“Mierda! Cut this bastard down already, pendejos!” Shouted a bandit.

  “Why they not getting’ up? It’s just an axe wound!” Another shrieked.

  “Charge him!” The bandit ran forth, expecting to take down the behemoth knight that stood before him, several heads taller than any bandit at the river bank. His sword hacking down on the darkest bck he had ever seen in his miserably long life; the bck metal deflecting the sword away as one swats a fly back. He gasped as the knight’s leg rose and stomped down on his knee, snapping his leg backwards. The pain was immense as he staggered to the ground, holding himself up with his sword. Death stricken milky white eyes gazed into his own and he could see the dark void beyond, swirling around in a never-ending dream. Death had come for him.

  For them all.

  The bck axe came crashing down on his neck, smashing vertebrae cutting clean through flesh, tendons, arteries, all of it wet paper to the executioner’s axe. His head tumbled about, rolling over to the st of the river bandits, tilting upwards until his now vacant eyes stared them down, inviting them to join him in his demise.

  The bck menace just stared down the st two men breathing and still on their feet. They looked at each other, fear in their eyes, sweat beading down their heads, shirts matted to their skin, reeking of fear and trembling in terror. Their breaths erratic as they thought of their st moments on this earth, mulling over their pathetic lives.

  A wide river, trees hugging each side of its bank, raced southward, waves pping about the rapids. The small stream from the mountain cascaded down a simply beautiful, timid waterfall, joining its liquid family on the trek downstream. Dim light baked the riverbank in vapid rays. Between the screams, the water gushes filled the silence and the breeze rustled the leaves about. The small bank was filled with a rge skiff. A metal contraption was mounted on the back of it, and crates and barrels filled with looted goods filled the hull. Freshly killed men that once occupied the camp id about the sandy bat zily, their blood seeping into the sand and running into the river.

  A small fire pped about in the wind, smoke drifting aloft in all directions.

  The men looked about. There was nowhere to run now. Either they faced the man, or jumped in the raging river and tried to ride it out. One grabbed a hammer, rushing the Death Knight down, his wits telling him to bash that armor in real good. His arm held high, ready to bring it down on the skull-faced helmet.

  Rigor swung his axe upwards, sidestepping the desperate man and severing his arm. The Bandit froze when his arm refused to come down. He gnced at his bloody nub, then up to the air as the rest of his arm twirled about in freefall, blood arching across the river bank. His mouth was agape in pain and disbelief when Rigor ended him with a quick horizontal ssh through his gut, cutting him in half. He toppled over in half, his guts spilling across the riverbank, blood seeping into the gravelly sand.

  “Mierda con esto!” The st man jumped into the water, sword still in hand. The waves overtook him as the water rushed him downstream. He kicked to the surface, trying to catch a breath of air. His bck, greasy hair emerged, soaking wet, water dripping down into his eyes. His grey uniform soaked up the water, weighing him down. He blinked them open, wiping with his free hand. His legs kicked with all their might to keep him afloat. He was riding the waves to freedom. Joy filled his heart; he was going to make it.

  A hand grabbed the back of his grey shirt, ripping him up to face the bck demon in front of him. That skull mask staring him in the face. His thoughts of joy were quickly eviscerated as that bck axe sshed deep into his throat, cutting it open wide. Blood sprayed over Rigor Mortis, the crimson ichor sliding squirming beneath his skull mask.

  Rigor dunked the man back into the water, blood gushing downstream as the man thrashed and kicked about, waving his sword around uselessly as water rushed into his throat, drowning lungs. His vision slowly faded, his sword dropping to the bottom of the river.

  The Death Knight released the man, watching as he bobbed down river, sinking beneath the rapids beyond. Water tugged at his armor, trying to send him downriver along with the body. His metal boots scraped across the river rocks below. He stepped out onto the bank, his metal boots sinking into the mud. Water draining from his armor in gushes. He stood on the bank, looking about carnage.

  One man was left. A blood smear across the bank heading up to the dirt road led to the culprit. Rigor carefully followed the trail, his axe tight in both his hands.

  A man whose skin was as dark as the mud, was pulling himself away, hands digging into the dirt, nails ripping from his fingers, his leg lopped off at the knee, blood spilling out behind him.

  Mortis grabbed him by the throat, pulling him up as high as his bck-cd arms could reach. He took the axe to the man’s throat, ignoring the cries of mercy. Rigor pressed in and sliced him clean down to his groin. Blood spttered all over Rigor, disappearing again into his armor.

  The woman in the shadows of the tree watched the whole scene unfold before her eyes. Her fingers rubbed the ivory talisman furiously, almost bruising her fingers. This was more violence than she had seen in a lifetime. This man, or creature, whatever this armor-cd monster was, could finally end the curse of endless life. She needed him.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, thinking back of her mother’s words, “Courage is most needed most when you want it the least.” Her mother’s smile as she held her hand out to her, picking her up from the dirt and wiping the blood from her nose.

  She opened her eyes. Courage. “Hey!” Her hands trembled as she stepped from her hiding pce in the brush. She forced the words from her throat, “Ya missed one. I’m right ‘ere.”

  She slowly edged away, her knee-high boots scrapping against rigid bushes as she backed out of her hiding pce. Sweat matted her white shirt to her dark skin. She smirked. Just as she pnned, the killer thing was stomping towards her. He could not hide his bloodlust.

  The Death Knight marched forward with the young woman in his sights. The smell of fresh blood raging through him.

  Rigor’s metal boot stepped on a twig, a loud crack shot out as a rope tightened around his leg, ripping him upwards, turning the Death Knight upside down. He dangled from the tree limb above, swinging about in random directions.

  “Yes! Ha ha!” The woman shouted while smiling. She pulled a long knife from her belt, one of many items strapped to her. She whipped her dreads out of her face. A long scar stretched atop her forehead down to her chin, striking across her dark right eye; a red blemish streaking across her dark-skinned face. Her white blouse was rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into her charcoal-colored pants.

  “YOU,” She jabbed the knife at him, “are going to help me, ya?”

  Rigor’s white eyes bore into the woman’s own until the silence stretched on long enough for the rushing river to fill the void, and still, he said nothing.

  “I need ya help in finding mah mother. Mah vilge was attacked by some t’ugs in the middle of the night and dey stolen off with our women and children…dey did worse to the men. Dey are still there, waiting for someone to put them out of their misery…” She trailed off, her eyes scanning the horizon. “I tracked down these lowlifes, but ya took care of them before I could question them. Ya owe me big time. So, ya will help me, and I will let ya down out of ya snare.”

  Visions of her childhood bullies standing in front of her overpped the brute stuck in the trap. She swallowed again, her mouth dry as the sand. She blinked away her thoughts. Courage.

  “Answer, will ya?” She raised her eyebrow at him, waiting for an answer.

  He just swung about, holding to his axe close to this chest. Silence.

  She thrust her knife at him, “I said ya will help me and I will let ya down. Do ya agree to mah terms?”

  His silence spoke louder than the raging river. Something wasn’t right, he just stared at her.

  “Answer me, dammit!”

  Rigor finally came to a stop, his rope trap taut. His milky eyes stared at her. He rose the axe upwards as she flinched back, jumping a few feet, and he swung at his own leg, lopping it off at the knee. It sshed through his own armor with ease. He dropped with a heavy thud into the dirty brush, shaking the ground.

  The woman took a few steps back, “Mah god, what are ya?”

  Standing up, using his axe to stabilize himself, Rigor grabbed his amputated leg and shoved it back into its stump, twisting a few times, his flesh squishing together in wet smacks. Red tendrils sewed the flesh together, mending his leg back in once piece.

  It cracked into pce with his first step. He lifted his head, milky white eyes on target, and marched towards the woman.

  “Oh, shit.” Her knife trembled in her hands. Death was coming for her.

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