Mark turned his attention back towards the spot where the monster had landed, expecting to find the thing down, even if not out. Mark himself would have struggled to recover from a blow like that in the short term. But to his surprise, other than a trail of broken debris in the undergrowth, the side of the road was empty. Mark crouched low, his hands loose and extended, ready to respond to any surprise attack as he quickly scanned the darkness and shadows around him.

"Above you!"

A shout cried from further up the road. Years of team experience kicked in, and Mark fell backward into a roll, barely dodging the dull, rusty blade as the creature fell from above, driving it half into the ground. Mark's eyes went wide, his heart pumping wildly both with fear and adrenaline.

What the hell was this thing? The thing had been sent tumbling by a full-force kick, yet it had managed to not only recover but scale the trees in the short seconds his eyes had left it. Mark was starting to regret his choice. There was no turning back, though; the dark anger and hatred that burned in the creature's eyes as it stared at him told Mark that one of them wasn't walk away from this whole.

The monster grunted as it tried to pull the dull blade jammed between the stones of the road, centimeter by centimeter. Mark took the chance and sprang up from the roll, tackling the thing and sending them both several rolling feet away. As they rolled, Mark twisted, making sure to land on top, then pinning the thing's arms to its sides with his legs. He began to strike at its head, aiming for its wide jaw hinge and large ears and eyes, like he'd been taught.

Mark wasn't in the best shape he had ever been in. Years of neglect had left his body half destroyed. But his skills were just as polished as when he'd 'left' the service. When your daily life consisted of putting down every low-level mook who thought they'd get a promotion if they brought your head into the boss, you learned to stay sharp. Life on the streets wasn't easy for a hobo either; you either fought for what you had, or you might end up in a ditch with a hole in your gut and stripped of everything you owned.

But as each strike rained down on the creature, something felt... Off. Despite putting decent force behind each blow, Mark felt that his punches weren't really doing much at all. They felt... muted, soft as if he wasn't punching bone and flesh, but rubber or cotton. Thinking back to his opening kick, Mark realized he'd felt similar feedback then as well. What the hell was going on.

The monster continued to struggle, but as it realized Mark was barely doing any damage, a sick grin stretched across its face.

"Gre Gre Gre!!"

The thing mocked the man's effort, which had barely left a few darker green patches of skin on its face. Mark felt his blood boil once more, and he roared, raising his fist up high to deliver a fierce strike. Suddenly, his heart 'pulsed' as blood rushed into his arm, filling it with both a burning feeling and an icy chill as if it had fallen asleep.

In his adrenaline-fueled rage, Mark barely registered the strange sensation, but the monster's eye's bulged in surprise. With surprising speed, the creature somehow managed to pull its legs up under Mark from its awkward position and kicked out. The blow struck Mark like a truck, and he soared through the air, turning his full body swing into just a glancing blow.

Mark tumbled and rolled, landing near the stuck sword. He used it to pull himself up, coughing as he regained his wind. Sharp pain in his side made him wince; it didn't feel like he'd broken anything but the kick and most likely bruised a rib at least. The creature slowly got to its feet as well, wiping away the few drops of blue blood around the corner of its mouth. It stared down at the blood for a short moment before glancing back at Mark, anger clearly visible in its alien eyes.

It looked like playtime was over.

As Mark contemplated his situation, his mind racing to figure out how to finish this, the creature rushed him, coming in low, its arms close to its side.

Mark slid back, slightly surprised at the thing's agility, as he dodged the sweeping low kicked aimed to trip him.

He stepped forward, striking the monster in the head with a knee before it could recover.

The monster responded by using the momentum to slide out of his guard and to Mark's side, sending a fierce jab into the man's side.

Mark doubled over in pain, barely managing to block a hook that would have likely sent him to the ground.

Instead, he grabbed the monster's arm and, taking a page from its own playbook, spun with the momentum, turning the block into an over-the-shoulder throw.

The monster rolled with the throw, tucking all of its limbs in, before springing back up, trying to tackle Mark to the ground as he did.

Mark brought up another knee to block, but in doing so, missed the vile grin that formed on the creature's face.

With a strange movement that Mark's brain told him shouldn't be possible for a living creature, the monster twisted on its heel, turning the tackle into a spinning heel kick at the last second, slamming into his unguarded flank.

Mark screamed in pain, and when crashing down the road, before he slamming into the flat of the stuck blade. The blade bent back before the stone cracked, sending both him and the blade to the ground. Mark grunted in pain, grabbing his side; if the rib hadn't been broken before, it was now.

Slowly fear began to creep into Mark's heart as the creature let out a low chuckle at his pitiable condition. What the hell had he been thinking, trying to fight this... 'thing'? This monster? He wasn't a hero; he wasn't some knight in shining armor here to save the day. He was a washed-up old bum.

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Whatever this thing was, it wasn't like the bumbling group of mooks fighting the man on the bridge. This thing was trained, it was experienced... it was a soldier, a Killer as sure as he once was.

As Mark began to strongly consider retreat, a voice sounded out from nearby,

"The Sword! You have to cut them!"

Sparing a quick glance at the young man on the Bridge, Mark saw that there were only 2-3 of the creatures left as the young man in armor called out to him in haste. As he watched, another of the small figures was split in two by the man's sword.

Gritting his teeth, Mark struggled between staying to fight or running and leaving the thing to the better-equipped man. Would he be enough? Could he hold the thing off until the other man could finish and come to help? Would it even matter? Turning back towards the creature, the dark look in its eyes told Mark that in the end, it probably didn't matter.

Even if he ran, nothing would stop this thing from simply chasing after him and finishing the job. It would be foolish to turn his back on it now.

Mark steeled himself and reached down to pick up the rusty sword behind him, eyes never leaving the monster in front of him.

As Mark awkwardly held the unfamiliar weapon in front of him, the creature stopped and raised an eyebrow. It then began to chuckle before breaking out into hysterical laughter as it pointed towards the man as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever see. It wiped away a few tears, then began walking back towards Mark, an evil grin on its face.

Mark had never used a sword before. A knife, absolutely; any soldier worth his salt knew how to use a knife effectively. A sword, however, was an entirely different beast. Mark could feel how awkward his stance was with the unfamiliar weight but tried his best to compensate.

His instructors would have called him a fool for trying to use a weapon he wasn't familiar with, more so in a life and death struggle, but he didn't have much choice in the matter. Mark had once heard that there was some parallel between a sword and a staff, a weapon he DID have training in, if only in his youth. He didn't know how true that was, but he figured now was as good a time as any to see.

As the creature entered striking range, Mark opened with a forward thrust, attempting to spear the creature.

To no one's surprise, the thing easily sidestepped the blow, though its eyes went wide when Mark flipped the blade and transitioned into a sideswipe.

Again, the monster avoided the blow, but not before the rusty blade managed to leave a thin, shallow cut on its side.

The creature frowned down at its wound as Mark returned the mocking grin it had given him earlier.

Still frowning, the thing raised its arms up into a stance strangely similar to a Boxer's before advancing on the sword-wielding man.

Mark slashed downward from shoulder to hit, but the creature lifted its arm to block, deflecting the rusty blade with what appeared to be hidden arm guards on its lower arms.

The sword went wide, and Mark's poor stance left him wide open for the flurry of body blows that followed.

Mark pushed back, trying to gain some distance as he blocked and dodged what he could, all the while striking out with the sword blade or pommel when the opportunity presented itself.

When the two finally separated, they both were breathing heavily, covered in various minor wounds and each other's blood.

The two circled each other for a short moment, both catching their breath and eyeing up the other's guard. Mark was the first to break the stalemate, aiming with another downward strike towards the monster's wounded left arm.

Just as before, the creature raised its arm to block, though much slower than before. To Mark's surprise (and horror), however, the blade didn't slip down the guard, instead of catching on some hidden grove.

The creature gave a wicked grin as it flicked its free wrist, releasing a small, thin dagger from the arm guard's inner lining. The creature's eyes lit up with malevolent glee while Mark's heart sank.

The monster thrusted upwards with its hidden dagger, aiming for Mark's unprotected heart.

Suddenly, the sound of a thunderclap erupted, echoing through the forest and sending nearby birds for the sky. The monster screamed as something slammed into its shoulder, sending it tumbling back with a spray of blue blood.

Mark, drenched in cold sweat, heart pounding, turned to look behind him. There, in the back of the carriage, shirt stained with blood, a middle-aged woman lay. In her blood-covered, shaking hand was the still smoking barrel of a flintlock pistol.

The woman's breath came heavy and wet as the red blood still flowed from her mouth, but a fire raged in her eyes. Seeming to lose strength, the spent pistol fell from her grasp as she gently lowered back to the floor of the carriage. As the woman's eyes slowly clouded over, they never left the form of the small girl lying nearby.

Mark turned back towards the fallen form of the wounded monster as it writhed on the ground, clutching the large hole in its arm that poured out blue blood. The thing tried to slowly get to its feet, and Mark could see in its eyes that all thought of finishing the fight had left it. It desperately glanced around, searching for some means of escape.

Mark wasn't one to give them a chance, however. Especially to such a dangerous enemy. He rushed forward, the rusty blade raised to strike down and take the creature's neck. However, the creature wasn't out for the count yet, and with that same strange, unnatural movement, its body twisted to avoid the blow.

Instead of taking the creature's head, the sword bit deep into the arm the woman had shot. Mark felt the sword cut surprisingly easy through soft flesh and then rubbery bone. With another scream of pain, the monster's severed arm went flying down the road, leaving a trail of blue blood.

Breathing, Mark slowly approached the fallen creature, a fire burning in his eyes as he looked into the creature's own, full of fear for the first time. Suddenly, there was the crack of wood and the twang of a bow from behind.

Mark barely dodged the arrow as it flew past and embedded itself into a nearby tree. Quickly turning around, Mark saw another creature, its face half shrouded in a gray hood, standing in the shadows of the tree behind him. The creature slowly lowered the bow it held before giving a smile filled with mockery.

A Light bulb went off in his head; Mark quickly turned around to look at the first creature, only to see it running at full speed towards the opposite roadside. As it reached the trees, it leaped upwards, grabbed a low hanging branch with its good arm, and pulled itself up. With graceful movements that belittled its injury, the creature began to climb higher. Turning around to give Mark a hate-filled, full-toothed evil grin, then quickly disappeared into the treetops.

As Mark stood watching, a shrill whistle sounded through the night. The few remaining creatures still fighting the armored man raised their head and quickly broke off their engagement, running swiftly into the forest and up the nearby trees, just as the first had, then disappeared.

The young armored man stood in shock for a moment before collapsing to his knees, his sword the only thing keeping him upright. After a moment, he looked up at Mark with strange eyes as they both stood there breathing heavily. Then giving a bloody toothed grin, he began to laugh.

Mark stood there and looked over at the strange man and raised an eyebrow before shaking his head. Dropping the bloody sword, Mark turned around and walked over to the young girl, still lying on the ground. Watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, a frown began to form on his face.