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Billy flipped the gun in his hand, testing its balance and weight. It was made of his own aura, shaped like the six-shooter he usually carried with him when leaving the house, except this one used aura-energy instead of normal bullets, and while they were not leathal, they certainly hurt when aimed right. Billy had taken a hit more than once, and was familiar with the bruises that tend to follow. All the more reason to learn how to dodge.
“I’m getting pretty handy with this thing, don’t you think, Mac?” He fired a few shots to the wall beside him, the energy leaving behind nothing but a faint mark into the white concrete.
They were standing in a training hall (invention of Billy’s), a rather large room, painted white and build with solely one purpose; practicing magic safely without having to worry about someone catching them in an act or something valuable breaking inside the house. The room was located in a extension of their home, a near separate space for their eyes only. There were only few windows, and they were placed up so high that the peeker would have to be 9 feet tall to see inside.
Leaning against a training doll, the Italian glanced at him with a bored look. “It’s about time you get a hang of it, you have been using that gun for a month now”, Machiavelli said, polishing his own weapon with his sleeve despite the fact that it too was molded out of an aura. The blade of the dagger shined brightly, and for a moment Billy was worried his lover would cut himself by accident.
“You should be more careful with that knife, y’know. Don’t wanna end up seeing your fingers lying all over the floor.”
“Oh Billy, please”, the magician said while rolling his eyes, “I have been practicing with this dagger for decades, I know the ins and outs of it almost as if it was a part of my own body. And at some point, you should archive the same bond with your gun.” His eyes shifted to the revolver spinning in Billy’s hand. “And do stop playing with it. We are already running late from our usual schedule.”
With that, the older man spinned around and walked swiftly across the room, turning to face his opponent when he was standing at the other side of the hall. A smirk made its way to his lips, and he raised his eyebrows.
“Whenever you are ready, amore.”
There was a grin on Billy’s face too and he jumped forward, still fidgeting with his gun as he started his walk towards the other man.
“You do know that I’m the fastest draw?”
Machiavelli chuckled, lifting his dagger to the chest height. “Such arrogance.”
“It’s not arrogance, it’s the truth.” Billy let his grip loose, narrowing his eyes as he searched for an ideal place to aim. Realisticly speaking, he should be able to win by firing at any part of Machiavelli’s lanky body, but their previous sparring lessons had tought him that his lover had more than enough tricks up his sleeves to prevent any half-hearted attack from working.
The two of them circled each other slowly, both staring at the small adjustments of the enemy body language, eyes sharp and weapons ready. The hall echoed as their footsteps created a calming melody to accompany the rhytmical pace of their breathing.
After what felt like hours, Machiavelli dashed forward, pointing his dagger at the heart of the cowboy. Billy’s reflexes allowed him to sidestep, gaining his lost balance back quickly as he spun around and shoot three energy bullets into what he deemed to be the head of his partner.
They went through. A splatter of red tarnished the laminate floor as the magician’s body hit the ground, his wide eyes staring at Billy with stunned wonderment as he fell forward.
The gun let out a loud bang as it was tossed aside, Billy’s hands shaking as he hurried to Machivelli’s side, his eyes watering as the puddle grew larger, the sticky liquid starting to sink into older man’s clothes.
They weren’t suppose to go through! They were designed to only leave a mark, not kill! Frantically, Billy leaned down to cradle the body into his arms before recoiling, his instics telling him to stay back in fear of causing more damage to the leaking body. His brains tormented themselves in an attempt to remember where he had left his phone before they came into the training hall. He could remember. He couldn’t...
“And that’s a hit.”
A stinging stab between his shoulder blades almost scared him out of his mind. Jerking his head around, he saw Machiavelli smirking at him, waving the dagger teasingly back and forth.
“Wha-” The cowboy glanced at the body still lying on the floor, and then at the man standing in front of him. “How the hell...”
“Your weakness is your propensity to lose your cool when someone close to you gets hurt. I merely created an image of myself by bending the light in this room with an addition of my magic, a hologram if you will, and covered my physical form with the same technique. By tricking you into believing that you had just struck me down, I was able to take an advantage of your emotional reaction. If it had been, lets say, a complete stranger, I doubt it would have affected to your performance. But when the victim is someone you care about, your feelings takes over, and you can’t think rationally.” By tapping his fingers together, Machiavelli vanished the blade, turning his back to Billy as he started to stroll towards the doors. “I think I am done for now, maybe we could try this again tomorr-”
A sharp pain pierced his skull and almost knocked him out of balance. When he swiveled around, the mocking grin on his lover’s face offered a clear explanation.
“If my weakness is my feelings, then yours is vanity.” He stood up from where he had still been kneeling. “You allowed your victory to blur your judgement, and just assumed I was dead when you hit me in the back.” His smirk widened, now showing parts of his teeth in what came across as a predator’s sneer. “If I learned anything from my days in the West, it was making sure that when my opponents hit the ground, they would never rise up again.”
The Italian stared at him for a while. Then he bent his back, bowing deeply with an admiring gaze in his eyes.
“Well played, sir.”