Thud. Thud. Thud.
Five pairs of boots hit the dusty road as the riders dismounted in unison. They moved with the synchronized menace of a pack of wolves that had cornered a wounded stag. They approached Zareth slow and steady.
The leader stepped forward and pulled back the collar of his high coat.
Zareth narrowed his eyes. The man's face was a topographical map of horrors. His skin was crusty and grey like dried mud, but what drew the eye were the protrusions. Sharp, chitinous spikes that resembled insect legs jutted from his chin and jawline.
'A Tumor?' Zareth wondered instinctively. 'No. The aura is different. There is no smell of Sarx.'
He observed the man closer. The spikes looked organic but grafted, or perhaps grown from a corrupted seed.
'Is he a victim of radiation? Or some vile experimentation?'
"Hey, old ma."
The leader's voice sounded like dry leaves scraping together. "That's a healthy-looking boy you have there. You don't mind if we take a look, do you?"
He smirked sinisterly and revealed teeth that were yellow and filed to points. Behind him, the other four men smiled and fanned out until they surrounded Zareth to cut off any escape routes.
"I knew this town was holding out on us," one of the men sneered and spat into the dirt.
"He ain't from here, idiot," another replied. "Look at his clothes. Look at the brat."
"Out of town?" The leader tilted his head. "How did he end up here? No one comes to this hellhole by accident."
"Well, it doesn't matter," the first man laughed. "This is our fortune. The Boss will be pleased if we bring that brat back. He might even upgrade us again."
"Upgrade?" Zareth muttered. The word felt heavy and cold in the context of their deformities.
He looked at the men and surmised the truth. These thugs were the reason the townsfolk lived in terror. They were the reason there were no children.
Zareth sighed and shifted the boy to his left arm. "I don't want any trouble. I just want to borrow a horse and leave."
He reached into his pocket and tossed the bag of silver coins at the leader.
Clink!
The leader caught the bag with unnatural reflexes. He loosened the drawstring and peered inside.
"Ooh," he whistled. He showed the contents to his men. "Real silver. Look at that shine."
The men were elated.
"Rich old geezer," one whispered. "I wonder what else he has on him?"
"Let's tear it from his corpse and find out."
They tensed and prepared to lunge.
"Hold," the leader commanded and raised a hand. He looked back at Zareth with a mocking glint in his eyes. "Since you are so generous, I am willing to let you go freely."
He pointed a jagged finger at the child. "Just hand over the boy."
Zareth's expression remained stony. "I refuse."
The atmosphere snapped. The leader's smile vanished.
"Have it your way," he growled and signalled the attack with a sharp nod. "Get him."
"Die, old man!"
The first thug lunged forward and threw a wild haymaker aimed at Zareth's jaw.
Whoosh!
Zareth didn't even blink. He simply sidestepped and hooked his foot behind the man's ankle.
Thud!
The attacker tripped and slammed face-first into the dirt.
"Hah! Look at him!"
"Eating dirt already?"
The man's friends mocked him mercilessly. His face flushed red with humiliation and rage. He shot up from the ground and dashed at Zareth again.
"Shut up! I'll kill him!"
He unleashed a flurry of punches.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Zareth dodged them all with minimal movement. He swayed like a leaf in the wind while he held the boy securely against his chest.
"It appears this old man has some moves," the leader observed dryly. He looked at the other three. "Stop watching and help him. All of you. At once."
"Right!"
The three remaining thugs charged.
Zareth saw them coming and decided to stop messing around. He waited for the first man, the one who had eaten dirt to overextend himself.
Zareth clenched his fist.
POW!
The punch connected squarely with the man's chest. The thug flew backward as if he had been kicked by a mule. He sailed through the air and crashed through Wenamor's wooden fence.
CRASH! SPLASH!
He landed in a metal wash basin and the water erupted outward. He did not get up.
"You bastard!"
The second and third men attacked together from opposite sides. Zareth pivoted. He kicked the second man in the knee and sent him crumbling to the ground with a howl of pain. In the same motion, he spun and backhanded the third man across the face.
Smack!
Teeth flew into the dust and the man spun dizzily before collapsing.
"Only two left," Zareth said calmly.
The fourth guy hesitated. He saw his comrades groaning on the ground and decided that fists were not enough.
Shing!
He unsheathed a rusty short sword and pointed it at Zareth.
"You're dead meat, grandpa! I'm gonna mince you!"
The boy in Zareth's arms saw the blade. His red eyes flashed and a low, guttural growl vibrated in his throat.
"Easy. They can't hurt me." Zareth whispered.
"We'll see about that!"
The man swung the sword in a vicious arc.
Slash!
Zareth stepped inside the guard. He dodged the steel by an inch. He drove his knee into the man's gut.
"Oof!"
The man doubled over. Zareth brought his elbow down hard on the exposed nape of the man's neck.
The swordsman hit the ground and lay still.
Zareth stood over the unconscious bodies and adjusted his coat. He looked toward the fence where Wenamor and a few other villagers were peeking out.
"Did you see that?" Wenamor whispered. "He took them all down."
"He defeated four of Beltrom's men so easily!"
Hope began to creep into their voices and light up their fearful faces. Perhaps this stranger was their salvation. But then their eyes shifted to the leader who still stood by the horses. The hope withered instantly.
The leader, Beltrom, started clapping.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
"Impressive. Truly impressive. You took care of my foolish minions without breaking a sweat."
"Beltrom, sir! Let me at him!" the guy in the wash basin groaned but he couldn't stand up.
Beltrom ignored him. He kept his eyes on Zareth and the clapping rhythm didn't change. But his arms did.
"However," Beltrom smiled, "the game ends here."
Crack... Squelch!
A sickening sound echoed through the silent street. Beltrom's sleeves tore open as his arms began to elongate and twist. The skin split and peeled away to reveal hard, green chitin underneath. His fingers fused and lengthened into massive, serrated scythes.
"KYAAAA!"
The villagers shrieked and scrambled away in terror at the hideous sight.
"What in God's name..." Zareth muttered.
Beltrom slashed the air with his new limbs.
SWOOSH!
The gust of wind created by the swing kicked up dust ten feet away.
Zareth stared at the monstrosity before him. It wasn't a Tumor. It didn't have the chaotic, fleshy mutation of Sarx. This was precise. Surgical.
"What are you?" Zareth asked.
Beltrom crossed his mantis blades and licked his lips. "I am the future, old man."