Breck roared as he charged to meet the bandits, swinging his axe wildly. The haft met the first bandit's skull with a sickening crunch, caving it like an egg.

Darian looked down the shaft of the arrow, picking his target - a bandit lunging at Kara, blade swinging for her head.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Loose.

The arrow punched through the bandit's throat making the bandit fall to his knees, choking on his own blood. Kara reeled back, face blank with shock, her father's oak staff clutched white-knuckled in her hands.

No time to think. Darian reached for another arrow, his motions automatic. Nock, draw, loose. Nock, draw, loose. He fired again and again, every arrow flying true. Bandits screamed and crumpled, bodies littering the road.

Breck laid about him like a man possessed, his axe rising and falling in deadly arcs. Blood spattered his face, his arms, his chest. He looked like something out of a nightmare, a blood-drenched berserker out of legend.

But for every bandit that fell to his axe, another sprang forward. They were tiring him out, wearing him down by sheer numbers. And Darian was running out of arrows.

He reached for another shaft only to grasp air. His quiver was empty. Cold sweat trickled down his spine as he let his bow drop. He drew his knife, the blade looking pathetically small against the bandits' swords.

They closed in, sensing weakness. Their eyes glittered with cruel anticipation, relishing his fear. Darian raised his knife in a pitiful attempt at defence. His arm shook, fatigue and terror taking their toll. This was it. This was how he died, just another victim of the road's violence.

Breck loomed up at his side, chest heaving from exhaustion. The smith raised his axe, preparing for a final stand. "Get behind me, lad! If I'm to meet the gods, I'll do it keeping you safe!"

Before Darian could reply, a blood-curdling roar split the air. A giant of a man thundered out of the trees, rusty mail jangling. Unlike the other bandits, he wore no mask. His face was scarred and stubbled, like the rest, he had a crazy look in his eyes.

"FRESH MEAT!" the giant howled. "BLEED THEM! BLEED THEM ALL!"

As if summoned, more bandits poured from the shadows.

"Come on, you filthy bastards! I'll send you all to hell!" Breck roared as he charged into the fray. But it was like trying to hold back the tide with a broom.

Darian darted in to flank him, stabbing and slicing with his knife. Hot blood spattered his face, his hands, his clothes. This was nothing like hunting, like butchering game. This was slaughter, pure and simple.

He caught a glimpse of Kara trying to hold back the bandits with her staff. But as a mere teenage girl against hardened killers, she was outmatched. A bandit's sword sliced her hip, and she cried out, her staff clattering to the ground.

Sneering through rotten teeth, the bandit raised his blade to end her life.

"NO!" Darian abandoned his own fight and threw himself forward. He crashed into the bandit, tackling him to the ground. They rolled in a tangle of thrashing limbs, grappling for the blade.

Somehow Darian ended up on top, his knife pressed to the bandit's throat. The man's eyes widened in sudden terror, breath hissing through broken teeth. “Get the fuck off me, brat!”

Darian drew back his knife and shoved it into the bandit's eye with all his strength.

The man screamed, convulsing. Darian clung on grimly, sawing and twisting, until the screams cut off in a wet gurgle. He wrenched his blade free and staggered up to his feet.

The giant bandit chief howled with laughter, cutting down Kara with a vicious swipe. "Bleed, little lambs! Bleed and die!"

Darian's eyes widened in horror as he watched the girl, who had such big dreams, crumple lifelessly to the ground. But there was no time to grieve, not now. He had to find Breck. Maybe together they could still escape this nightmare.

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Darian whirled, knife raised, searching frantically for Breck amidst the chaos. There - a flash of the blacksmith's bald head, his axe a silver blur as he battled three bandits at once.

Breck roared, "That all you got, you mangy curs?" His axe crunched into a bandit's shoulder, cleaving him nearly in two. But the other two rushed him from either side, stabbing with rusty blades. Breck staggered, blood spurting from a dozen wounds.

"Breck!" Darian screamed. He tried to fight his way to the smith's side, but the tide of battle carried him farther away. Everywhere he looked, horror and slaughter.

Breck stumbled to one knee, a sword jutting from his ribs. Still, he swung his axe, defiant to the last. A bandit darted in, blade flashing across the smith's throat. Breck's eyes went wide. He fell heavily, blood gushing between his fingers.

"BRECK!" Darian shrieked. The world narrowed, time slowing, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. This couldn't be happening. Not Breck. Not the man who'd been more father to him than his own blood.

Somehow, Darian made it to the smith's side and dropped to his knees, cradling Breck's head. The once vibrant eyes stared back at him, now glassy and empty.

"Breck, no..." Darian sobbed, the rage and terror that had driven him now replaced by overwhelming grief. He had failed everyone - Breck, Kara, himself. He was no hero, just a scared, bloodied boy kneeling in the dirt.

Cruel laughter filled the air. Looking up, Darian saw the bandits surrounding him, their leering faces illuminated by the giant chief's bloody sword held high.

"Look at the little pup, crying for his pa! Isn't that sweet, boys?" the chief mocked, met by harsh jeers from his men. Darian searched desperately for an escape but found only a ring of blades thirsting for his blood.

Why were these men so cruel? What had driven them to such wickedness? If it was money they wanted, Darian would have given them every coin he had. All the coin in the kingdom wasn’t worth dying over.

Monsters…they're monsters wearing human faces, Darian thought, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The chief's eyes were black pits in a face made for nightmares. He stalked closer, grinning savagely. "Don't cry, boy. You'll be seeing your old man again real soon."

Darian knew he should get up, should fight, but his limbs felt heavy. He was just so tired, in body and soul. Maybe it would be better to let it end here. Stop fighting a battle he could never win. It seemed like nowhere was safe from death.

As the chief's sword hissed down, time slowed to a crawl. Darian stared at the blade, numb and uncomprehending, until he felt its icy bite...

And then nothing. Blackness. It wrapped around him, soft and smothering, dragging him down.

A tiny part of him fought, clinging to life. But it was drowned out by an overwhelming exhaustion. He sagged into the emptiness, letting it take him.

Is this death? It's... peaceful. Maybe I should just... let go...

But something wouldn't let him slip away. An annoying tug, like a fishhook in his navel. A sense of unfinished business.

Suddenly, time froze. The world hung still and silent around him. In the void, strange glowing words appeared, hovering before his eyes:

Thurae ki'voel shanduer. Naie aesthali v'dorci.

Darian squinted, trying to make sense of the alien script. But his vision blurred, the letters swimming in and out of focus. He reached for them, straining to understand.

Then the words vanished and the darkness returned, smothering him, cold and absolute. He felt himself falling, tumbling end over end into a bottomless abyss.

Down and down and down...

Somewhere in the heart of it, a thought surfaced. Is this hell? My punishment for being a murderer?

But the thought disintegrated as quickly as it formed.

And then—