“Keep formation,” Peter yelled.

‘He just had to be a dense,’ Peter thought as he struck another blow across the undead’s neck. ‘Arrogant and privileged prick.’ Another blow cut the head right off and Peter moved onto to the next undead.

By the time their captain had died in his foolish bravery to lead a charge instead of slowly seeping through the streets like he’d suggested, they were already boxed in. Being attacked from both front and the back meant that he was already at a disadvantage when he assumed command. Thankfully, due to his position, no one complained to him taking over.

Their small army was made mostly of survivors that volunteered, most of whom had no experience in war or even a battle of any kind for that matter so it was no surprise that the further they pushed the more bodies they left behind than came at them. It took a good while to secure they backside and the whole while he had to run from the front to the back and back again. It was a hopeless struggle and Peter knew it, but there was someone he had to protect and she couldn’t do it herself.

Swing, Stab, repeat. A simple method he’d been taught from Volvo the first time he’d encountered such an enemy. Too bad he was surrounded by idiots or else they might’ve saved some unfortunate souls instead of sacrificing them. Everyone was too blinded by foolish bravery, adrenaline or lust to pay attention to their surroundings. The duke had sewn seeds of hate within their minds and being the simpletons they were they followed like children.

“Two Strikers, to me!” He yelled as he saw a glint of metal amongst the sea of grey flesh.

Worse yet, in this entirely fucked situation, they had to fight the soldiers who died fighting for the safety of shits like him and worse. Some of the more prominent soldiers were buried with their armor and the lucky few who weren’t ransacked by graverobbers kept it. Ever since his birth the dukedom had taken part in three large battles with Chimeraens and Alexanderans and being the result of one of them he knew that their death toll over the years was the greatest amongst any other dukedoms.

‘Wonder how the others’re doing,’ Peter thought.

The captain had split the volunteers into three groups, each taking a parallel street to cover more ground and box in the undead in the small the alleys connecting them. What he didn’t take in account of was the large number of undead there would be. Their divided force was much easier to be picked off one at a time at least, that’s what Fliss claimed and he trusted his brother’s judgement.

Peter looked over at the panting young fellow next to him. In the slight rays of the moon that escaped the cloudscape above; he could make out the young man’s flushed face.

‘Didn’t he only use 1st tier magics? Why is he so exhausted? That’s very unlike him.’ But Peter didn’t have time to worry about the boy for he had another wave of monsters incoming.

“Everyone who can hear this join up with us!” He yelled. Hopefully the guards leading the other groups would hear him over the sounds of battle. Peter swung his sword at the armored undead’s exposed neck but it got lodged into the bones encircling the oesophagus and only seemed to make it angrier. It attacked with the fervor of a desperate living being unlike the previous doll like waves he had to face.

He almost lost his grip as the creature pulled back and then came in for a bite. Peter blocked the snapping teeth with one of his daggers and stabbed the monster at its temple, pulling his lodged sword in the process. He swung once again and decapitated the being. Its head gone, the body fell lifelessly at his feet but before it could fall Peter kicked the body back and it fell into another incoming undead. Tangled with its brethren the armorless undead was easily taken care off and as Peter moved to take on another a cry caught his attention.

“Ahhh” a raspy voice shouted.

Peter turned to see a caved in skull with half decayed face stumble its way towards him. He couldn’t swing in such close quarters, so he kicked its shin with all his might. The corpse fell to its knees and looked up just in time to see Peter’s sword greet him with its point as it was droven straight through its caved in skull. Once the body was on the ground Peter dislodged his sword from his skull and stomped on its head as he blocked an incoming bite from yet another monster. These creatures had black teeth instead of yellow or none which regular corpses sported.

‘What’s going on?’

“[Obiectum Sagitta]” Fliss said as he threw a rock. It suddenly whizzed past him and struck the enemy in the middle of the throat. Peter took this chance and swung his sword, decapitating the monster before moving onto the next. But Peter saw that those black teeth were unfazed by the rock.

“Hey, get back here and help me,” someone yelled from behind him. Peter kicked another monster back and resumed his previous position before looking around for who’d spoken. A man with dark skin wearing a red bandanna was signaling him over with his free hand before he continued punching the monsters back with his gauntlet. Between Peter and him stood five other volunteers, all of whom struggled against their own monsters.

“Fliss! Take over my position,” Peter yelled. “Make way!”

“[Ventus Scutum]” Fliss yelled as he took over. The air before him began to move quickly, spiraling against the undead, spinning them at their spot but unable to push or lift them up. However that was all he needed to make the switch and prepare his reading. Meanwhile, Peter began making his way behind the struggling mercenaries. Only a few of the men on the outside were fighting while the rest took refuge behind them, awaiting their turns. Peter pushed and shouted at them to stab or defend the fighters with their shields as he made his way towards Farthow. However only a few seemed to actually listen or understand him. They stabbed the monsters forehead from between the heads of those engaged and kicked them back through whatever openening they could get.

“Cut of their heads!” Peter instructed pushing the others forward as he passed by. Eventaully he approached the struggling Farthow and almost smirked at the sight.

‘Talk shit about beatin’ me, yet you can’t even take care of two corpses,’ thought Peter. ‘Shi~t!’

Suddenly the monster’s body went slack and it clamed it’s mouth on the man’s arm causing him to scream in pain. Having his attention focused on getting rid of the biter Farthow couldn’t stop the other undead from making its move. Luckily Peter stepped in and stabbed through the corpse’s skull before decapitating him. When he turned to help, Farthow was already stomping the undead’s skull to smitherins.

Undead or risen corpses; were creatures that sensed by touch and sound to them, the darkness was a huge advantage. But even under the dark sky that almost blinded everyone else Peter could still make out glimpses of their shapes and movements; ‘They stand out too much with their skin to the darkness surrounding them.’ Thus, when the figures with missing limps and strange movements disappeared into the darkness in the building, a building which had another entrance at the back of their group, Peter knew that the undead were going to surround them.

“Take over our positions! And keep FUCKING formation!” Peter yelled as he pulled Farthow along with him. The two jumped in through the large broken window and welcomed the darkness with blades. If seeing the enemies outside could be considered a challenge then detecting them under the cover of a roof in even greater darkness was near impossible, with eyes that is. Peter was adept in hunting, using his ears and nose to pick out something even when his eyes couldn’t was still second nature to him. He closed his eyes and slowly stepped forward with his sword raised in a two-handed grip.

…

Atleast I would’ve been possible if Farthow wasn’t breathing like a FUCKING horse after a sprint.

“Shut up,” he whispered slowly.

“What’d ya say?” Farthow asked.

“Shut it”

“What’s your problem? Can’t I fucking breathe?”

‘Huh, well this works too,’ Peter focused.

“You still think you can beat me?”

“…You wanna talk about this now? You fucking crazy?” After some time he replied; “Hell yeah I can still beat you with these canons.”

“Good, cause you sure as hell ain’t got something up here,” he chuckled.

“Fuck you,” He whispered. “-Argh!?”

‘Now’s my chance!’ Peter thought. While Farthow struggled with his attackers in the dark, Peter slowly felt the ceiling with his sword. ‘This looked like a store so gotta have some sort of lamp handles here…Got ya!’

Peter quickly sheathed his sword and pulled himself up to the ceiling with the hook. With careful and under constraint movements he pulled himself in an upside down position while keeping his sword hand free for swinging and a strong grip on the metallic handel.

‘If this falls I’m dead,’

Beads of sweat fell down his chin as he shivered with the realization.

“You whoreson-argh,” Farthow cursed as he fell under the pressure of some…three undead? Peter kept quite while they tore open Farthow and finally released him from his suffering. Peter kept quite as they slowly stood from their kill and began walking towards the other entrance. He waited until the sounds were almost below him before he swung in a sideways arch, hoping to land a hit. However like before, the sword lodged itself within the flesh and pulled him off-balance. Peter pulled with might and took out the sword before once again swinging to the neck, by coincidence or luck it hit the same place twice and severed the creature’s head with ease.

Quickly and as quietly as he could Peter tried calming himself and focused on ‘looking’ for the other two undead with him. There was no movement that he could detect, the floor boards didn’t creak from the pressure nor did they breathe from the relief. Peter kept his senses sharp, searching for any movements till he finally found the floor creak right beneath him. They were just below him, in his blind spot as he was in theirs. Carefully moving to side Peter tried to use the handle to swing when suddenly a scream from outside drew their attention.

“Ahhhhh!” The high pitched scream attracted the undead to move once more, allowing Peter to act. One after another they fell as Peter cut off the muscles supporting their necks before decapitating and kicking their heads away.

“When did a woman vollenteer for this?” he murmured as he frowned. Peter unsheathed his other sword and was about to make his way out when he heard something move to his side.

‘Impossible, I killed them all,’ Peter closed his eye’s once more and slowly moved back at the lamp handle. ‘Odd, it’s not moving from its place…I better not regret this.’

As Peter walked over he realized that figure struggling on the ground was Farthow or atleast Farthow’s corpse that was about to succumb to the magic controlling the rest of them.

“I didn’t need a reason to beat you after all,” Peter smiled as he drove his sword through his heart stopping his change. “A second time that is.”

The shouting was getting louder and a knot of unease had begun forming within his gut. He quickly made sure the others were indeed ‘dead’ and finally made his way outside.

“Hey, someone comeover here and keep lookout for the undead coming out of this entrance,” He said before moving.

Under the flashing moonlight once more, Peter blinked a few times as he tried making his way back to the front. He encouraged and instructed the men beside him as they fought. He was vaguely aware of a small group being formed at the back, probably someone’s last moments.

‘Maybe it’s that girl who was screaming a few minutes ago.’ Peter thought. ‘Idiot’

“Hey, whoever’s injured,” Peter shouted. “Leave them be and fight over here. We haven’t stopped losing here have we?”

‘…What the hell?’ Peter thought as he reached his previous place. ‘I’m sure I left Fliss over here.’

Uneasiness spread through his stomach and up to his lungs as he resumed fighting in the undead. This time he payed closer attention to the undead that came for him, hoping to be wrong of all things his mind was telling his could’ve happened to Fliss.

‘He must’ve been called somewhere else,’ The Fliss in him spoke. Peter paid it somemore thought while he pulled out the bloody sword from its neck sheath. He kicked the undead into its companions and swung diagonally, decapitating it like he did that thought.

‘He must’ve become tired and let someone else take his place, you saw how badly he looked after using only a few of his tricks.’ The Luvrit in him spoke out. Peter thought about it some more while he kicked stabbed the armored corpses. They were able to get in closer than the others but the clubbing and hacking and stabbing seemed to finally work just like how he accepted that thought.

But his mind still played with him as images of finding little Fliss’s face amongst those that approached him kept coming. Even though he’d accepted his Luvrit-like logic Peter couldn’t let go of the first thought that came to mind. ‘What if Fliss died? He did always have a kid-like voice…that can’t be him. No! What’re you looking at ya ugly fucker?!!’

Before he could stop himself Peter used his left hand to punch the creature, catching his hand in its face. ‘FUCK!’ Peter thought as it bit down on his recently healed hand. It must’ve still been tender to injuries cause the skin easily broke; despite being under leather armor. Peter jumped back, accidently knocking the person behind him and stumbled back. He would’ve fallen too if his hand-holder didn’t try to pull back. Using this to his advantage he used his sword to thrust the blade into the creature’s face and by the sound and feel of it, it went right through the nose. Peter pulled back and quickly punched and kicked his way out of the creature’s grip.

‘What the hell?!! You’re just bone’s why aren’t you crumbling away?’Peter thought. ‘This didn’t happen last time. What’s going on?’

He looked over the undead, getting slightly jumpy from the fear of what he might see. Fortunately, the sight expelled a sigh of relief from the man and what he saw was described words in moments to come;

“C’mon!!! They’re almost done!” Peter shouted as he delivered another kick to the walking bones before he broke its skull and decapitated it. He yelled and shouted at the others to remain vigilant as he continued to lead the charge with fervor. ‘Where is he?! Forget it, he’s stronger than I give him credit anyways…right? Fuck!’ Peter picked up another sword on the ground and swung blindly at their heads, using them almost like scissors to decapitate them one after another. Even though the swords were uneven in size he strained his arms to push forward, fearing the worst and hoping that the worst feared him enough to show its face.

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When the fighting was finally over Peter looked through the bodies on the ground and tried identifying Fliss’s face, picking the heads and bodies as he checked them individually.

“Fliss, where are you, ya idiot?” Peter yelled, wiping his sweaty brow.

“…”

“Fli~ss! C’mon man, where are ya at?” Peter scowled slightly. The few men nearby gave him pitiful looks, sure he couldn’t see them but he knew they were pitying him ’cause all of them had their bodies positioned in his direction even though there was nothing behind him. One of them mumbled something inaudible and Peter’s patience dissipated. He walked over and grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic to say; “If you wanna’ say something then say to my face.”

“I-I said that yo-your companion isn’t here,” the man replied with shock.

“Oh and where would he be, huh?” Peter snarled.

‘He definitely called be an idiot-Focus Peter, don’t get carried away.’

“O-over there,” the volunteer pointed to the small group of people behind him. “She’s injured.”

“What? Injured? Why didn’t you tell be before!” Peter’s shouted as he walked over, dropping the man. “And that isn’t a lady ya idiot, that’s Fliss,” Peter said as he walked away,“and he is a boy.”

Peter shoved and pushed the crowd apart and looked at the injured boy resting on an old man’s leg. The figure lying in front of him did not belong to the young man he knew. Apart from the scratches and some deep wounds on the arms the figure didn’t look much different from the Fliss he knew, except for one slight deformity on his chest. His ripped robes revealed his bare chest with pink nipples atop two small mounds revealed by his shredded clothes. Peter could vaguely make out the crowd reforming around him as he examined…Fliss?

‘I knew he looked a lot like a girl…but c’mon, isn’t this too much?’

“Sorry, the child has her chest exposed-” the old man tried covering her up but was stopped when Peter thrust his sword tip at his neck.

“Touch him and I’ll kill you myself,” he whispered. Peter swung around and pointed the sword at the crowd behind him.

“Has the danger gone you idiots,” Peter said growled. “Keep lookout, recover your injuries, go loot the shops for fu-ugh fer god’s sack but don’t stand around here like a bunch of useless Trumps. Just another injured here to look at so get outta here, leave us!”

Once they finally dissipated Peter resumed his observations over…Fliss. Crouching beside him he noticed that Fliss’s cheeks had a pinkish colour to them and that his breaths were shallow and quick.

“Wounds, wounds, any wounds?” Peter repeated, inspecting the bites on his arms. He checked him again for any other wounds, careful to avoid his chest.

‘He’ll tell me about his deformity when wants to,’ Peter thought. ‘Oh who are we kidding he’s a-Shut it! This is deformity nothing else. Begone, vile thoughts.’

“Hey Peter,” a man came over. “Perhaps she-uh, I mean maybe he’s turning.”

“Idiot,” Peter cursed and looked at the older bald man. “To turn would mean he’ll have to die first…his injuries aren’t serious enough.”

Peter ignored the rest of what the man spoke and began to check undeath the boy’s robes. Undressing him as much as he could and as quickly as he could. That’s when he felt something quelch against his hand, something that should NOT be on Fliss despite any sort of deformity. He went rigid. Cold sweat broke out across his back. He clenched his teeth and raised his hand from underneath the robes, inspecting it in the light. He squinted as he brought his hand close and almost vomited when the smell wafted to him.

“Fuck!” Peter shouted as he wiped it against the ground and covered his nose with his arm.

“…*Sigh*, listen man, I don’t know much, but that doesn’t look like a boy to me,” The man said, toying with his black leather armor. It threatened to fall off any moment from the many bites and claws it defended against.

“Who asked you?” Peter said standing up. Looking around he realized everyone’s attention was back on Fliss. Even though the threat of the monsters was looming over them, they still had the gall to focus on his defenseless Fliss?! “’N who the fuck told ya’ ta stop? Keep movin’ ya bastards…What? What ya’ looking at?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” a bearded man stepped forth and motioned to everyone. “We’re losing. We’ve got less than…”

“15, jackass,” Peter said.

“Hey fuck you, alright.” He shouted. Peter’s hand immediately went to grasp his sword hilt and it seemed that a fight would soon break out when the bearded man suddenly calmed down and spoke calmly; “Anyway, we’ve got 15 people left, and that’s everyone combined.”

“What d’you mean?”

“While you were fawning over yer girl,” he said through clenched teeth as he motioned to Fliss. “Everyone joined up from the alleys. We realize we’re worth nothing to that whoreson duke, so we’re leavin’. Thing is though…you probably got the most experience out of all of us, so we want you come with us. Will you join us?”

Peter narrowed his eyes at the people and noticed they had all placed one hand or another on their weapons. He looked from one person to the other until his eyes went back to their leader, that bearded fellow.

He smiled and that smile slowly turned to a laugh. He hoped that’d break the tension.

“How. Do. I. get. Out. Of. This. Mess?” Peter said. “I’ve thought of that ever since we were ordered to come here, but hearing you say it…I couldn’t agree more.”

Through the darkness, he could almost see the relief wash over them. Their contagious smile spread across his face as he shook the leaders offered hand. Peter grabbed the man’s offered hand and while shaking it inspected it for weapons as he did the same. Such was the custom amongst strangers accepting others. When it was over Peter turned his attention to the-the, thing! lying beneath him without hesitation he sheathed his sword and lifted Fliss over his shoulders.

“What’re you doing?” the bearded man asked.

“Whatever he is, he’s still alive, I ain’t gonna’ leave a good flow reader die.” Peter smiled. “Not when he has so much value alive.”

“You think she’ll be okay when she wakes up?” he asked skeptically. “I don’t want her slowing us down fer things like honor and shit.”

“Please, what do we look like? Soldiers for a duke? We’re mercenaries. Besides we took him in when he was still a teat-sucker. Volvo groomed him up to be loyal to family and right now I’m his only family ‘round here. He’ll do whatever I say, so yeah we’re good on that part.”

With no more reason to delay their departure and all the more to run away, for the fear of another wave, the group quickly deserted their location, leaving behind their dead. Peter kept up with them, running behind the bearded man with his team members covering his sides.

“Hey, why not run the way we came?” Peter questioned. “There’s no one to stop us since we killed everyone over that way, it’ll be easier.”

“You’re sayin’ we go back to the mansion?”

“Yeah, the duke had a spell there right? Who’s to say it ain’t still there. His wife is there and so are some of the elders and families so of course that magic won’t dissipate.”

“Whose families?” The man laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed we’re all arms for hire here.”

“All the more reason to get what we can in that giant mansion of his,” Peter pushed.

“…How ruthless,” The man smiled. “No wonder you’re a three striker.”

“Three striker?”

“It’s what our teams call a three strike merc.”

“Oh, then you’ll be a two striker?”

“Yep”

“Haha, good to know, maybe I’ll use that.” Peter laughed slightly before readjusting Fliss on his shoulders. “Let’s talk as little as possible, there’s still bound to be something lurking around the corner.”

“Right”

Their group of surviving mercenaries half-jogged and half-walked their way back, the bodies and rubble providing a constant unnecessary reminder of the threat. Everyone had their swords out to encounter whatever came their way. Fortunately they hadn’t encountered anything so far and Peter prayed it stayed that way. Carrying the girl, his chainmail and his weapons really stressed his back and shoulders so he made sure to stay in the middle of the group. Whenever someone offered help he either ignored them or flat out refused.

When they found a quite place in the small forest that lined up the walkway up to the manor atop the Cliffside Peter explained; “When he wakes up it’ll be easier if I’m carrying him.” He was currently supporting the unconscious Fliss while he rested against a tree, keeping a watchful eye on where the wooden watchtowers were hiding.

“He’s a she,” someone murmured.

“Fuck you,” Peter growled. “You wanna’ say that to my face. Who said that?”

“Calm down,” the bearded man, who had assumed leadership, said. “We all need to work together to take out the guards on the top, so no one is going to say what he is.”

“Hmph,” Peter said wiping a sweat from his brow. “They’re all old and weak. The duke sent every able fighter with us or took them with him. But that doesn’t mean they won’t kill us by arrows or rocks.”

When everyone regained their breath they resumed their ascent. Which was much slower compared to before because of the many breaks Peter had to ask for. Luckily no one suspected him a traitor since he the most eager amongst them to get the riches of the manor and it was common knowledge, amongst those of similar profession, how he felt for the duke. In such manner they slowly made their way up, till they could see the watch towers above the trees they were hiding behind.

“There’s no one up there,” a mercenary with an axe said.

“Told ya’” Peter smirked. “I’ll be the distraction and open the gates; everyone else will storm in afterwards. Sounds good?”

“Alright,” The leader narrowed his eyes. “Just don’t forget who gets the biggest share.”

“Yeah, I know,” Peter said. He made to leave the cover of the forest lining the path before suddenly turning back. “Hey, since you’re the only two striker team here, mind if you guys lead the charge?”

“Like there was any other way,” the bearded man huffed with a smirk.

“Alright,” Peter said before leaving. He carried Fliss over his shoulders and limped towards the trail. He followed the path for some time before he could make out the iron gates with the gate guards standing behind it.

“Help!” Peter yelled. “Please, we’re wounded.”

“Who’s there?! You?” A voice came from behind the door. An elderly man in armor approached the gates, shocked at Peter’s presence.

“Yeah old man, it’s me. Please help!” Peter cried. When he reached the gates in his limping fashion the elderly soldier opened the gates with haste along with his younger helper and welcomed them inside. When Peter was safely within the grounds he surveyed the grounds quickly; the remaining survivors were children and women huddled up in groups near the manor surrounded by the injured, the remaining guards were either too old or too young to be considered a threat and they were all dispersed in the grounds to pose a threat.

Realizing his chance Peter threw Fliss’s body at the young man and pushed the old guard down before stabbing him. The young guard yelled, throwing Fliss off him as he tried attack but Peter parried with his right and kicked him in the stomach, making him stumble backwards.

“Now!” Peter yelled. He heard a sudden rustle in the bushes before the steps of the mercenaries running could be heard. He turned around to see the bearded man leading the charge.

“Good work,” the man said as he passed Peter, closely followed by the rest of his team. He could see the easy prey in front of him; the weak guards looked shocked at his arrival while the young one’s fumbled to get their sword out. It was easy picking, until he heard sounds of blood being spilt behind him and bodies falling down.

Turning around he saw Peter, splattered in blood as his fellow teammates lay on the ground clutching their throats. The baby hands or first strikers that were behind him had stopped at the gate, creating a semi-circle around Peter. Anger began bubbling inside him when he saw a cold smirk play on his lips as Peter looked at the dead bodies before returning to look at him.

“You bastard,” he whispered. “You think I’ll let you have all the gold. There’s ten of us, and only one of you.”

Peter didn’t reply, instead he took a sudden step forward as if to attack…before launching himself on the other mercenaries. Peter swiftly targeted their necks and was able to land successful hits on some of them while those in further away were able to block. He cut down their numbers as quickly as he could before preparing to defend.

Two mercenaries came at him, both holding maces and swung with all their strength at him. Peter sidestepped and swung with all his might and wedged his sword in the arm of the one on the right. The man yelled in pain while Peter swung his other sword to the neck, wedging the weapon in it too. By this time the leader had regained from his shock and closed the distance between them. He tried stabbing at the heart while Peter was stuck with his sword in the unlucky mace holder but Peter let go of the sword in the arm, keeping his grip on the other sword, and swirled to the side, narrowly dodging the strike from the Two Striker. Using his momentum Peter swung his sword out of the neck and aimed it at the bearded man’s head which he ducked under.

Peter was about to kick when the other mace holder and two more of the remaining sword-weilders attacked him from the back. Peter rolled to the side and took a two handed stance with his sword, shifting his sword’s point from the one strikers to the two striker. His heart hammered as his legs shook from exhaustion. That’s when they all attacked, simultaneiously.

Peter jumped backwards and kept dodging their strikes, moving back and further back untill he ran out of dodging space and was backed up against a wall. His opponents smiled viciously when suddenly a yell caught their attention behind them; the younger guard was leading his fellows in a charge. The three one strikers defended against all their attacks and responded with their own giving Peter the opportunity he was waiting for. Feinting to the right, he caught the two two strikers off-guard and jumped towards the other mercenaries. He was able to stab two in the heart before the third one attacked him mid attack, forcing him to leave his other sword stuck in the sword-wielder’s back. Peter rolled backwards as the mace wielder swung down and then gave chase while the other two strikers defended against the novice guards. Seeing that he’d lost both his swords Peter took off running towards the watchtower behind him. He quickly reached the ladder and began climbing it with all his might and speed, anything he could muster after carrying Fliss up a hill and taking down 12 mercenaries was quickly burnt in his climb. From the shakes of the ladder he knew they were chasing and that they were close. Peter quickly scrambled to the floor of the watchtower and looked around when suddenly a mace wedged itself between his legs, narrowly missing his instrument of lust.

Peter quickly stood up and reached for an arrow in its holder near the edge of the watchtower. He took out his bow and loaded the arrow as the mace-wielder began moving up. Peter didn’t have time to appreciate the shocked expression of the man as he quickly fired the arrow at his head. By some miracle the arrow knocked straight into the mace wielder’s eye causing an arch of blood to spurt out and stain his legs as the man fell. Peter didn’t hesitate to load another arrow and aim down the ladder only to see no one climbing it. On the ground were two bodies of men sprawled atop each other. The bearded man was trying to push the mac wielder off of him when some guardsman stabbed him in the chest, stopping the mongrel’s actions. The guard looked up and Peter immediately recognized him as the younger gate guard, it seemed that they were able to take care of the other mercenary.

“Good,” Peter sighed in relief. Grabbing a few arrows he began climbing down, soon he began to hear an argument brew beneath him.

“Oh fer the love of Saint Mina’s bosom, I am not dead.” The old man said.

“I saw you get stabbed,” the younger man spoke.

“He stabbed the ground beside me, tellin’ me to lay dead.” The old gate guard said as he looked at Peter’s figure coming down. “I’ve got enough faith to last me another good ten years, so I ain’t going anywhere.”

“Thank Martha,” the boy sighed.

“Oi! Don’t use her name like that. You’re crazy? You’ll leave a bad taste in even the most forgiving saints with the amount of sins you’ve committed,” The elder scolded. “Now go see if they’ve killed your sinner friends or not.”

“I-I’m not a sinner,” The guard huffed. “It was that one time and I was forced in it.”

“That why I called them ‘your sinner friends’” the man smiled, “Now get going, grown up’s gotta talk.”

“We’re the same age,” the younger guards nodded to Peter who responded in kind.

“When you’ve fought explored outside this fortress then perhaps I’ll see you as his equal, now go away.”

The guard huffed in exasperaton as he stomped off.

“Hey old man,” Peter said walking forth. “Huh, you’re still alive?”

Peter squatted beside the struggling figure of the bearded man; he had a chest wound on his right and was gurgling blood out of his mouth.

“Why?” the man asked between spits of blood. Peter sighed before squatting next to his face with a smirk.

“Like you wouldn’t have done the same,” he laughed. “You planned to kill us all and take the money for yourselves, too bad smart people think alike.” Peter motioned to the dead bodies of his teammates. “I used you to get here; carrying Fliss here while being protected by your own enemies. Hah! It doesn’t get any better than that.”

Peter scratched his own scruff before continuing; “See that woman over there, I’ve been promised something great by her so, yeah, I gotta protect her from whatever comes my way and you were just it. That’s why; I got a duty as a man to protect that woman, my woman.”

“You fool,” the man laughed as more blood filled his mouth causing him to choke.

“Oh and another thing,” Peter said, standing up. He took the elder guards sword and positioned it above the man’s heart. “Fuck you; I know you said that shit ‘bout Fliss.”

Peter pushed down and pierced the man’s heart, using his weight to cut through the thin gambeson. He struggled for some seconds, spasms ran through him before seeping out, leaving a lifeless body behind.

“What’s going on?” The old man said angrily.

“I’ll explain later,” Peter said as he handed the sword back. Peter then left to gather his swords from the dead mercenaries, stabbing each incase the guards hadn’t. Afterwards Peter went back to the fallen Fliss and carried him towards the wounded lying near the manor, very aware of how everyone saw him as a traitor to the big fight. But they couldn’t do anything to him; after all, he could kill them before they get even a strike in. Peter placed his friend’s body next to his red haired mercenary.

“Hey,” Brair said weakly. Her face was slightly green from whatever she had caught, but he was sure it was gonna pass.

“Hey girl,” Peter said, grasping her offered hand.

“Quite the speech”

“…How in the world could you hear that?” Peter joked. “Only the best comes from this mouth.”

Brair scoffed, before descending into a coughing fit, Peter tried helping but she pushed him away. So he busied himself with Fliss until the coughing subsided and Brair asked, “What happened to him?”

“He’s…uh, um…bleeding?” Peter frowned and scratched his head.

“Where?” Brair said, noticing the shift in his demeanor.

“Fliss is a girl,” Peter said quietly.

“Oh,” Brair said trailing her hand over his arm. “I’m sure she had a reason-”

“You knew?” Peter shook off her arm.

“Knew what?”

“You, knew, Fliss, was, a girl?”

*Sigh* “Yes I did, but so did Volvo and he’d told me to keep it a secret, for her.”

“…….I’m gonna go away now, before I lose it,” Peter said getting up. “You rest in the meantime, I’ll deal with this” He circled his hands over the two of them to emphasize.

“Later”

‘Why didn’t anyone tell me that protecting women comes with the heavy price of dealing with their bullshit’ Peter thought, ‘Is it worth it?’