“What a lovely day for a stroll, eh, Cleet?” The man tugged on the leash, pulling the woman forwards with a harsh jerk. He licked his dry, crusty lips, shading his face from the sun with his tanned, leathery hand. The sun beamed down as a slight breeze stirred the air. His patchy bck hair, coated in grease, shining in the sun, jostled in the wind. The two men walked by the riverbank, enjoying the sound of trickling water and the slight cool air the river had to offer.

  She stumbled about before catching her bance. Pain seared in her barren feet, nothing to protect her from the rocks and thorns that peppered the riverside. Bloody tracks were left behind her with each step. Her eyes burned into the back of the man’s head, hoping that something terrible would befall him before he inflicted worse on her.

  “What a lovely day for a good fucking, eh, Clive?” Cleet grinned from ear to ear as he took a sideways gnce back at the girl they had just purchased for a steal. His beard was brown and patchy, thinned on his cheeks. Skin was burnt and scarred with pockmarks. He spat in his hand and greased his hair back, “Best buy of my whole life.” He pulled a fsk from his pocket, pressing the fsk to his dry lips, he took a deep swig, handing it over to Clive.

  Clive took the fsk, “After that vilge we hit, money will be flowing for months. Nothing but booze, beef, and bareback fucking. Cheers!” He rose the fsk and took a swig. He coughed a bit and began ughing. Cleet joined him and the two giggled as they passed the fsk back and forth until it was dry.

  Their feet trampled down some wildflowers and weeds until they came to a simple grassy knoll by the river, shaded by a Cyprus tree.

  “This as good a pce as any.” Clive took the leash and tied it off to the tree, tugging it a few times for good measure. Getting a good stretch in with his arms held high, “Ah, okay now deary, this is the part where you strip down and give us a show.” He plopped down in the grass, pulling off his boots. “We spent damn good money on you, and now yous gonna give us a damn good time, okay missy?”

  Cleet leaned up against the tree, spitting into the brush, “We gonna have sex with you over and over and over again, an’ hopefully we get a whole heaping lot of chillin to carry on our legacy, he he.” Cleet chuckled as he undid his belt, “Now, start strippin’, missy.”

  She gnced between them, sweat beading down her forehead. Heat mirage hovered above the river. Fear struck her heart. These two disgusting men were about to have their way with her. She could just let them have their way, or she could try and run. She felt the colr around her neck tied to the tree. There wasn’t much she could do now. They were out in the sticks, nowhere, nobody around to save her.

  She did the one thing she could, she screamed.

  “Heeeeeeelp!” She shrieked before a fist cracked against her jaw. She tumbled to the grass, jerking back as the colr held her to the tree. She jerked back, choking from the colr. Blood trickled down her white skin, onto her tattered clothes.

  Cleet stood over her, gring at her over his nose, “Maybe we should cut her tongue out, Clive, we don’t need no woman talking now, do we?”

  Clive ripped his pants off, “No we don’t, Cleet. We just need a woman who can cook, clean, and service our manhood.” He stood and grabbed a knife, “Now, hold her down, nice and neat like, Cleet, we gonna make ourselves a mute.”

  She screamed again, tugging at her bounds. Cleet jumped on her, ripping away her shirt, exposing her breasts. She squirmed away, trying to free herself. She kicked Cleet off her and stood, running around the tree before the leash yanked her back. She spit and coughed from choking.

  Both Cleet and Clive licked their chapped lips, their eyes gazing at her tits with nothing but lust. Pleasurable thoughts raced through their minds as they closed the gap on her.

  She screamed one st time, hoping someone would hear her cries.

  Her scream was cut short. Her head tumbled through the air, nding in the river nearby. Her face still frozen in time, her mouth open, and her eyes wide as water rushed over them. Her body fell with a hard thump, the colr slipped off the bloody nub and dangled by the tree.

  The two men looked at each other in surprise, turning back to the thing that had just invaded their camp.

  A rge, bck-metal cd man stood before them, brandishing a vicious bck axe. His chest heaved up and down with each breath. His nostrils filling with the scent of blood and the odor of death. He was done waiting. Death needed its fill.

  Before the men could react, Rigor rushed forward, sshing his axe across Clive’s belly, cutting deep and hard. Clive’s guts spilled out his massive belly wound. His drunken stupor clouded his mind, taking him too long to process what had just happened. Rigor raised the haft of his axe and smashed it into his face, crushing through the bone and deep into his skull.

  “Fuck!” Cleet yelled as he turned and ran, stumbling through the wildflowers, pissing himself as he ran. “Copperhead! Copperhead! We got a fucking problem!” He screamed as he ran, but no one was around to hear him.

  Rigor Mortis ripped the axe from Clive’s face, brains spilling from the cavity. He stormed through the brush after Cleet, trampling every pnt in his path. He stepped out onto the dirt road, Clive just twenty feet ahead and gaining more ground.

  The Death Knight held his axe high over his head, lowering it behind his back. He then bent forward, throwing the axe with all his strength. The axe soared through the air, whooshing with each revolution.

  Clive heard a strange sound getting closer and closer. Woosh, whoosh, whoosh. “What the fuck?” He stammered out just before something smmed into this back, knocking him face first into the dirt.

  A searing pain burned through his back. The axe stuck out of him, lodged in his spine. He raised his head, dirt caked to his bloody face. His legs refused to move. He stretched out his arm, reaching for Giantown. “Copperhead.” He wheezed out. He let out a sharp grunt as the axe was ripped from his back.

  Rigor stood above him, looking at his arm, and following it up the dirt road in the direction of Giantown. He rose his foot and stamped down on Cleet’s head, crushing it into a pulp.

  Death had not yet come to this nd, but soon, things wrongs would be rightened. Necroth guided his hand. Blood would run in Giantown.

  He strode off down the road, leaving one red footprint with each stride forward, heading to Giantown.

  No more waiting.

  It was time for death.

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