Chapter 3
Slicing upwards, Azrael gutted a bandit who had leapt from the roof of a building at him, continuing the stroke in a circular motion, he brought the borrowed blade around and decapitated the bandit behind him. Cutting down six of them without even being scratched had not halted their mad rush at him. Two more charged at him one from his left, the other from his right. Waiting for the last second before he was skewered, Azrael took a step to the left and killed the man on that side. Before he could fall Azrael grabbed his arm and through him towards the man on the right knocking him to the ground and pinning him under the weight of his dead comrade.
Sensing another blow coming, he rolled under it and plunged his sword into the stomach of the man who had just attacked leaving him to drop to the ground in agony. "This battle is taking too long, it's time to attack rather than defend," muttered Azrael as he looked at the dozen remaining men. Then he charged them.
Jonathon waved his hand through the pool of water as the last man fell to the ground, his head landing a few yards away from his body, 'As you can see Lorath, this is no ordinary hunter.'
'True, but I have too few men left to leave any more ambushes for him, and would forty succeed where 20 failed?'
'In truth, I think they would not.'
Lorath nodded and walked off, thinking of plans on how to defeat this powerful warrior who was coming after him, presumably to kill him for his mad rampage. No matter, he thought, I have the blade, there is none in Nosgoth who can stand before me and live.
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Fool, he wields the blade like a simpleton. Yet it has accepted him as Master and until it changes it's mind or he dies by someone else's hand I cannot claim back what is rightfully mine, and with that thought Jonathon howled his frustration out over the town they had destroyed that day. The eerie cry causing the bandits to shiver and look about warily into the night.
Cursing bitterly, he went back down amidst the town and sniffed around for the scent of life, he was feeling hungry and it was time to feed. After a little search he found the hiding place, it was makeshift and he easily ripped down the barricade. Looking inside he grinned with evil delight as he saw a girl, around thirteen summers old, hiding there, staring at him with terror in her eyes.
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Gareth was worried, he had been lying under the corpse for a few minutes now, and with his poor leverage he had been unable to lift it off of himself. Now he heard footsteps coming back. It had to be the man they had been sent to kill. He was a demon in human form, Gareth was frightened just thinking about the man's skill with a blade. Never before had he seen anyone move like that, so fast and supple, but with so much strength behind each blow. Please leave me alone. I'm dead, just like all the rest he repeated over and over in his mind, hoping the stranger would let him be and that he could get away from all this horror.
Feeling the body being lifted off him, he opened his eyes in fear and saw the angel-faced stranger standing over him, the sword pointed at his heart. 'I know you live, vermin, so stand up. You will help me against Lorath or you will die here. Choose.'
Almost wetting himself from fear, Gareth trembled as he stared up into the being's eyes. About to choose death he paused, and suddenly the fear was gone. In the man's gaze he saw condemnation, but also compassion. It was not due to a hatred of him that the man would kill him, it was because of what he had done in the company of Lorath. Gareth also saw a glimpse of what would happen to his soul should he die before he had achieved redemption for his sins.
'I choose to come with you', he said simply, still lying in the mud.
Azrael studied his face for a moment, then he nodded once and strode off, 'Gather a weapon and follow me, we have little time to catch your old leader,' he called over his shoulder as he headed after the trail.
