Stick’s heart pounded as he stared down at Reacher, who was gasping for breath on the ground. Reacher’s Life Points flickered dangerously low at 7 [LP]. Stick could feel the weight of the moment pressing on his chest.
“What are you doing, Stick? Get out of here!” Cadmun’s shout pierced through the tense air.
Stick’s head snapped towards Cadmun, who was still reeling from their brutal exchange. Distracted by Stick’s presence, Cadmun failed to notice the telltale shimmer in Reacher’s hand. The mace reappeared with a flash, and before Stick could shout a warning, Reacher swung the weapon with all his remaining strength. It smashed into Cadmun’s knee with a sickening crack. Oh no!
Cadmun howled in agony as his leg collapsed under him, his kneecap shattered beyond repair. He crumpled to the ground, writhing in pain, clutching at his mangled leg. Stick watched in horror as Reacher took the opportunity to pull himself to his feet, coughing violently but still managing a smirk through the pain.
“Damn, Baldy,” Reacher rasped, rubbing his throat as he caught his breath. “You’re a tough one. Two more hits, and I’d be a goner.”
As Cadmun struggled to rise, Reacher’s shield shimmered out of existence, replaced by a flask filled with red liquid. Stick’s eyes widened in realisation. A healing potion.
“No!” Cadmun growled, trying to push himself up, but Reacher’s metal boot connected with his ruined knee, sending Cadmun back to the ground, screaming in agony.
“Nice try.” Reacher sneered as he raised the flask to his lips, taking long gulps.
Stick watched helplessly as Reacher’s [LP] shot up, the red liquid rapidly restoring his health. With each swallow, hope drained from Stick’s body. There’s no way Cadmun can fight him now.
Reacher let out a satisfied sigh, tossing the empty flask aside, making it dematerialise. Instead, his mace materialised once again in his hand.
“Now, what was that you were saying about facing the God of Death?” he asked mockingly.
He raised the mace over his head, ready to end the fight once and for all. Cadmun, gasping and half-blinded by pain, raised his sword to parry. But Reacher didn’t aim for his head. With a swift, brutal swing, Reacher brought the mace down on Cadmun’s sword hand. The sound of metal clashing against the hilt mixed with the sickening crunch of bones breaking. Cadmun screamed, his sword clattering to the ground as his fingers twisted at unnatural angles.
Stick had seen enough. Without thinking, he leapt off the horse and ran between Reacher and Cadmun, throwing himself in the line of fire.
“Stop!” he yelled, his voice cracking.
Reacher froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What the hell are you doing?”
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Stick, panting heavily, squared his shoulders. “You’ve won. He can’t fight anymore.”
Reacher’s face twisted into an ugly expression. “Get out of the way, you wimp.”
“I said, stand down!” Stick’s voice trembled.
“I won’t spare you. You’re not an Officer.”
“Then strike me down,” Stick panted, holding his ground. “If you want to get to Cadmun, you’ll have to go through me.”
Behind him, Cadmun groaned. “Stick, no! You have to leave!”
Stick glanced over his shoulder. Cadmun was barely upright, his face pale from pain. His hand, a gruesome dark blue, hung uselessly by his side. It’s over.
“He’s done,” Stick said firmly, turning back to Reacher. “You’ve won.”
“Stick, no…” Cadmun weakly said.
Reacher’s eyes gleamed coldly. “This is a fight to the death. There’s only one way it ends.”
Before Stick could react, Reacher lunged. His mace swung out, but instead of striking Stick, Reacher shoved him aside. Stick stumbled, nearly falling, but regained his footing just as Reacher raised the mace again. Cadmun got up on his knee, shield in hand, ready to conclude their fight, when suddenly, a massive shadow was cast over them. PP—his enormous arms trembling with effort—threw himself between Reacher and Cadmun, locking his arms around Cadmun’s torso and holding him down. Reacher’s mace connected with PP’s back with a dull thud. PP grunted in pain but didn’t let go. He took the full force of the attack.
“What the fuck is this?” Reacher roared.
Straining under the weight of his injuries, PP gritted his teeth. “Don’t worry, Sir! I’m restraining him, so you can concentrate on capturing the weaker ones.”
Reacher blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What?”
“They’ve surrendered, Sir,” PP said, his voice strained.
Stick’s eyes darted towards the group of men who had been holding PP down earlier. They were slumped in defeat, their heads bowed. Silent tears streamed down their faces; however, they all carried smiles. They posed no threat anymore. I see.
“That’s right!” he shouted. “We give up. We know we’ve lost.”
Reacher looked incredulous. “Do you now?”
“Yes,” Stick said firmly, his voice gaining strength. They had bought enough time for the others. There was no need for more death. Even if it means giving up on freedom, it’s the right decision.
“Stand down, John!” a voice barked from behind.
Stick whipped around to see Becket, finally free from his restraints, courtesy of PP.
“There’s no need for further violence,” Becket said, his voice authoritative. “They’ve surrendered.”
Reacher’s face twisted in fury. “I don’t give a fuck!”
“This is an order, Soldier!” Becket snapped.
“An order?” Reacher’s nostrils flared. “I’ll show you what I think of your orders!”
He raised the mace again.
Stick stepped forward. “I know you won’t commit a PVP crime.”
For just one fleeting moment, one split-second, Stick saw hesitation in Reacher’s eyes. It was a very rare and short-lived glimpse of the humanity that still sparked inside the Mace. However, it fizzled out as quickly as it came.
“You decided to be an NPC today.”
Before Reacher could make another move, a loud, panicked neigh tore through the air. The group turned in unison as a blood-soaked horse stumbled and collapsed nearby. At the last second, the rider, Stamos, leapt from the horse, landing heavily on the snow. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Stick’s heart sank. Now it’s really all over.
Stamos dusted the snow off his armour. He didn’t mind all the blood smeared on his armour over the course of the day; instead, he eyed the horse’s body ravaged with bite wounds. With a single, brutal motion, he swung his battleaxe down, ending the horse’s suffering instantly. Its death rattle made Stick’s hair stand on edge. Blood pooled around its body, steaming in the cold.
image [https://i.imgur.com/MR9bS2n.jpeg]
“How insubordinate,” Stamos's voice echoed ominously behind his helmet.