I trudge through the snow, each step slow, heavy. Smoke stings my eyes, and the air reeks of blood, piss, and ash. Women dart from house to house, tossing buckets onto flame-caught rooftops. Men pour from their doors, axes and farming tools in hand, faces pale but grim. Each one conscripted into the militia and ready to fight.

  In the distance, I see them. The brigands, running, sprinting for the gates with sacks of loot on their shoulders. The attack was a success, but their time was always limited.

  I press on, deeper into the heart of the town, where the fires burn brightest. More brigands flee, but I don't have the energy to chase them.

  Ahead, through the drifting snow, I spot two familiar shapes.

  Ren stands tall, his golden scimitar slick with blood, gleaming dully in the firelight. Beside him, Luna grips her short sword, though it's perfectly clean.

  I stop in front of them. Ren gives me a silent nod, while Luna tilts her chin slightly in greeting, eyes scanning the smoke-filled streets behind me.

  "Seen Lucien?" Ren asks, voice low.

  I shake my head. "No. Why?"

  Luna steps closer, speaking quietly. "Perfect night to kill a man. With all this chaos? No one would know who did it."

  Ren sighs, blade resting on his shoulder. "But it seems he's vanished. We can’t find him."

  I shrug. "Not at his store? I can't imagine he'd accept it being looted."

  Before either can respond, a shout echoes down the road. A group of militiamen come sprinting toward us, faces pale, breathing hard. They rush past without slowing.

  "Run!" one yells. "It’s a monster, don’t try to fight it!"

  I turn.

  Behind them, moving at a steady pace, comes a pack of brigands, at least two dozen strong, swaggering down the lane like they’ve already won.

  At their head walks a giant brute of a man. Unlike the rest, he doesn’t bother with a hood. He stands nearly as tall as I do, but easily twice my width, broad and thick with muscle.

  His face is a mess, one eye missing, a large scar across his jaw exposing teeth. In his hands, he carries a massive warhammer, its head blackened with blood, well-forged unlike the makeshift weapons his allies use.

  He spots us, then his gaze lands on Luna, eyes widening with something between awe and hunger. His ruined mouth splits into a grin, crooked teeth flashing in the firelight.

  "By the Goddess… ain’t never laid eyes on a lass so fair in all me days," he growls, licking his lips. "That face alone’s worth more than every sack of silver in this stinking pisshole. Take her, boys. Bring her to me, alive."

  Luna sneers, raising her short sword with both hands. "Come and try it, you rot-mouthed dog."

  He responds with a smirk, his scarred lips twisting into something that might once have been a grin. "That's Master Yurik to you, little girl. Speak it right, or you’ll beg that it's my cock I put inside you."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Yurik gestures to his men and half the group breaks off and comes at us. A dozen men, more than is necessary. I level my spear, cursing inwardly.

  Fuck me. That’s too many. Way too many.

  I glance at the ones who hang back, archers, bows already half-drawn. Even more dangerous than the ones rushing in. I shift closer to Luna, instinctively angling my body behind hers. If this 'Yurik' wants her untouched, close to her is probably the safest place to be.

  “We should run,” I mutter to Ren and Luna.

  Ren closes his eyes and smiles, broad, uncomfortably so. He doesn’t move and neither does Luna.

  Fuck.

  They reach us, the wave of armed men.

  I brace, then step forward with a sudden burst of speed, the spear thrusting low and true. It punches through a man's throat, hot blood splashing across my face as he falls back gargling.

  Another comes at me fast, before I can pull my spear free, slashing for throat. I release the spear and throw up my arm, the blow clanging harmlessly off the sleeve of my new hauberk. I retaliate with a swift blow from my club, snapping his head left. He spins and drops.

  I glance at Luna and Ren.

  Luna hasn't moved. Her blade remains clean.

  Ren stands in front her, his golden blade now lowered. The remaining ten brigands all lie at his feet, each man, without fail, headless.

  What in the hells...

  Yurik snarls, baring his teeth. "Useless fucking cunts, all of you! Can't kill one scrawny prick and a pair of knife-toting runts?" He stomps forward, dragging his warhammer behind him with a trail of snow in its wake... only to freeze, a massive hand appearing from nowhere and resting on his shoulder.

  He twitches, his eyes flickering up to a monster of a man, easily a head taller than the brute and even broader. My stomach knots as the stranger pulls back his hood.

  Long, dark hair tumbles free. Red eyes glint menacingly, as he peers down on the large brigand.

  Brother Two...

  Yurik flinches, his eyes widening nervously, but quickly shakes off Two's hand, puffing up his chest.

  "What d’you want, mercenary?" he spits, glaring fiercely.

  Two’s hand returns to beneath his cloak, which only seems to have the brigand more nervous.

  "It is time to leave. The guard has rallied."

  Yurik scowls, ready to snap back, but a sound catches his ear. He glances down the next street.

  Gandre charges into view, a wall of guardsmen behind him, weapons raised, faces twisted in grim fury. They fall upon a pack of brigands, hacking them down without mercy.

  For a heartbeat, Yurik’s gaze clings to Luna. His fingers twitch around the haft of his hammer, his eyes flicking between her and the approaching guards.

  "Bastard... Come on, we're leaving! NOW!"

  With a snarl, he turns on his heel and storms toward the gate, bellowing for his men to retreat.

  Two moves to join them, but stops, his crimson eyes finding me. My heart pounds under the weight of his gaze.

  "Ohoh… if it isn’t Brother Seven," he says, turning back to face me.

  He steps forward, but Ren moves between us, his golden scimitar raised and ready. His other hand rests lightly on the iron straight sword at his side, ready to draw.

  Two halts just shy of touching the blade, his gaze flicking to the eastern man with mild interest.

  He takes another step forward and Ren presses the curved blade firmly against his chest, but Two acts as if it isn’t even there.

  His eyes return to me, lingering on my hands, before rising to my face.

  "Come and see me soon, little brother." he says, brushing Ren's sword aside. "There is much we must discuss."

  Without warning, snow erupts in a blinding cloud around him. I shield my eyes instinctively. When the flurry clears, he is gone. There’s no footprints in the snow, just a large cavity where Two was once standing.

  Ren's hand trembles around the hilt of his sword as he stares up into the swirling sky, as though Two might drop down at us at any moment. A slow, almost feverish smile creeps across his face, his eyes dark and distant. "Now who... in the hells... was that?"

  Gandre and his retinue approach us, armor clinking as they jog to a stop. He looks to the gate the brigand's fled through, face twisted in a scowl. "Was that Yurik?" he spits, "That motherless cunt."

  He turns to us, eyes flicking from the bloodied spear in my hand to the circle of headless corpses around Ren. His eyebrows rise.

  "....Fine work. You've done the town a service."

  He straightens, glancing back toward the smoke. "But don’t let your guard down. Most of the scum are running, but some are still slinking around, I’m sure of it. Keep a sharp eye, and if you see any more, cut ‘em down. No questions."

  He gives us a nod, then turns sharply, his guards falling in quickly behind him. Their silhouettes vanish into smoke and flame, hunting the last of the vermin that dared to spill blood in Ravencroft.