Stick stumbled a few steps but quickly found his footing again. The push had thrown him off balance, but now, fuelled by adrenaline and desperation, he surged forward. He darted past the pile of bodies writhing on the ground, where PP was being held down by several men, their grunts of exertion mixing with PP’s wild thrashing.
“You’re not a hero!” PP wailed, his voice cracking with pain and frustration.
The words stung like a slap, but Stick shook his head, forcing the thoughts aside. There was no time to let PP’s disappointment sink in. Stop it, Stick!
He kept running, his lungs burning as the cold air bit at his throat. Despite that, he kept running. Don’t let him get to your head!
Up ahead, the clash of metal echoed through the clearing. Stick’s eyes locked onto the source: Cadmun and Reacher were locked in a brutal fight, the sound of their weapons clashing continuing to fill the air. Reacher had the upper hand, his attacks landing clean and hard on Cadmun.
“What’s up, Baldy? Losing steam?” Reacher yelled as he landed another clean hit on Cadmun’s side.
Stick winced. Cadmun’s lack of a proper harness was showing. The man was fast, but his movements were slowing. Reacher, sensing weakness, pressed the advantage.
“Your Life Points are a bit low, aren’t they?” Reacher added, his voice dripping with malice.
Stick felt a surge of panic. Stick stopped to inspect Cadmun. To his shock, Reacher was right. He glanced at the crude system interface hovering over Cadmun’s head, the digital display showing a worrying 150 [LP]. Stick’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as he realised that Reacher still had nearly half of his own Life Points. His [Mana], on the other side, was at about 2%. That would mean he’s nearly out of spells, right?
Cadmun stepped back, breathing heavily. He pressed the hilt of his sword against his chest, his thumb brushing over the long scar on his neck.
“Don’t worry, John,” Cadmun wheezed, sweat trickling down his temples. “I can go all day—even without my Protection. Remember? It was you who went crying to Stamos about a little cut on your thigh last time.”
“You little shit,” Reacher spat, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll cut your head off for real this time.”
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Reacher lunged forward, his mace flashing as he unleashed a rapid flurry of attacks. Stick watched, his hands clenching into fists as the two men clashed violently. Reacher was relentless, pushing Cadmun back, his strikes faster and more aggressive with each passing second. But Cadmun was no novice; he blocked and parried as best as he could, his shield absorbing most of the damage. Still, it was clear that Reacher was wearing him down. Reacher, completely locked into the fight, paid no attention to his surroundings. Stick’s eyes darted to the horse. It’s now or never!
Without wasting a second, Stick threw himself forward, his fingers brushing the rough leather reins of the horse. With a swift jump, he pulled himself onto the animal’s back, barely managing to secure a hold before kicking the horse into a full gallop. The ground blurred beneath him as the horse sped toward the exit, where Michael and another miner were waiting, their faces taut with determined smiles. His freedom was just a few hundred metres away. It was right there in front of him, just a short distance away, behind all the fighting, all the chaos he created. All he had to do was keep going. Keep running.
Behind him, the sound of battle raged on. Cadmun grunted as Reacher’s strike finally broke through his defences, the mace biting into his left arm. Blood sprayed from the wound, staining the snow crimson. Reacher let out a triumphant scream, his voice reverberating across the battlefield like a victorious war cry. He drew first blood.
In that split second, though, Reacher’s overconfidence became his downfall. Cadmun’s eyes glinted with something dangerous as he used the momentum of Reacher’s attack to his advantage. With a fierce roar, Cadmun swung his shield with all his strength, slamming it into Reacher’s chest. Reacher staggered back, momentarily off balance, and in that moment of weakness, Cadmun bashed the mace from Reacher’s hand. The weapon hit the ground with a thud and disappeared into the void, failing to reappear in Reacher’s grasp as it usually would. Reacher’s eyes widened in shock, realising his vulnerability too late. Before Reacher could react, Cadmun drove forward, his shield crashing into Reacher’s. The overpowering force sent Reacher stumbling backward, his feet slipping on the icy ground. Without missing a beat, Cadmun stepped on Reacher’s left arm, pinning the shield to the ground, and with predatory precision, he drove his sword straight through Reacher’s throat. A direct hit.
image [https://i.imgur.com/xCVfqJq.jpeg]
The blade pierced flesh, and though no blood spilled from the wound, the agony was written all over Reacher’s contorted face. Reacher gasped, his free hand flailing weakly as he tried to grab Cadmun’s sword. But Cadmun was merciless. With a feral snarl, he yanked the blade free and plunged it back into Reacher’s throat. Again and again. Each strike was filled with raw fury and years of pent-up rage. Stick’s breath caught in his throat as he watched from the back of the horse. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to remember, but memories from the Slaughterhouse lit up in his mind. The Baron’s cold eyes as he drove his blade into Stick’s body. The white-hot pain that trumped the God of Life’s Protection. The helplessness. The fear.
The horse’s hooves skidded on the icy ground as it tried to stop. Stick just had to pull the reins.