Despite his best efforts, William appeared to be stuck in place - unable to do anything other than watch as uncountable figures breached the edge of the forest, some heading straight toward him. His heart began to pound in his chest, desperately trying to break free and make a run for it, as obvious dim lights began to make themselves known within the deeper depths of the forest. Dark, amorphous blobs started to coalesce into unmistakable silhouettes of people.
His mind was screaming, and it seemed to eventually win over whatever useless instinct had locked him in place. He turned frantically, attempting to run towards the encampment, but in his haste forgot the conditions in which he found himself. He fell into the water, caught by the current, and panicked. He tried desperately to right himself. The murky depths strangled his scream before any soul could hear it, but he managed to get himself to his knees as he wretched and coughed violently, clearing the liquid from his lungs.
As he finished coughing he tried once more to scream, to alert the camp, but it came out too quiet. He tried again, more successfully, but it seemed only to attract the wrong kind of attention. Two of the figures - now closer than before - had heard him, out in the darkness, and began their cautious walk towards him. William could barely hear the splashes their boots made in the water over the screaming in his head and the pounding in his chest.
He let out one more distraught stream towards the camp. “Attack!”
No response came from his allies, but one came from the enemy. William heard the distinctive sound of an unsheathing blade. He reached down for his daggers, and span around to face his foe. His heart sank as he saw not one, but two armed men. Not like this, not like this, not like this-
His thoughts were hardly coherent, nothing but heart-rending pleas for help or outright dismissals of his situation. His eyes darted in every direction, trying to piece together the situation, but he couldn’t keep his thoughts on track enough to decide what to do.
The water level seemed to be rising, and the current seemed to be getting stronger.
A shout rang out: Reynard, it seemed, had reached far enough in his own patrol to notice the attack, making as much noise as he possibly could as he bolted toward the encampment. William hoped it would be enough to prevent a slaughter, and that help would come for him.
The two men who’d noticed William continued their guarded approach. One of them was almost within striking distance of him now, though the other was lagging behind.
William felt as though all the training in the world could not have prepared him for this moment: outnumbered, soaked through, mildly injured, and in the pitch black of night. The odds were more than just stacked against him; any semblance of winning seemed to have withered and died, and fate was outright mocking him. What could he do? These were trained men, that much was obvious, and he was still green.
There was noise now, coming from inside the camp and out. All secrecy had been abandoned by the attackers; new figures simply ran from the treeline towards the camp, letting out wild shouts and taunts. William couldn’t afford to look - his eyes were fixed firmly on the men approaching him.
His mind continued to race in those last few moments, as he stood shivering in the cold, dripping muddy water. Every discordant voice in William’s head was taking part in some great brawl, vying to come to the forefront of his mind. The most base and primal thoughts remained, in the end, having conquered all others - fight and flight, locked in a duel, evenly matched. It was his heart, or perhaps his spirit, that tipped the scales: one salient thought, clear and unobscured, rang out in William’s head.
Fight.
He steeled himself, tightening the grip on his daggers, and felt the warmth of his Blessing take hold. The sounds of the rising chaos disappeared from his perception in an instant, and his shivering stopped of its own accord.
The closest enemy, a bearded and burly man, swung his blade as the opening move of the battle - far too slowly for William to fall victim to it in his heightened state of awareness. William pivoted, and it passed by him with barely a finger’s width to spare.
His Blessing allowed him to survey the situation as the sword passed by: two attackers, one further behind - both wielding a short sword. The other enemy was still some distance away - he still had time before things became overwhelming.
Now that William had the clarity of mind to truly observe, William could see that the farthest opponent seemed somewhat apprehensive. It was a slight, young man, that was not particularly well protected; he wore an ill-fitting tabard of a colour that William could not recognise in the dark, and no real armour. The young man’s attention seemed split, eyes darting between William and the water. He either had a lot of faith in his comrade’s abilities, or he was just as scared as William had been.
More attacks came as he weighed his options, and William did his best to defend without overplaying his hand, purposefully limiting his martial abilities. I need to even the odds, as soon as possible. He was not fool enough to deem himself invulnerable due to his Blessing: Brother Albert had made it abundantly clear that many Blessed had made that mistake in the past, and they had paid dearly for it.
He took the offensive by parrying a swing, then broke the rhythm of the fight abruptly with a burst of discordant strikes, raising the tempo higher than his opponent was comfortable with. The man was forced back towards his comrade, and the rushing current of the ford demanded that he devote his attention to it, lest he fall in and seal his own fate. This gave William free reign to continue applying pressure, subtly guiding the man and building momentum.
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The younger opponent was within range William’s range now, but reacted in a way that William had not anticipated: he swung wildly, in a panicked arc that was as much a threat to his ally as it was to William. Unfortunately, the bearded man was in a position to take advantage of the opportunity, and he sent out a simultaneous attack of his own, hoping to end William swiftly.
It would have been a death sentence to any unmarked by the Seraph.
William, however, was acutely aware that his demise was not inevitable. He twisted, aligning himself near perfectly to both deflect the strike of his second opponent, and lock blades with the first.
The young man was caught off balance, and fell backwards into the water with a splash, spraying it in all directions. He flailed wildly, and gasped for breath as he resurfaced, closer to William.
The bearded enemy bared his teeth in anger, and seemed to come to some sort of realisation. “The bastard’s Blessed! He’s got a fucking mark!”
There was no reply from his ally, who was trying to scramble back to his feet. He slipped in the thick mud hidden below, falling once again, and the current pushed him just close enough for William to act.
William disengaged from his current opponent with a swift kick, headed towards where the younger man lay. He took blind slash at the legs of the partially submerged opponent, hoping it would be enough to take him out of the fight. He felt a resistance against his dagger as he tried to pull it back, though only temporarily. Something within the man snapped as the dagger finally came back, and the man wailed in agony as he thrashed around violently. The water around him darkened, tinted a deep red, though none could see it.
The burly man let out a horrified scream, “Ed!”, and launched himself back at William with barely a moment of hesitation, his attacks far more savage than before.
The two continued their battle as they stomped around in the rushing water, aware that one wrong move would spell their death, as the young man was swept away by the current of the ford. Dead or not, he was out of the fight. William spared a single glance towards the encampment, and was relieved to see that Reynard had been successful in giving his allies some time to react: they were engaged in fierce battle with the enemy.
A tent went up in flames and cast its light out across the area, illuminating William and his opponent in flickering orange hues. He noted that this opponent was wearing a tabard too, and now he could finally see its colours: white and blue. Grantford? It can’t be - are they not an ally? It was confusing, but he could not afford to question it now.
William devoted his full attention to his opponent. With one threat removed, he could come out of this alive. He pulled out every dirty trick he had, as the fight continued. They traded blow after blow, inadvertently moving into deeper water and closer toward the ford proper. He barely had the upper hand, despite the advantages afforded to him by his Blessing; his opponent was simply far more experienced.
He scored his first crucial hit on the enemy with a skilful parry, carving deep into the man’s side. It would swing the fight further in his favour, but it wasn’t over yet. I need to push this advantage, he thought, but how?
Before his mind could evaluate the best course of action, the sound of rushing water crashed into his awareness, and he staggered at the force of the current pushing against his legs. Screams from the encampment assaulted his ears, and a great deal of aches and injuries made themselves known to him once more. It seemed he’d taken a cut or two that he hadn’t noticed, though it didn’t feel too serious. He was suddenly so cold - freezing, almost. He shivered, and couldn’t help but shake a little.
His Blessing had run its course.
The sudden change must have been evident on William’s face: his opponent smiled malevolently and spoke with feigned empathy, “Blessing run out, did it?” He struck at William again, who barely managed a defence. The blow aggravated the injury on his shoulder, and he dropped his dagger. It splashed and bobbed in the water, before being carried off into the night.
The bearded man laughed deeply. “I’m gonna fucking gut you now, you little prick.” His words were quiet, and dripping with malice.
Without the benefit of his Blessing, William wasn’t sure that he was a match for the trained killer in front of him. He had barely scraped an advantage before, and now what? He wracked his brain before the panic could fully take over, and found only one option. If not now, when?
He whispered a familiar prayer, fast and quiet: “Eát-hréeig an, ic eé hálsige: l?nan me eín m?gen-spéd, ef án a bert-hwíl!” Without his Blessing active he could not see the radiant, ethereal light that wrapped his arms, but its effects were undeniably present: his arms felt as though they were pulsing with barely contained energy, ready to unleash devastation upon his foe, side effects be damned.
Once more a sword came at William, aiming to tear through his neck, and he simply struck directly at it in response, confident in the superiority of his strength. The sword rebounded back up violently, and the force of the blow sent the man sliding back in the mud. He lost his footing, and fell backwards with a splash.
William dove onto the burly man and plunged his dagger into the submerged body, not aiming for anything in particular: centre mass was all he needed. There was a gargled scream, and the man tensed as he wrapped his arms around William. They thrashed around in the water, and William found himself squeezed tightly, unable to pry himself free: his arms had been trapped, and William couldn’t get enough leverage to make use of his power.
His foe raised himself up and out of the water, managing to sit himself upright on top of William as though he were triumphant. The man pushed down on William’s head, keeping it submerged.
William continued to thrash, trying to get his bearings, completely disoriented by all the rolling around in the ford.
“What now, you li-” the bearded man started, straining to keep William pinned. He never got to finish.
William struck out from under the water, punching the man in his wounded side. The pain from a regular hit would have been enough to stagger him, but one empowered by Hallowed Words was completely excessive: William’s fist sent him sprawling backwards into the murky depths.
William rose, finally free, and gasped for precious air as he scrambled over to his opponent. He swung a fist into the man’s face with reckless abandon. A disgusting mix of teeth and blood shot from the man’s mouth, one tooth burying itself deep into the space between William’s knuckles.
The man collapsed, defeated - another direct hit from an empowered strike was too much for any regular man to handle.
William did not relent. He punched down again, and again, and again. The water did nothing to dull the impact of his blows. Each hit was met with a sickening, muffled crack, and sent muddy splashes in all directions. It was a small blessing that the sight of the disfigured mess lay obscured beneath the surface.
He stopped, panting desperately. His entire body was aching, and he knew it would likely get worse once he paid the price for his temporary strength. He reached down to push himself up, grimacing in pain, but the force was far more than he had anticipated: he accidentally launched himself awkwardly to the side, and back into the water. Wherever it was that he landed, the ground was not where he expected - he couldn’t even reach the floor. His head hit something hard within the depths.
His unconscious body was carried along with the current.
