[ WP ] A time traveller and an immortal meet across the age , they are bitter enemies .

In a blur of pallid flesh and bulging muscle, the beast lunged. Rolling under its blind swing, the suited man came up swinging, lunging with his rapier blade. The tip pierced the monster ’ s hide, scoring a deep track that quickly welled with jet black blood. A little dripped to the floor, hissing and spitting as it rapidly ate into the stone. Near instantaneously, the ichor congealed and sealed the wound. Both combatants retreated, circling each other warily. 
 
 Only moments before, two gentlemen had been seated at the table that now lay in shards scattered across the floor. Some fragments were even embedded in the horror ’ s hide, sunk deeply into its toughened flesh. The horror that had previously been one of the smartly dressed men seated at the table. A man known as Count Lucian III. And previously, Counts Lucian the First and Second. For this... being... was centuries old, and near immortal. As he watched the years pass, he had withdrawn from the world, shutting himself away in a somewhat stereotypical mountaintop castle somewhere deep within the forests of Russia. It was in the library and observatory of this lofty citadel that the men had been seated. 
 
 Light from the drooping sun had been streaming in through the high glass windows, reflected around the room from polished brass fittings, and glinting from the polished glass of the glasses perched on the face of the visitor. It had been a pleasant evening, the two men chatting over glasses of fine liquor. The visitor, known only as Smith - and had introduced himself as such, had knocked at the towering oak gate hours before, and in the spirit of hospitality, the Count had had him invited in. He was dressed in a nondescript black three-piece suit, complete with somewhat anachronistic top hat and chained watch. The Count had immediately noticed his eyes, however. Sunk a little into a wrinkled face, they hinted at a thousand things seen, and a thousand stories to tell. 
 
 One of these stories was the one that had led Smith to Lucian ’ s door. For it was no coincidence. Smith had been searching for this man, if Lucian could truly be called such a thing, for much of his life. He intended to find a way to bring him down. And at last, he believed he had just such a way. 
 
 Drawing a dagger from his belt, he threw it with speed and a well practised eye. It embedded it in Lucian ’ s shoulder, biting deep. The bestial form of Lucian howled, wolf-like. The dagger ’ s blade was barbed, ensuring it remained embedded. Swiftly drawing another, Smith threw again. This time, Lucian dodged, his form blurring with inhuman speed. The dagger ricocheted off a metal fitting with an echoing ping. It proceeded to smash through a window, and sailed out into the twilight air for a moment, then dropped like a stone. Realising the same trick wouldn ’ t work twice, Smith charged, holding the dagger in one hand and longer blade in the other. Feinting at Lucian ’ s legs with the sword left him open to plunge the dagger into his other shoulder. In a highly athletic move that belied someone of Smith ’ s apparent age, he vaulted Lucian ’ s arching shoulders as slavering jaws snapped at his coat tails. Clinging tightly to the dual daggers, he managed to resist being thrown off by the violent shaking that ensued. Lucian ’ s eyes burned bright with hatred, piercing the darkness that had begun to fall across the otherwise peaceful valley. 
 
 Blinded by rage, Lucian stumbled backwards. Once more, the sound of breaking glass filled the air, obscuring the snarls of beast and grunts of man. Lucian ’ s stumbling had led him too far back, and he now toppled out through the shards of a once beautiful stained glass window, the coloured glass showering around him, capturing and refracting the last glimmers of sunlight in a scintillating minature rainbow. Smith still clung to his back, suit now covered in shards of glass. Some fragments even stuck in his steel grey hair. 
 
 As the pair tumbled, air rushed past in a piercing whistle. It was soon joined by another, deeper sound. Smith was momentarily confused as to the source of this sound. Then he noticed the dagger hafts shaking in his grip. Indeed, Lucian ’ s whole body was convulsing. But he was not in the grip of pain. Quite the opposite, he was racked with mirth. For Lucian knew he would survive this fall, that his body would eventually rebuild no matter how grievous the wounds inflicted by the impact. He also knew Smith ’ s mortal frame could not. 
 
 But there was one thing he had not counted on. In a reckless manner, Smith released his white-knuckle grip on one of the daggers. The rushing air immediately tore and twisted at him, attempting to loosen the grip of his other hand. But he clung like a vice, with wiry strength. With his free hand, he drew out his watch. Momentarily, light glinted across the face, revealing a multitude of hands and many more than twelve numbers. For this was no ordinary watch. In a slow, deliberate movement, Smith twisted one of the numerous dials on the watches ’ rim, and pressed down upon it. 
 
 In a blinding flash of glittering blue light which momentarily illuminated the whole valley, lighting the castle from below, causing it to take on an ethereal appearance, the pair disappeared. 
 
 All things have an end. Including time. To kill that which can live for all time, you must end time. And so Smith did. His bitter desire for revenge was so strong that he would obliterate himself to ensure that he dragged Lucian down with him. An eternity of planning, all to ensure one consciousness snuffed out. Grief, when allowed to simmer over aeons, can turn into a desire for revenge that has no concern for personal safety. And then, eventually, it boils over. 
 
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 Only my second prompt ever. Glad I took the leap, and glad I did this again. Was fun to write! I'm already seeing places where I could have improved it ( could have given a reason for why Lucian had caused Smith grief, for example ), but that's why I'm doing this. I want to improve for next time. On that note, comments and ( constructive, if you would n't mind ) criticism are absolutely welcome. 

