Idon shared a long hard look with Cheese, as for a moment, the two simply stood there at the entrances to their hovels. The pained shriek had come from near the market, and neither man could mistake the urgency of its tone. They were brothers, these two, souls who had grown in the same environment, under the same conditions. Yet they were not the same man, and both knew it. Cheese nodded at his friend. “There is no shame in it. Go, secure our mothers.”

Ibron gave him a look of gratitude and, with a bounce, darted into his home to grab the shield and spear that hung by his doorway. He was a good man—just not a brave man.

Truth be told, Cheese was not a brave man either, yet he’d seen an almost feverish panic in his best friend's eyes that he himself did not feel. True, both would stand to battle if accosted, yet Ibron didn’t have it in him to willingly push himself into the jaws of danger. The very thought of it had shaken him, so he would go and defend their families as was the way with such things. Truthfully, that was what honor demanded of Cheese, but his conscience wouldn’t stop screaming at him to go and help whoever was in trouble.

Cheese dipped his head into his hovel and moved to the back wall for his shield. He was a member of the town levy; all men above the age of sixteen joined the levy to be called in times of war and strife. Yet he had never seen battle. He’d trained some—every winter for a tenday, and every summer for half that. But he’d never actually faced battle. Now, though, he instantly knew that battle had found their village. He could hear the clash of weapons on shields and the rising screams that accompanied it.

Yet Cheese paused as he passed his cot. Sitting on it, glowing faintly in the dim afternoon sunlight, was an exquisite hand crafted axe that he had never seen before. It was nearly the size of a man, standing well over a meter tall from haft to head. The Axe head was engraved with runes that held an unmistakable energy, and the haft was made of Susine wood which was a magical wood that grew deep in the forest. It was a highly sought after and massively expensive type of tree. Beside the axe lay a letter, which Cheese opened with a deft hand.

It read:

Son, I am sorry for the subterfuge. It was your mother’s idea. She said you never liked to see people when you received gifts. So, I asked Ibron to take you out this afternoon and distract you. Again, I apologize, but I believe she had the right of it.

I’m not much for writing—you know that. So, I’ll get right to it. I got you this because I believe you deserve it. You’re the best damn axemen I know. The tree was found many years ago by your grandfather. He cut it down in the first expiditions here, and I kept a single branch of it. Ibrons father has worked for many years to craft a worthy head. I'm sorry it took so long son, but this is my gift to you, I know you will use it well.

With Love,

Your father.

For a moment, Cheese forgot why he was in the room as he stared at his father’s gift. It was… it was perfect. He gingerly touched the haft and pulled the axe close to himself, wanting to savor the moment. Yet as he did, another loud clang of metal on metal tore him from his reverence.

The axe was large, too large to wield with one hand. It was a feller’s axe, plain and simple, so Cheese left the old shield and stormed out of the house.

He held the great blade in both hands as he sprang between the hovels of the town. Many yards ahead, he could see a rising column of smoke, and closer still, he heard a rolling cacophony of screams and clashing blades.

Since he was a boy, Cheese had lived in this small town, and they had never been attacked. Hells, the village didn’t even have a wall. The only "battles" here were the adventurers going out to fight bears or wolves that roamed the countryside, bothering farmers. Yet the commotion up ahead was unlike anything he’d ever heard before. As he got closer, he began to smell smoke and burning flesh. Then Cheese rounded the last corner to the market and saw it.

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Before him was a single creature, it was surrounded by dead and dying men. It had a long, whip-like tail encased entirely in metal, which danced back and forth, striking at the men who had undoubtedly been near to market when the commotion began. The creature was the size of a bull, with the face of a cat. It deftly stood on its hind legs as a man cut at it with an axe and reacted with lightning speed smaching the poor sod who stuck at it dead on the spot with one paw. The worst part, though, was the face. It rotting and decayed, the flesh virtually falling from one side as it exposed a barren skull. As it moved, the creature grabbed one man with its putrid claws and impaled another with its tail. The name hung on Cheese’s tongue and then fell out unbidden. “Nekomata,” he said. And as he spoke, a second fiery tail lashed out and struck Talmer, a tree feller, square in the chest. The two-tailed beast jumped back as a new throng of men entered the market.

Cheese assessed the situation, and it was not good. The creature had already dispatched many men, and the fire was spreading. He gripped his axe and charged into the fray alongside his townsmen.

Immediately, the Nekomata dashed forward to meet the new wave of men, only to be caught off guard as a pair of fishing nets were thrown over it. The large feline stumbled, tripping on its own legs.

The men pounced. They might not have been warriors, but they were hard men, and they did not balk at the creature. Its rotting flesh burned as they laid into it. Their opportunity quickly ended, however, as the creature turned red-hot, igniting the nets. Its sickly green smoke burned as its fiery, ethereal tail lashed around its body. Devon, one of the younger men Cheese knew well, was struck across the face, his flesh melting off in an instant.

Cheese fell back into a defensive crouch and took two steps back, yelling, “Form up!” to the men around him. They reacted quickly, interlocking shields. To a man, they held a shield and a spear or axe. It was the way of the local levy; their lot was to hold the wall while stronger, more capable men did the hard work.

And though he held no rank, the men respected Cheese. He was the best of them, though he didn’t think it. A scion of the largest mill in town, the hardest worker they had, and a good man. So when he spoke, they listened, unsurprisingly to most, shockingly to himself.

That was how Cheese ended up between a mythical creature straight out of nightmares and a wall of wood and blades.

And once he was there, he realized… he didn’t have a single clue what to do. He’d spoken instinctually, without a plan. Forming up was just what you did in battle. Yet he’d forgotten he bore no shield, forcing him to stand at the fore of the formation.

He studied the beast as its lifeless eyes peered back at them. It didn’t attack, merely posturing defiantly as more men filtered into the market. This gave the young man precious seconds to think and absorb information. Eventually, Cheese realized what the undead feline was doing. Its wounds were slowly but surely closing in on themselves. Shocked, he went to call the men to charge, then realized not all the wounds were healing. The ones across its left flank, where he had stood and struck, were still there. Cheese looked down at his axe and saw the glowing head. The runes were ablaze with fiery light, bright even under the intense sun.

He steeled himself, then stepped forward. No one stopped him as he tentatively entered the creature’s striking range. It recoiled, as if recognizing the danger in its undead eyes.

Moments passed as he crept closer. When he was within a few feet, the monster struck. It held a tense paw close to its body ready to strike, while both tails came around in large looping arches to spear the lone warrior.

Time seemed to slow for Cheese, and he had a moment of clarity. He felt the blows more than he saw them and raised his axe overhead in a wide and powerful arch.

He ignored the creature’s tail swipes, stepping closer and causing the tails to swish behind him. The monster tried to pull away at the last second, but Cheese’s blade bit into its skull, cleaving the head in two, slicing through the neck and into the chest. The force of the blow seemed impossible for a man of his strength, yet cast it he did.

Yet as Cheese had stepped in and taken himself out of the path of the tails, he had stepped into the swing of the paw. With the last of its undying energy, the monster accelerated its blow, which caught the axeman across his chest, arm, and legs, throwing him some fifty feet into the nearest stall. The stall collapsed with a thud and a clamor of goods as cheese hit it, flinging goods in every direction.

Yet the blow did not kill the youth, and as he lay there, clinging to consciousness, Cheese smiled to himself. For in the corner of his vision, he finally read:

[Axework: 16]

Two whole levels. Dad would never believe it.