"Kogan!" Kael roared.
Too late.
The farmer moved. He exploded from a standstill. He dropped low, spinning under Kogan's reach, and slammed his shoulder into the giant's center of gravity.
Kogan, a man who could wrestle a bear, was lifted off his feet. He hit the snow hard, air driven from his lungs.
Griggs stepped in, shield raised, shouting a warning.
The farmer punched.
A bare, bloody fist hammered into the center of the iron shield.
DONG!—CRACK!
Two sounds rang out at once. The temple-bell clang of metal warping, and the sharp, wet crunch of bone shattering inside his hand.
A deep, fist-sized dent appeared in the iron. Griggs cried out as the impact jarred his arm to the bone, sending him stumbling back, defense broken.
The farmer's knuckles were ruined, fingers bent at wrong angles, but he moved as if the hand still worked.
Jarek had the bow up. He drew.
The farmer was already there. He moved on all fours like a spider, scrambling over the snow. He snatched the bow—and Jarek's arm—in one bloody grip and heaved.
Jarek was ragdolled, thrown five meters into a pine tree with a bone-shaking thud. The bow spun through the air and landed in the snow, forgotten.
"Now!" Kael shouted.
He and Bren lunged.
Kael's longsword flashed, aiming for a disabling thrust to the leg. Bren's dagger went for the neck.
The farmer stepped into the blade.
Schluk.
The steel pierced his side, sliding between ribs. His face remained blank. His muscles clamped down on the blade, trapping it.
Kael felt the resistance. He released the hilt and stepped back.
At the same moment, the farmer's left hand—still trailing the rope—snapped up. He caught Bren's dagger. The blade itself, edge cutting deep into his palm.
Blood sprayed from his grip, but his fingers held firm.
His right foot lashed out.
THUD.
The kick slammed into Bren's stomach, lifting him off his feet. Bren flew backward, gasping, hitting the snow hard three meters away.
The farmer held the stolen dagger, blood dripping from his fist. He looked at Kael, that empty smile widening.
Silas was moving in from the blind spot, his own knives drawn.
The farmer flicked his left wrist. The trailing hemp rope lashed out like a whip. The heavy knot at the end curled around Silas's neck.
"Die!" Kogan roared.
The former Centurion had recovered. He charged, his massive warhammer raised high. It came down with a brutal howl, air screaming as the head tore through it.
The farmer yanked the rope.
He pulled Silas toward him, off-balance, and kicked off the ground at the same time.
He spun through the air, a blur of rags and blood, hauling Silas beneath him as he vaulted over, twisting violently to redirect his momentum.
As Silas was dragged beneath him, the blade flashed—SCHLK—as steel buried itself into the back of Silas's left shoulder.
Kogan's hammer came down. Seeing Silas in the killing line, he forced his weight sideways, shoving the fall of the blow off course as it committed.
The hammerhead grazed Silas's hip, tearing fabric and drawing blood.
Silas cried out and tumbled across the snow.
The farmer hit the ground hard and stayed upright.
For a heartbeat, the three of them held—Silas down to the right, Kogan close on the left.
The farmer's hand went to his side. His fingers closed around the hilt buried there.
"Fun," he whispered, voice shaking with excitement. "This is fun."
His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and wide, the grin on his face trembling as if his whole body couldn't contain it.
His ruined right hand closed on the hilt—three fingers only, the dead middle finger curled uselessly as he tore the blade from his side.
Then he stepped back, clearing space.
Kogan was already facing him.
They stood opposite each other now.
Kogan shifted his weight, hammer rising.
The farmer grinned, blood running dark from the wound in his side. His grip tightened on Kael's sword, still slick with blood.
Then something cold crawled up his spine.
Instinct.
He twisted around.
Two black circles stared back at him—sawed-off barrels, jagged and brutal.
They didn't look like eyes. They didn't look like any weapon he knew.
Three meters to his left, Kael stood motionless, holding a weapon of wood and darkened steel.
The farmer frowned. Confusion flickered across his face.
BOOM.
The silence of the forest was shattered by thunder.
Smoke drifted from the barrels, curling in the cold air.
The farmer staggered.
He took two unsteady steps back, as if trying to understand what had just happened, and collapsed into the snow.
Blood poured from his chest in dark, uneven bursts. Each breath dragged it out of him, bubbling, wet. The white ground beneath him turned black-red, spreading fast.
Kael moved. He crossed the distance without haste and stopped in front of the dying man.
"Do you remember me now?" he asked.
The farmer tried to answer.
All that came out was blood. He coughed, spat, choked—lungs ruined, breath broken before it could form words.
Kael lowered the gun.
He stepped in, reached down, and took his sword back from the farmer's slackening grip.
Then he drove it straight through the man's chest.
The blade punched through the heart.
The body jerked once, a sharp breath escaping—then went still as blood spilled dark and fast into the snow.
Aether + 5
[Aether: 17.5]
Only then did Kael look away.
The gun no longer had the length it once did. The barrels were cut short, the stock gone—compact enough now.
He slid it back into the lining beneath his armor, fitting it tight against his side.
Then he wiped the sword once, brisk and practiced, and returned it to the scabbard at his waist.
Only after that did his hand leave the hilt.
"Check Silas," Kael said, his voice ringing in the quiet. "Now."
---
[Meanwhile]
A different fire burned low, sheltered from the wind.
"You're certain?" one voice asked. Calm. Measured.
"He's under Valen now," another replied, standing in the shadows. "Directly."
A brief pause.
"Hm," the first said, tapping a gloved finger on his knee. "That makes things… inconvenient."
Silence followed. The fire cracked once.
"Do we proceed?"
"Yes," came the answer. "But carefully."