Before his hands even touched the shiny helmet, from which a sickly smelling smoke was now oozing all around the visor, a blistering pain seared across Flash's back, forcing him to his knees. As he fell, his brain screamed for him to react, knowing that something bad had just happened, almost certainly in the shape of the other naga. Hitting the snow face first, he ignored the fiery pain that crisscrossed his back and instead feinted to roll one way before quickly rolling the other. On doing so, he saw the glint of a razor sharp dagger land just where he would have been, had it not been a dummy. Knees nearly buckling from the pain, he stood and turned to face the threat that had ambushed him from behind. It was of course the other naga, standing there helmetless, blood streaming down both sides of his face from two deep wounds around the top of his head, his blonde shaggy hair matted and stuck to his skull. Flash realised that the man he was facing was one of the base carpenters, O'Brien, if his memory served him correctly. Distinctly, he remembered having a drink with the guy at Splinters, after a closely fought darts match. Evidently he'd been hurt quite badly when the skidoo had turned over at speed. The two faced each other, both panting frantically, while the helmeted naga rolled aimlessly in the snow only feet away, the dagger that had been thrown only moments before sticking out of the snow, about halfway between them, glinting invitingly in the bright sunlight.
"Save yourself the trouble and come quietly," O'Brien spat, wiping the thickening blood from his hair with his gloved right hand.
Flash's face creased with agony as the pain in his back felt like every nerve ending there was being attacked simultaneously. O'Brien smirked at his discomfort, making Flash more determined than ever to take him down. Briefly he considered diving for the dagger, but knew he couldn't get to it before O'Brien got to him. Disappointingly, his magical reserves were lower than he would have expected. The mantra he'd cast on the naga's helmet really shouldn't have taken so much out of him, but he felt positively drained, so casting something on this one, even to slow him down, seemed out of the question. Before he could come up with a plan, his hand was forced. O'Brien moved as fast as lightning, on him in an instant, gloved fists smashing into the side of his face and chest. Trying unsuccessfully to block the withering blows, Flash felt his nose break during one particularly vicious onslaught. Falling back into the snow he noticed the very prominent splattering of red blood, from his nose he assumed, standing out against the pristine white carpet of snow. O'Brien kicked Flash in the ribs, causing him to howl with pain. Before he had a chance to recover, the carpenter's powerful arms wrapped around Flash's upper limbs, his hands pushing hard on the base of Flash's neck. As the most amazing pain coursed through his broken body, Flash knew that he was in no condition to fend O'Brien off.
'He's trying to kill me,' was all he could think. Starting to succumb to O'Brien's superior strength, Flash's only thought was that perhaps death was a preferred option to being captured and spending all eternity in that... hellhole of a prison.
Sunlight dazzled him as it reflected into his eyes off the dagger in the snow, some five yards away.
'If only I knew a mantra for calling the dagger over to me,' he reflected as the pressure on the back of his neck became almost unbearable. 'It's just what I need right now. I could gut him like a fish.'
As his vision faded around the edges once again, the feeling of stupidity overwhelmed his every thought. Learning his lesson while he was still alive to do so, he tapped the back of his right boot on the front of his left one, forcing the chamber with the hidden dagger to spring open. With renewed hope, he slipped his right hand out from O'Brien's grip, dislocating his shoulder in the process. O'Brien ignored Flash's free arm, knowing that in only a couple of seconds he would succeed in breaking the Crimson Guard's neck. Fortunately for Flash, he needed less time than that. Grasping the hilt of the razor sharp weapon, he thrust it into O'Brien's meaty thigh. Shock from the dagger piercing his leg like a knife slipping through butter caused O'Brien to lose his grip on Flash's neck. In the blink of an eye, Flash had turned round and carved O'Brien open in a fitting display of wizardry with a blade that would have put Zorro to shame. O'Brien stood wide eyed for a split second, before slumping to the ground.
Dagger in hand, Flash knelt over him, checking he was dead. He was. Only yards away, the other naga lay still in the thick, deep snow. Crossing over to him, dagger shaking in his hand, Flash thought about plunging the weapon directly through the beast's heart, but hesitated. Being as careful as possible, fearing the naga was just playing dead, he prised open the visor on the dark helmet with the dagger. Flash jerked back and let out a yelp on seeing what lay beneath. There could be no doubt now that both nagas were entirely deceased. Judging by the state of him, the naga with the helmet on had been poisoned by the fumes. Flash was glad he hadn't plunged the dagger through the naga's heart: it would have ruined his thick outer jacket, something he could now procure in an effort to stave off the cold. Gingerly, he removed the coat and slipped it over his shivering body, knowing that he should steal the trousers as well, but somehow thinking of this as crossing a line. So many lines had been crossed today, they all seemed in his mind to have blurred into one. Wanting to get it over with, he untied the naga's boots, throwing them over his shoulder as he did so, then removed the trousers and put them on. Whilst doing his bootlaces up, he cleaned his bloodied dagger, before replacing it in the hidden compartment. Sitting down, he grabbed a huge handful of fresh snow and began to shovel it in his mouth, ignoring the burning sensation on his tongue, surveying the mess that surrounded him.
'Two nagas down, which in itself is good. But I really can't leave things here like this for someone to stumble across, which they surely would. It's just a matter of time.'
Finishing his extremely cold drink, he rose to his feet and wandered over to the rocky face he'd jumped from. Once there, he threw his dislocated shoulder at it with all his might. With a loud 'CRUNCH' his bones painfully slipped back into place. A roiling wave of pain hit him like a steamroller. Trying to ignore it, all the time struggling for breath, it felt as though someone was waving a blowtorch up and down his back. After a minute or two of not being able to move, the pain finally receded, disappearing almost as quickly as it had ignited. Moving slowly for fear of the pain returning, he trudged over to the naga's knife that lay embedded in the snow. Picking it up carefully by the handle, he examined it, particularly the blade. As he'd expected, it had been laced with some kind of venom. When the naga had sliced into his back, as well as making a deep cut, the blade had poisoned him. Without the time to find out exactly what with; he would just have to cast a general toxin combating mantra and hope for the best. This he did instantly, not even bothering to say the words out loud, just whispering them in his mind while reinforcing them with all the belief he could muster. Feeling the tingle of magic washing over him, he expected his back to return almost to normal. When it didn't, and he could still feel a burning tingle in the background, he became slightly anxious. Shaking his head, he knew that his injuries would have to wait until much later. Getting on with the job at hand was his number one priority.
Wandering over to where the skidoo had come to rest, its handlebars bent almost beyond recognition, he knew it was well past any repair he could instigate here and now; besides, he knew better than to waste what little magical energy he had left on something like this, especially with the other naga still on the loose. Trudging back through the vehicle's path in the snow, he started to gather up everything that had spilled out of the heavy equipment pouches. The things he picked up shocked him, but he supposed they shouldn't have: clips of bullets for a pistol, a rifle with a telescopic sight, four handguns, a twin set of radios, two mobile phones and most amazingly of all, a rather large amount of explosives.