Reid's new pet healer walked in front of him, motivated on by the bone knife pressed against his back. Ahead, a group of men milled about in the dirt, chatting away with one another. A few held guns in their hands, but most had firearms slung over shoulders or on their backs. Unlike the group Reid encountered in the camp, almost everyone in this group seemed to be armed with some sort of gun. A larger man wearing a golf polo noticed the healer and waved. He held a shotgun by the barrel in his left hand.

"Hey! Danny! What the fuck happened? Bertrand came through here like he was possessed, muttering something about meeting them in front of the wall, so we've been waiting out here for a while. And why's he got the guys back at the tents doing target practice? Please tell me you've got some fucking idea who we're supposed to be waiting for and what's going on."

Silence stretched for a few seconds, and the man shifted his focus to Reid. He smoothly brought his right hand over to the grip and trigger of his weapon, and others took notice. A few shifted the weapons in their hands, and others unslung guns from their backs. The healer - Danny, apparently - tried to slow. He stumbled as Reid pushed him forward.

The man's voice tinged with danger. "Hey - I don't recognize the guy with you, Danny. Is he from Mather? Why don't you introduce yourself, buddy."

Reid took stock of the group. He counted three shotguns, a pair of hunting rifles, multiple pistols and machetes, unarmed men he assumed to be magic wielders, and one stout man that had an actual battle-axe. The group was so tightly packed, Reid couldn't see the ones at the rear. The healer stumbled, and Reid grabbed him by his shirt to keep him upright. The man with the shotgun arched an eyebrow.

"Hold on there, now!"

He hefted the shotgun up and trained it on Reid. More guns shifted onto shoulders. For a second, Reid questioned whether this plan was the right one. Bertrand was the issue - and some of these men may not have followed Bertrand willingly. Reid wanted to give them a chance to surrender peacefully, if possible. What he would do with them later, he didn't know. Reid was still a fair distance from the group - but it was close enough. He cleared his throat and shouted.

"Put the guns down! I'm here for your boss! Surrender now, and I won't kill you."

A few people in the group exchanged glances. The man with the shotgun let out a deep laugh, and his gut shook and strained the fabric of his shirt. The man with the axe chuckled. No one else in the group moved.

Reid kept his same, steady pace forwards. Dirt crunched under his one boot. The healer visibly squirmed, but the knife moved him forward. The shotgun man looked between Reid, Danny, and the camp. His brow furrowed, then his eyes went wide.

"Oh, Shit!"

His shotgun barked out flame and metal. Shotgun pellets tore through the healer and peppered Reid's shirt with new holes. He let the man fall away and ducked into a low run.

Cracks of rifle fire joined shotgun's retorts, as projectiles lanced out and stung Reid all over his body. He blocked his eyes with an arm and sprinted through the bullets. He was steps away from the shotgun man when a sledgehammer smashed into his side and stopped his charge. The impact of the blow actually hurt, and it was strong enough to stumble Reid.

He turned to face the attacker. The man was well-defined, and wore an overtight tank top with "I flexed and the sleeves fell off" in large bold letters on the front. He lifted the sledgehammer over his head for another powerful strike, but he wasn't faster than Reid.. Reid jumped in close and grabbed the man's head in his left hand before stabbing three times into his neck. The man's sledgehammer fell to the ground. He was still pawing at his neck when Reid reached the next closest enemy. Reid's fist slammed into their skull and shattered the back half of their head, then pressed forward to the next man.

This group may have been better armed, but they were also less organized. Where the enemies in the camp had made a formation, these people were bunched together from their earlier casual conversations. They were too close together, too disorganized to effectively use guns or spells without hitting their allies - especially once Reid had bullied his way into the thick of the group.

He threw devastating punches, and lashed out wildly with his knife. Nearly every strike hit something around him. A pair of men with machetes fell from a series of stabs with his knife. The stout man with the great axe missed Reid with an overcommitted swing, and Reid stabbed him in the head as he stumbled to regain his balance. Multiple pinpricks hit Reid's ethereal self as magic users tried to get him with skills, and a single physical magic attack lanced out at him in the form of a jagged icicle. The surrounding enemies berated the mage about friendly fire, and the magic ceased. Reid ignored the small wounds he took, and focused on his violence. He stabbed at skulls, crushed necks, and plowed a path of carnage through the group.

Soon, only two enemies were left standing. One was the man with the shotgun, and the other gripped a bolt-action rifle. The shotgun holder swore as he fumbled, shaking hands pulled shells out of his pocket and he tried to load his gun. The man with the bolt action was closer. Reid closed in and put a fist into - and through - the man's abdomen. He stared, sputtering at Reid. Reid opened his fist, wrapped his fingers around the man's spine, and crushed it in his grip. The man had passed out even before Reid pulled the mangled vertebrae back out through the hole in his stomach. He threw the bits of bone at the shotgun wielder, and closed in.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

A single shot retorted out of the shotgun, then it jammed. The man threw his gun at Reid, and lifted an arm over his shoulder. His arm - and the blade he'd just grabbed - came down at Reid from above. Reid raised his left forearm to block the blow - and watched as an ivory, clip-point blade swung down and cleaved open his skin. Reid grunted in pain, and narrowed his eyes.

He flexed his left arm out to move the sword out of the way, and headbutted its wielder as he shouted.

"That's MINE!"

It was not his best idea.

The man's skull exploded like a paintball and coated Reid's face - and open, shouting mouth - in gore. Reid spat repeatedly, wiped his face with his hands, and wiped his hands on the back of his pants. When he finally got himself somewhat cleaned off, he kicked the man's corpse and grabbed his newly reclaimed weapon. The handle still felt just right in his hand - and he realized he'd missed the thing more than he expected to. The knife was good, but having his sword would've made every fight he'd been in so much easier. He may have even stood a better chance against the fridge.

But now, with two weapons, he could carve through any more hostile forces with even greater ease. He just needed to get his arm healed so he could wield both properly.

He looked down at the enemies. A few were still crawling or crying on the ground - so he set to work and put them out of their misery. A dark part of him complained that this group wasn't a challenge. It wished they'd put up more of a fight, and given him some sense of difficulty. Reid had only gotten minor wounds, aside from the cut made by his own sword. Outside of that, the only thing that had done any proper damage to him was the man with the sledgehammer.

Reid finished off the last lingering enemy he'd seen, then sighed.

He let the warmth of the morning sun embrace him for a long moment, then swept his eyes over the dead again - just to be sure he'd gotten them all.

Reid's eyes snapped to a still form.

His weapons fell to the ground.

Right outside the gate, a motionless body laid in the dirt. Dried blood surrounded it.

Reid recognized the clothes.

He looked back behind him - and saw the healer writhing on the ground. Reid sprinted back to the man and pulled him forward by the shirt until they were both at the gate.

Reid's eyes were wild. He shook the healer until the man stopped screaming. His own voice was high, and desperate.

"FIX HIM!"

"HEAL HIM!"

The healer looked down, then back at Reid. He was jostled in Reid's still-shaking arms as he cried out his words. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry! He's already de-"

Reid didn't want to hear it. He didn't want the excuse. The man HAD to do it. He HAD to heal Louis. Reid backhanded the healer with his free hand to stop his sentence. Louis couldn't be dead. He wasn't. The man's jaw shattered under the force of the backhanded blow, and caved into the far side of his face. He screamed as blood and teeth both fell out of his head. Green light flared in the man's hands as he clutched his head in agony. Reid tossed him to the side.

He probed for the connection to the shackle. If the thing hadn't been lying, it brought Reid back from the clutches of death. And if it did that once, it should be able to do it again. Reid would bargain. He would go back and let the beacon burn him again. He'd do whatever it took to make the thing fix Louis.

Reid was already shouting as he unmuted it.

"Heal Him! Heal him like you healed me!"

Reid, that is not how the power works. Your healing does not transfer to others, and the connections that allowed such things are no longer usable.

"I DON'T CARE! Do it anyway!"

Reid, we cannot do this, no matter how much you want us to. We know what it is like to lose someone. We are... no. I... am sorr-

He muted the shackle. No one could help him. No one could fix it.

"FUCK!"

His knees hit the ground, and tears welled in his eyes. He reached out with trembling arms.

Reid lifted Louis into his lap, and stroked the top of the boy's head. Dust fell away from his hair, and Reid's hand shook violently every time it neared the open wound. The tears were running down Reid's face now, and he rocked Louis back and forth in his arms. Reid took shuddering breaths as he squeezed Louis's body tight, and he let himself grieve.

#

Reid's eyes were still bleary when he finally noticed them.

Dirty, bloody footprints covered the back of Louis's shirt.

Reid's face twitched. His arms shook. Pressure built in his chest. He set his jaw and stood.

Reid lifted Louis's body, and walked it over to a patch of grass. He set it down gently with Louis's face pointed towards the sky, then walked away and picked up his sword.

His entire body vibrated with rage.

He let it build.

There were footprints on his back.

Bertrand's people killed Louis.

They killed him, then they trampled his corpse.

Reid let the rage churn. He let it grow, and felt the pull and the power of righteous justice it contained.

Bertrand's people were trash. They were all irredeemable. None of them deserved a chance to live. None deserved the opportunity to surrender.

Reid needed to be whole for what would come next. He pushed his senses into his wounded arm, and knit the skin and muscle back together. Energy from his rage seemed to dull the usual pain and heat.

When it was done, he grabbed the bone knife in his left hand, then lifted his head to the sky and screamed.

Inside Sanctuary's walls, trees shook as a primal roar echoed out over the landscape. All throughout the settlement, heavily-armed invaders reacted by trading weary looks and half-hearted jokes. That roar was full of rage, pain, and a promise of violence that sent a chill down their necks.

Inside Reid, his anger churned. It rose in swells that threated to enveloped him, then broke and fell against Reid's rock wall. They tempted him with sweet warmth, and righteous violence. Reid took a shuddering breath. Bertrand's people deserved suffering. They all deserved every bit of violence Reid could manage.

Reid threw himself into the waves of rage.