Chapter 1.
The fire burned brightly in the cold night. The snow covering the ground lent an eerie glow to the camp-ground, while the band of raiders huddled around for warmth. David the Bile-Drinker sat by himself, sharpening his machete. His motley crew weren't the smartest, or the best fighters. But they were well and truly vicious. David's nickname was based on an untrue rumour, but he embraced it to heighten his reputation. On the other hand, Cyclops actually did cut out and eat the eyes of his victims, and those who didn't get their skulls crushed by Hammer found themselves being brutally raped and strangled by him. The other 10 members of the crew were just as bad if not worse. David had no idea what part of the former European Commonwealth he and his gang had been terrorizing for the past month, but he also didn't care. As long as the Berserkers, and the Radboars, and the Muskers stayed away from them, they could keep raiding and murdering here for as long as they pleased. All of the inhabitants of this area were peaceful farmers, and easy targets.
Suddenly there was a whooshing noise to David's right and Rudolf stood up clutching his neck. It took a moment for the rest of them to notice the arrow sticking out from between his fingers before he fell to the ground. A moment's stunned silence followed before something dropped into the middle of the camp. It looked like a rusted tin can. Two seconds later the Tin Grenade exploded violently and threw the remaining crew members to the ground, some of them more intact than others. Chaos ensued, with living and dying men screaming and scrambling for their weapons. More arrows shot out of the darkness hitting the raiders in their necks, chests, and thighs. David took one in the shoulder and dropped his machete. Everyone around him was dead or bleeding out. The snow around the camp was stained dark crimson. Two arrows shot out and lodged through the backs of his knees. He screamed and fell to the ground, tears streaming from his eyes. Looking up, he saw a dark figure standing over him. The figure had the body of a tall man, metal armour glinting in the firelight. But his head was straight out of a nightmare, a mutated bear head that should have been on a Berserker. It raised the polished, razor-sharp fire axe in its hands and uttered a single sentence.
"Say goodnight, scumbag".