“Ha ha ha!” Copperhead cackled aloud, his henchmen nearby standing at the sudden boisterous noise. He bent over and wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. He finally settled down, taking a few deep breaths. He casually glanced at Alaz. She was stone-faced serious. “Wait, you’re not lying, are you?” He raised an eyebrow in interest, not knowing if the woman was lying to him or not.

  He was still curious though, especially how the woman knew about Death Knights. He wanted more information on this new curioso that walked into his lap. The Bone Doctor would pay him handsomely for something like a Death Knight.

  “I have him waiting nearby, ready for an easy ambush, that is, if ya have what I want.” Alazandrae held her ground, not giving up her position on top of this deal. She felt bad giving up the man, he had killed many nasty men on his way here, making the world a little better for the normal folk around these parts, but he was still a murderer.

  “How do I know you’re not full of shit?” Copperhead shifted about nervously now. If he could get his hands on the Death Knight, he could trade him off to the bone Doctor for a permanent place at his side. This whole valley could be his forever. His very own kingdom to last until the end of times. All the earthly pleasures he could enjoy for all time. The idea was consuming him. It was too much to dismiss on a whim.

  “Go look yourself. Unless ya too afraid?” She turned to leave, “I can always take him somewhere else. You know, his black armor, filled with skulls, he’s hard not to miss. I especially like his big, black axe. It’s quite effective at killing. Maybe the Bone Doctor would give me what I want?”

  “No!’ Copperhead grabbed her shoulder, clearing his throat, “I mean, no, it sounds like we got a deal.” He twitched nervously. He never fought a Death Knight before. From Alaz’s words, he had already been killing in these parts. He would be a dangerous foe indeed. He would need all hands-on deck for this job.

  He snapped and his goons joined him by his side, saluting their leader, straightening their grey uniforms.

  “We got ourselves a Death Knight, boys.”

  They gasped, one opened his mouth, “I thought those were just ghost stories.”

  Copperhead grinned, fear was a powerful motivator, more than greed, “They are very much real, men, but being real means that they don’t live forever, and they bleed just like a mortal does. Get your nets and man-catchers, arm up with axes, round up your men. Once Zeek gets here with his men, Alaz here will take us down to where she’s keeping him. If he’s there, then we got a deal.” He spat in his scaly hand and stretched it out for her to take.

  She hesitantly reached out, not sure if this was a deal she should make. She glanced down at the slaves. The girl was finally sold to the old crusty man. What fate would await her? And what would happen to her mother?

  Neither of them could save each other. Alaz was still free. She had the chance to reunite with her mother and escape to freedom somewhere else in this god-forsaken world.

  “Deal.” She went to shake his hand, but froze as a deathly scream echoed out into the city under the giant.

  Every head froze and turned to the entrance beneath the giant’s head. Standing there was a large man in black armor, his axe sticking into the head of a henchman. He ripped the axe out and slammed it against one of the scaffoldings at the giant’s arm. The shoddy wooden structure burst under the weight, toppling over. The men aboard yelled for help as they fell, crashing down below, bones breaking, legs shattering, paralyzing their bodies.

  Rigor Mortis grabbed a chunk of wood and ripped it from the wrecked scaffold. He marched up to one body and slammed the chunk deep into the man’s chest, ripping out the wood and continuing to the others left lying around, unable to move, ending each one with a precise strike to the chest, crushing their hearts, and ending their lives.

  “Holy fucking shit! You weren’t lying. He’s real…” Copperhead paced back and forth, muttering to himself. He wanted this man alive. The Bone Doctor would reward him handsomely for this prize, but the Death Knight was here now, causing destruction. They lost their surprise attack and now were on the defense. He needed to act fast or things would end poorly for him.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Copperhead grabbed the woman in front of him, “And you brought his ass here! What the fuck, woman!” Copper head pushed Alaz away, yelling for his goons, “Capture that thing alive! We took down a giant, we can take down a Death Knight! A promotion and months’ worth of pay to whomever takes him out! Deo vindice!”

  His goons let loose whoops and hog calls, which echoed out across the town. Promise of gold and glory were too strong to pass up. The goons stormed down the stairs, shouting to underlings to organize, more coming in from across the catwalk by the white sheet covered contraption. Copperhead stormed over to the mysterious thing, “Get me the magazines! We’re taking this thing out, hard and fast!”

  Alazandrae watched as everyone left; she now stood alone, unguarded on the catwalk. She glanced down at the slaves, huddling down where they could, fear spread across all their faces. They were stuck to the wall by the chains around their necks while everyone else ran for their lives. She looked over to Copperhead grabbing ahold of the sheet, all his attention on the thing in front of him. This was her chance.

  She stormed down the stairs, her heart pounding in her chest. This was her chance to find out if those slaves were from her village. If so, Copperhead would have hell to pay. She would get her vengeance.

  …

  Rigor stood beneath the giant’s head, ripping a chunk of wood from a man’s chest; Blood misted out into the air. Several more men were charging him now, each one ready for a fight. One held a net, the others with swords to maim him. Wasting no time, he chucked the wood at the man with the net, crashing it into his face. The man twisted in pain, dropped his net, and grabbed ahold of his bloody face, moaning in agony.

  One man charged him, his sword glancing off his black armor. Rigor headbutted him, staggering back the goon before sweeping his axe at the man’s legs, cutting them clean off. The man yelled as he dropped down to the dirt, blood oozing from his stump legs.

  The second goon charged forward, trying to stab into the gap in Rigor’s armpit, where the armor was weak. Rigor sidestepped with incredible speed, grabbing the man by the throat and lifting him into the air with ease. His gauntlet was sinking into the man’s neck. The goon dropped his sword and held Rigor’s hand with both arms, gagging as he began to choke. His legs kicked out in feeble defiance.

  Rigor’s attention was pulled upward to the giant’s head. The thing stared down at him with dry, crusted lips, mouthing words to him. Even though no sound was made, he knew what the creature was asking for. Rigor glanced down to the man and finished him with a clean crush to his throat. The man flailed around like fresh caught fish, spasming in Rigor’s hand until he dangled lifeless.

  Rigor could smell the rancid, horrid stench of life long past due. It was expired and soiled and needed to be dealt with to bring health back to the land. These defilers of life would meet the end they deserved.

  Above on the catwalk, Copperhead ripped the white sheet off the contraption. A long metal cylinder, made from small tubes stood on two large metal wheels. A goon came rushing over with a large chest, filled with magazines. He slapped a fresh magazine in Copperhead’s hand, loaded to the brim with loaded cartridges. Copperhead slammed the magazine home, locking it into place, letting loose a small, satisfied sigh.

  He aimed down the sights at the Death Knight, ready to fill him full of holes, “Gotcha, you sumabitch.” He held tight with one hand, using the other to crank the lever. The small tubes began to spin faster and faster until fire erupted from the barrels, spraying bullets across Giantown.

  Dirt erupted all around Rigor now. The machine was rapidly spraying out dozens of bullets. He firmly held the body in front of him. Blood misted out in a dozen little volcanoes as the bullets hit home. Some sparked off the sides of his metal armor. He side-stepped, the hail of lead flying at him from above on the catwalk, making sure the body held as a shield.

  Bullets ripped into the rest of the guards at the entrance as they ran for their lives under the hail of gunfire.

  Nearby, a building called to him. Shelter, safety. Rigor picked up his pace and ran towards the building holding the man aloft as more bullets ripped through the body.

  Copperhead cranked until the gun ran dry. “Another magazine! Make it quick, we got his ass on the run! Ha, ha! You ain’t so tough, Death Knight! Just another ratbag with a chip on his shoulder. Let’s gun him down, boys!” A goon handed him another magazine and Copperhead slammed it home, cranking up again, spraying bullets down his firing range with deranged joy.

  Bullets erupted again around Rigor, cutting into his meat shield. Some slipped through, hitting hard into his armor. He peeked out to see where the fire was coming from when a bullet sparked off his helmet, jerking back his head.

  He snorted. No more games. He ran and jumped through the glass window on the front of the building, shattering the glass, slamming down hard on his two feet, splintering the wooden floorboards beneath him.

  “Shit.” Copperhead cursed to himself as he lost sight of the Death Knight. Sweat beaded down his enlarged head. If he couldn’t stop this thing, then everything he worked hard for would be swallowed up by death. His kingdom, no, his empire would crumble in a single day, falling harder than Rome. He gulped hard. All he could do is keep firing. Keep cranking the wheel and praying that the bullets would do their job. He cranked it back up again, aiming for the saloon. He would use every bullet he had stashed away to end this death-fucker.

  Rigor looked up from the hail of broken glass and saw a saloon filled with men sitting at the tables, dressed in grey, swords in their hands.

  Rigor took a deep breath in. That tainted smell. It was time to end it all.