The ironbound door groaned on its hinges as Harm pushed it open. It hadn’t been locked, so the men had never expected Harm to escape his bindings. Torchlight replaced lantern light along the corridor walls, flickering from the draft caused by the doorway’s movement. The corridor led some distance before another door. Harm proceeded down the corridor; there was a door on his left ahead, and he could hear no sound nor see light from within where the door stood open. Peering inside, Harm could see crates stacked and sacks piled up. Some stores, but nothing he could see that would help him.
He continued until he reached the door. It opened towards him, and he cautiously pulled it until a set of steps led upwards. Although the stairs were in darkness, the top opened into a room. A shadow was cast on the stairs and ceiling as someone passed the entrance. Harm pushed against the wall, trying to shrink in case they looked down. They didn’t as Harm heard another door open and then close. He edged up the stairs, reaching the top. It opened into a room with three more doors leading from it. All were closed. He stopped listening intently. There was noise to the left, that was the way the shadow had passed, and Harm turned approaching the door.
There were no hinges on this side, so the door must open inwards. The actions that Harm now followed were coming back to him. This was no different from any other dungeon or building he had cleared in his past. His muscles burned, and the short sword felt heavy in his grip, but he had fuel to his fire, and revenge was all he could consider. He carefully opened the door and peeked inside. A man stood with his back to him. He was reaching up to a shelf. The room wasn’t huge and had no other exit, and Harm could see no others. Carefully, he pushed the door open before crossing the short distance to the man. The man was too late to realise Harm was there as he sensed something behind him. Harm’s short sword punctured his back, and his dagger sunk into his neck. Blood flowed freely from the man’s neck, his half-turned head, eyes wide in shock, gurgling escaping his ruined throat. Harm held him pinned as he watched the light fade from his eyes.
One! The voice in his mind said as the man fell to the floor. Looking at the man, who wore plain clothes, Harm removed the belt and scabbard containing a long sword from around the man’s waist, fitting them around his own. He kept hold of the short sword and dagger. They were better for fighting indoors, although his skill with a long sword exceeded that of a short sword.
Find them, kill them! His demon spoke. It sounded pleased, as though happy with his work so far.
He retraced his steps, closing the door behind him as he moved to the next. This door opened outward, and he listened. He couldn’t hear anything, and he was about to enter when a voice called from the other direction, the furthest door. He couldn’t hear what was said but moved quickly across the room, standing to the side. The door opened, and a man walked in. He was broad and muscular, and across his shoulder, his neck was thick and taught with muscle. On his shoulder, he carried a sack. His eyes opened in surprise when he saw Harm step toward him as he closed the door.
He opened his mouth to shout, and Harm thrust the blade of the short sword straight into the opening. The width of the blade broadened his smile as it erupted from the rear of his skull. It was a sickening sight. Blood spilt down the blade, dripping onto Harm. He didn’t care as electricity coursed through him.
Two! His inner voice called as the man crumpled, his spinal cord severed by the sword’s blade. The man wore a leather jacket, and Harm placed the short sword down as he pulled it from the corpse before putting it on. It was too large for him; the man was much broader than Harm currently was. His body still had not recovered fully from its cycle of abuse.
Harm had seen at least six in his cell. So, there were at least four more. He listened at the door again before he opened it inwards, peeking inside. This room was much larger. It looked like a warehouse. A stack of crates in front of him obscured his view, with high beams above holding up the roof of the building. The room was well lit, with the shadows of the crates providing pockets of darkness. Harm closed the door and moved inside. The crates were like a maze as he weaved through them, not knowing how large the area was. He could hear voices, the sound of horses and movement ahead.
“Right then. Once it’s unloaded, we will go and revisit our guest,” Dasir said. Harm was standing in the shadows of the crates as he peered into the warehouse. A large wagon with horses stood just inside the warehouse doors, which were open to the night.
“I am looking forward to my turn,” a weaselly man said.
“Soon, Jojo. You have earned your right after dealing with that meddlesome trader,” Dasir replied.
The man smiled wickedly as he helped another lift a crate from the wagon.
“Then it’s my turn, boss,” the melodic-voiced man said. Actually, Harm didn’t even think he was a man. His features weren’t human- the pointed ears, the purple-toned skin- he was a dark elf. Harm had never seen a dark elf in the territory before.
Dasir chuckled at the elf’s comment.
“Where has that lazy bastard Fitwell gone?” Dasir said, looking around the warehouse.
“He went to the outhouse,” Jojo replied.
“He does it every time,” the dark elf replied.
“Uncle?” a young voice called from the entrance.
Dasir looked over. “What are you doing here? Does your mother know you are here?” he frowned.
“Do you have the bastard?” the boy asked excitedly.
“Yeah, we have him. He is below.”
“Can I see him?”
Dasir smiled at his nephew. “He needs to soften him up some first.”
“Please, uncle. I want to see the bastard, maybe piss on him? Like the bastard made me do to myself.”
That got a laugh from Dasir’s men. Dasir growled at the men, who went silent.
“Go have a look, but don’t you dare do anything. Your mother will have my hide otherwise.”
The smile on the boy’s face was gleeful as he jogged across the warehouse to where Harm stood in the shadows.
The poisonous little fuck. Harm thought as he backed further into the crates.
He is only a boy, not that much older than Mar had been. His mind argued.
And where is Mar now? Is he not dead because of this boy? He deserves to die. He caused all of this.
Harm could hear the boy coming. He started to whistle as he approached.
Just knock him out; don’t kill him.
Has he not reached the coming of age now? Is he not a man?
Harm’s inner demons continued to argue as the boy neared. Harm was standing behind a crate that stuck out into the channel that led to the door.
THEY ALL MUST DIE. His demon screamed as the boy appeared, jogging to where he hid.
Harm felt nothing as the short sword swung for the boy’s throat; the power behind the strike, supported by the boy’s movement, decapitated him. The startled look on the boy’s face bore into Harm as he watched his head come to rest. His body continued for two more steps before it realised it was no longer receiving instructions. It fell to the floor, a jet of blood squirting from the neck stump as the boy’s heart beat its last.
The boy stared at Harm from where his head now rested, its haunted eyes boring into his soul. Harm didn’t care. His family had died all because of this boy, who now lay dead at his feet. There was no feeling of guilt, and Harm smiled.
Three!
Harm was just about to turn from the boy’s body when he saw it. He recognised the hilt; it called to him. Harm bent and pulled the long sword from its sheath. He almost cried with glee. Florence. He had Florence back. Dasir, the bastard, had given Florence to his nephew; he wondered if he knew that it had been Harm’s. Perhaps, perhaps not, it didn’t matter; he had his sword back, and that was all that mattered. He moved the short word back to his inventory.
The warehouse was open outside the crates, and with Florence once again in his grip, his confidence had soared, not just soared, but screamed at him.
Kill them. Kill them now.
Harm moved quickly back through the crates. Dasir had moved to the far side of the warehouse; he was the furthest away. The two by the wagon were closer. The dark elf had climbed into the rear, moving sacks nearer the back. Jojo lifted sacks down and placed them on a sack truck to ease their movement before wheeling it across the warehouse to where a large pile stood.
The dark elf jumped down, hands on hips and arched his back stretching off. His back was to Harm as he attacked.
The cry was not human; it sounded more like an animal or beast as Harm crossed the distance to the dark elf. Dasir and Jojo both turned in shock to see the charging man. His long sword was held at shoulder height as he charged, gripped with both hands. The dark elf cried in surprise as he fumbled, calling a dagger to his grip, which he launched towards Harm. The throw was off, the shock of seeing the blood-soaked form of Harm, his tortured face, and cry of anger distracting him.
Harm swung Florence, glee coursing through his veins, the blade singing as it cut through the air, vying for blood. The strike was clean, the dark elf’s arm being severed just below the shoulder. Its eyes wide in fear, it screamed in agony as it grabbed for the stump. Harm gave no mercy, swinging the blade upwards and across in a second movement, slicing its torso open. The flimsy material protected nothing and was unable to stop the blade’s potency. Again, Florence sang.
Four!
As the dark elf fell dead. Harm turned. Jojo had been the first to react and ran towards him, now equipped with a long sword. He cried as he swung at Harm. Harm parried the blow; the man could use a sword but didn’t appear very skilled. His strike didn’t have the power or precision of a trained fighter.
As the blade passed Harm, he stepped in, instinct took over, and he triggered his Bash skill, shouldering the charging form of Jojo in the chest. Harm felt the impact, forgetting in the moment that he was no longer the size he had been, and his shoulder crunched angrily from the impact. He grimaced, but it had thankfully done its purpose and knocked the wind from Jojo. He staggered a pace backward, gripping his chest with his free hand. As Harm released his left grip from Florence, his left shoulder screamed in pain as he tried to use Florence with both hands.
“Fuck,” he cursed, as he lunged at Jojo. Jojo swung his blade across him defensively, only just parrying Harm’s blow. The bravado of Jojo’s initial charge turned to uncertainty at the ease with which the man blocked his attack. Harm grimaced as the pain in his shoulder flared, each movement sending jarring electrical pulses down his arm, even if he was not holding the weapon.
“BASTARD,” Dasir screamed as he neared.
Harm only just moved in time as a warhammer swung towards him. He stepped sideways, and the draft from the hammer’s face fell against his injured cheek.
Kill them! His demon screamed.
Harm grunted as he swung his sword back at Jojo. The man was still attempting to regain his balance after the parry. Florence cleaved into the Jojo, cutting deeply into the man’s thigh. He screamed in pain, staggering away from Harm. His free hand grabbed at the wound that blood now poured from. Harm paid him no heed as he turned to face Dasir, and the warhammer sped towards him. A malevolent look of hatred was on the man’s face.
Harm flicked Florence up defensively. The warhammer caught on the blade. Harm had been working with adrenaline, his hands still damaged from his capture and the impact of the blow, with his weakened grip tore the sword free. Florence clattered to the warehouse floor as Harm stepped back away from Dasir. His breathing was heavy, his body felt broken, but he wouldn’t give in. This man had killed his Dahlia, his Mar and his Yon.
Dasir grinned evilly, seeing the sword leave Harm’s grip, and stepped in, readying the next blow, seeing him unarmed.
Harm screamed, even more guttural than his first charge, a dagger appearing in his palm, and he flung himself at Dasir. The movement took Dasir by surprise, not expecting Harm to launch at him, and in that fleeting moment as the blade approached him, Harm saw the flicker of fear in his eyes. Harm crashed into the man, the blade piercing the leather jacket that Dasir wore—buried to the hilt. Harm’s momentum toppled them over as they crashed to the ground. Gasping, Harm rolled off Dasir. The man was still alive, blood forming at his mouth, where the blade had punctured his lung. Dasir’s eyes were wide now, uncertainty, fear and disbelief playing over their surface.
Harm withdrew the blade from the man’s chest, raising his arm in the air.
“What are you?” Dasir spluttered as his last words left his mouth and Harm’s dagger tore into his throat, ending his life.
Five! His demon sang.
No time to lie there more to do. Its voice was cheerful and happy.
Harm grunted and groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. Jojo was paling; his entire right leg was red below where Florence had struck. He held both hands over the wound now, the long sword forgotten, trying to stem the flow of blood.
Jojo looked at the bloodied beast in front of him, its face broken and twisted, its body damaged, and its one good eye stared at him with red malice, where capillaries had exploded. Fear gripped him as the man now moved toward him.
“Please, no,” Jojo pleaded, lifting one hand briefly from his wound before clamping it back down.
That was when Harm heard the twang of a crossbow, and the next thing he knew, the bolt struck him in his injured shoulder. He growled in pain, spinning from the impact. Taken off guard, he staggered, only just keeping his footing. He glanced at the bolt sticking out of his shoulder. He didn’t care as he continued at Jojo. Harm spotted the man who had fired the bolt standing by the warehouse door. It had to be Fitwell, the one who had gone to the outhouse.
Harm struck Jojo as he got in range. Jojo screamed as the blade cut into the arm he had raised to block the blow. Harm slashed again, Jojo again screaming in pain as the blade again tore into his flesh, stripping his skin from his arm as though Harm was filleting a fish. The removed flesh stuck to the blade. Harm flicked the blade, sending the skin and sinew to the warehouse floor as Jojo collapsed to his knees, the blood loss from his leg too much. Harm struck again, the blade catching the man on the side of his face, cutting it deeply, and his head thrown sideways. Harm watched the man’s eyes roll as he fell backward, either unconscious or dead; Harm didn’t care. He still had one more target he was aware of.
The clanking of a heavy crossbow being rewound filled the almost silent warehouse, the grunts of effort reaching Harm’s ears as the man Fitwell wound the loading mechanism, glancing between Harm and his crossbow. He was thirty feet from Harm. The distance wasn’t great. Harm launched the dagger at him. Fitwell saw it coming and moved, spinning out of the dagger’s path.
Harm moved, his vigour renewed, his anger fuelled, adrenaline flooding his body, moving without his control. The short sword appeared in his hand as he charged. Fitwell dropped the bolt into the tray and lifted the crossbow. Time slowed as Harm screamed, charging at the man. As the man lifted the crossbow, Harm pulled his arm back, holding the short sword. He wouldn’t reach him in time to strike him before the man could fire, and he wouldn’t miss at this range, but neither could Harm as he flung the short sword with all his strength as the distance between them fell away. The sword left his hand, spinning end over end, and Fitwell’s eyes went wide as he saw it. He pulled the crossbow trigger. The bolt was low; it wasn’t a killing blow, but it still struck Harm in his leg, taking it out from under him.
As Harm fell forward to the floor, the short sword struck the man in his face. It wasn’t the point first as Harm had aimed for, but its hilt. The impact sent the man crashing backwards, his skull concave under its impact.
Six! His demon sang.
Harm collapsed to the floor, only just preventing his face from hitting the ground. He rolled onto his side, gasping for air. He lifted his head, glancing over at the still form of Jojo. He had to check, so he crawled towards him. Reaching the still form, he could hear his laboured breathing. Harm reached to his belt where the other long sword still hung. Painfully, he drew it from its sheath before he placed the blade on his throat and, leaning over the man, pushed down as it cut into and crushed his throat.
Seven! Sheer pleasure filled his mind.
