the errant blade with my hoof,  then drew it back in the same motion, delivering a solid punch to the left side of his face. This was followed by me rearing up and bringing my hooves down on his ears.

As expected, he tried a heavy swing at me from my left. I raised my left foreleg to block, then sent a jab at his horn to dispel his magic. It connected harder than I would have liked, but it caused him to drop the knife, so no complaints there. I smacked aside his feral swipe on my right, then sank my left hoof into his jaw. Taking a step forward for power, I delivered an uppercut with my right hoof (accompanied by an audible*CRRRACK!*) that lifted him onto his back legs, where he momentarily balanced.

Standing up on my own hind legs, I swung my right hoof into his ribs, my left flew up and connected beneath his ribcage, and then followed with a savage hook to his right cheek once more. I crouched for an instant before flaring my wings, disturbing the cloak about me, and showing what lay beneath for the merest moment. With a strong downstroke of my powerful wings, (coupled with a jump,) I was lifted into the air, which let me sink both my hindlegs into the poor sap's soft underbelly. He went flying with and even louder *CRACK* than before, and the two of us landed simultaneously: him in a bruised and bloody heap, and myself on all fours, facing away.

I had to hide the slight look of satisfaction on my face. I'd unfortunately let some of my pent up anger slip into that last blow. "He should get to a hospital, ASAP," I said, then picked up my handkerchief and walked off. The crowd around us parted, and I heard whispers from among them.

"Who is this guy?" "Where did THAT move come from?" "Did I just see him wearing Night Guard armor?" Etc, etc.

I carefully flipped my hood up over my tufted ears, and continued walking. As I reached the edge of the crowd, I stopped, and turned my head back a little. Speaking loud enough to be heard by everyone, I said, "Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy, and good with ketchup," then sidestepped the knife that had been thrown my way by the injured unicorn.

"Who are you?" Someone asked, and the crowd went quiet.

"An Alchemist," I said, and trotted off to the grocery store.

This was why I hated going into town on food runs.