He took a slow breath between exhaling a thick plume of smoke. As he leaned back into the haze, he noticed the pungent, bitter smell wafting through the air. His muscles eventually eased, and the haze hit his body as it melted into the pleasure.
He looked down at the woman positioned below him, her fragile body was shaking, and she was breathing heavily, her torn clothes lax on her shoulders. He hadn't touched her yet. Not Really.
Not beyond the slaps and punches that existed along her pale skin as bruises bloomed.
"Heh." His lips curled into a grin, his voice thick with amusement. "You should be grateful, girl. Most wouldn't even bother keeping someone like you alive."
His fingers ran along the blade's edge, the steel shining in the dimness. "But me? I will use you well." He grinned even wider. "You've got a nice body, after all."
The woman said nothing. She couldn't. Her body felt like it was sinking, her limbs too weak to resist. Her face hurt from his blows, her vision to flickering in and out of focus.
'No more…'
Her fingers twitched.
A few inches away, just barely within reach, lay a splintered shard of wood—jagged, sharp at the tip. A weapon.
'Move…'
Her arm felt like lead, every movement sluggish and painful. But she had to move.
"If I don't..., I will die like this."
The very idea rushed enough adrenaline into her system that the pain and agony became dulled and bitter. The man above her was too far gone in his high, too far gone in his inebriation to register the weak qualities of a dying woman.
Her fingers closed around the shard.
Her body tensed.
With all the strength she had left, she lunged.
The jagged wood plunged into his shoulder.
"AAARGH—!" The man roared, his high instantly shattered by searing pain. His bloodshot eyes widened in rage as he whipped around, the shard still embedded in his flesh.
"You BITCH!"
'Did I… Did I do it?'
For a brief second, hope flickered in her heart. Maybe—just maybe—she could still fight back.
Then his fist came down like a hammer.
Pain erupted in her head as she was thrown backward onto the cold hard ground.
'No…'
Before she knew it, the blood began pooling in her mouth before another attack sent her vision spiraling.
'It hurts… it hurts…'
Tears blurred her eyes, but they refused to fall. Her mind was scattered, flickering between numbness and a frantic blazing hatred.
'Why? Why did it have to be me?'
She had seen her mother die. Her father, struck down before her very eyes. Her little brother—oh, gods, her little brother—ripped from her arms, his tiny body unable to withstand the brutality of the raid.
'This isn't fair…'
She had nothing left.
And now, she would die here, just like them.
Her vision darkened, but before she lost consciousness, a single presence flickered at the edge of her awareness.
A shadow, watching.
Waiting.
Inside the man's receding mind rose a wave of raw desperation.Even as his body fell apart, even as a torrent of blood flowed from the serious hole in his back, he would not die like a nameless dog in the dirt
With a wild, animalistic snarl, he kicked—the boot smashing against Kael's frail body.
Kael barely had enough time to react before he was sent sprawling, his back smacking hard into the ground and the grunt of pain ejecting from the air in his lungs as the impact momentarily stunned him
The bandit gasped, clawing himself forward, his fingers grasping at the dirt. His outstretched hand seized the sword just inches away
Kael's mind screamed at him to move.
But before he could recover, the man whipped around—his arm swinging in a wild arc.
A flash of steel.
Kael braced himself, instinctively raising his arms to shield his face.
CRACK.
A sharp, splitting pain erupted in his left arm as the heavy scabbard slammed into him with full force. His entire body shuddered from the impact.
A searing agony shot through his bones.
His vision blurred. His breath hitched.
Something felt wrong.
Then, with horrifying clarity, he realized—
His arm was half-broken.
A deep, sickening ache pulsed in his bones, his fingers limp, refusing to move.
Kael bit down hard, forcing back the scream that clawed at his throat. He wouldn't give the bastard that satisfaction.
But Gods, it hurt.
---
The eye of the woman opened wide.
She shook all over—not only from the pain she suffered but from the tide of emotions coming crashing down, hitting her like waves.
She had just about managed to remain conscious when the fight broke out around her.
She had watched in helpless horror as the boy—a child no older than fourteen—fought.
Fought for his life.
Fought against that monster.
And when she saw the man's sword slam down, when she heard the sickening snap of breaking bone—
Something inside her screamed.
'Kill him.'
Her breathing was jagged, her throat feeling rough from crying so hard earlier. But seeing the boy who's struggling—the man who survived, the man who was still breathing—made something inside her flare with rage.
'Kill him! Please!'
Tears welled in her eyes, but they weren't of fear. They weren't of despair.
They were of hatred.
She wanted that man dead.
-----
'Did I make the wrong choice?'
Kael's thoughts raced as he watched the bandit stagger forward, his breath coming harshly from his chest, and his body covered in blood.
The man, who had once appeared brutish and unfeeling, was now a shaking wreck, and yet he continued moving.
The man's shaky fingers grabbed hold of his sheathed sword and cast it aside, his bloodthirsty, red-rimmed eyes now on Kael with only equal parts rage and intent to kill.
'Should I have run away?' Kael thought as he readied himself for the mans next attack.
A sharp swing cut through the air.
Kael's instincts screamed.
He barely managed to twist his body—just inches from the blade's edge. The sword missed—but only barely.
A loud thud echoed through the room as the weapon embedded itself in the wooden back wall behind him.
The man bit down hard, straining and pulling against the blade. With every ounce of strength, he pushed against the blade to extract it. His whole body felt fatigued, muscles screaming at him to stop.
But he wouldn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
Then came the kick.
Kael barely had time to comprehend it before the impact hit his ribs and sent him sliding across the tracked dirt and blood. His vision swam for a moment, breath ripped from his chest in sharp gasps. T
he man before him was a representation of carnage. His body glistened with sweat and blood, breathing heavily, a wound yet open and pulsing. And yet, he remained upright.
At the edge of life, when the body was supposed to collapse—when death was mere seconds away—something unnatural happened.
It was as if every fiber of his being refused to acknowledge reality. His muscles, which should have long since failed him, were still moving. His nerves, wracked with pain, still pushed forward.
It was the same thing that happened to a cornered beast.
When faced with absolute death, the body would call upon reserves of power that had never existed before—a desperate, final struggle.
And he was no different.
'I didn't even get to have my fun.'
The thought burned in the man's head, bitter and twisted.
'I was supposed to enjoy myself. But instead—'
His teeth ground together. His hatred for the boy swelled.
'This damned bitch.AND.This little bastard. '
He still couldn't believe it. He got injured severly. Not by a soldier, not by a great warrior, but by some nameless child.
His body was screaming, his vision was darkening—but he refused to fall.
Not yet.
With each agonizing step, he advanced.
With each movement, he ignored reality.
"I will kill you!" he roared, lifting his blade high.
Step.
"I will rip you apart!"
Swing.
Kael rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the downward slash.
"I will make you suffer!"
Step. Swing.
Kael's breathing was ragged, his body sore, but his mind was sharper than ever.
'He's dying. He just doesn't realize it.'
The man's attacks were fueled by pure hatred, by sheer madness—but there was one thing Kael knew.
A body running on nothing but rage and adrenaline…
Would soon crumble completely.
At this moment, Kael's only goal was survival—enduring long enough for the dying man to finally collapse. But with each erratic, rage-fueled strike, that goal became increasingly difficult.