The second bandit was no better than the first, nor was the third. Both of them had stood off to the side, none of them looking at the entrance. None of them noticed their fallen ally, neither had they noticed as John crept up behind them.

A quick stab in the neck for the one on his left. The one on his right turned swiftly, a shout on her lips. John didn't give her a chance. His sword was still inside the other bandit, so he swiftly punched her jaw upward. With a sickening squelch, he could imagine that her tongue had been cut off.

He was right, as the woman, a Breton if he recalled, tried to scream as blood poured out. John held her mouth closed, letting go of the sword as the other, impaled man slowly slumped to the ground with a dull thud.

The woman was not so lucky. A severed tongue was not a painless death, and sometimes, not even that. If anything, from the screams that the woman was trying to make, she was alive and in ungodly pain.

John gave her some respite from that. Even he wasn't cruel enough to let someone suffer like this.

He snapped her neck in an instant. Her body fell limp, as her eyes stared at him in one last burst of fear.

He didn't regret killing her. He'd certainly killed more people that had preyed on the innocent before. No, he truly didn't regret it, not when these people had kidnapped children.

The only thing he did regret was that said children had to witness it. He could see them watching him as he stalked behind everyone else. Nobody was paying them any attention, not when the apparent leader was still screaming at everyone else.

John grit his teeth. They didn't deserve to see this. They deserved to have a childhood, free of worries and full of wonder. Childhood only came through once, and the former assassin had no doubt that this situation had ruined that.

All the more reason to kill the people responsible.

The only problem was getting to them in the first place. The first three bandits he encountered were off to the side enough that he could pick them off without anyone noticing. The rest was scattered all over the mine.

Three archers, two swordsmen, four with daggers, the warhammer-wielding leader, and one of them still on the ground being beaten by said leader.

The hostages were across on another platform, beyond a bridge that he could see had a hinge and chain attached. A drawbridge, then. He couldn't just go across, not when they could easily just pull it up. He could try, but that would just leave him open to harassment from literally everyone else.

Not to mention, if they saw him, there was a good chance that they would kill the guards and the children.

He spotted movement from the corner of his eye. Near the hostages, Stump was muzzled and tied to a post. The dog had seen him, and had stood up on four legs, tail wagging incessantly. He could faintly hear the barks that the dog was trying to get out from the muzzle.

"Quiet, mutt!" One of the archers next to them kicked the dog harshly backwards. The children screamed as Stump was thrown back into a post, an impact that even John felt, the wood cracking audibly for everyone to hear, "And you brats as well!"

It happened in slow motion. The archer turned back to walk to his own post, when he looked to where the three people John had killed should have been. John himself was still hidden in the shadows, and he willed himself not to move.

"Oi, where the hell are those three?"

"What are you talking about?" The second archer turned to look at the entrance, "Huh. Must've gone for a piss or something."

"With Erdyne?"

"Well, when you gotta drain the hose, you gotta drain the hose." The second archer laughed at his own joke. The first didn't, instead, narrowing his eyes. John knew that it was only a matter of time before he was found.

"Thols, go check the entrance." He called out to one of the swordsmen, who raised his voice in protest, "Shut up and do it. Unless you want to be the one to tell Brouk?"

"Fuckin' shit. Fine, I'll do it." Lazily, the man got up from his seat and walked towards John. Sooner rather than later, the bodies that were hidden from view would be found. He hadn't had time to hide them properly, not when movement itself would give him away.

Behind the distant platform, he could make out the terrified children.

Ten meters.

The Nord came ever closer. John would need to be fast, any hesitation would be the difference between life and death.

Five meters.

John didn't move. The archer was looking in his direction. Any movement would lose him the element of surprise.

Two meters.

His sword flew into the man's eyes, slashing them horizontally. Immediately, he grabbed a dagger from the Nord's waist and threw it at the archers. It hit the first one dead on. The second one scrambled to get his bow ready while calling to get the attention of everyone else.

The remaining bandits sprung into action. Two swords were drawn, and daggers were prepared. They charged at him, while the two remaining archers pelted him with arrows.

Their mistake.

The first swordsman came wide, a heavy swing meant to knock him over. John tripped the man, before grabbing him by the shoulder and holding him upright. Two arrows sunk their way into the man's chest, only protected by leather as it was.

A victim of friendly fire. And he would not be the last.

Two dagger users came up next, the both of them circling around him. The archers had stopped firing, his previous actions making them wary of any more mistakes.

The dagger users suddenly split, before the last swordsman came up. A one handed sword and a leather shield. An overhead swing. John dodged to his left, only to be besieged by a gout of flame. John recoiled as the magic from the bandits threatened to burn his skin.

Inwardly, the man cursed. He was used to fighting and killing people, but not people that had literal flamethrowers in the palm of their hands.

Still, he knew he could use this to his advantage. The swordsman had leaned back away from the flames as well. John leaped to cut down the man, before grabbing a canister from the fallen bandit. He already knew what it was. Clean water wasn't as clean as you would think, hence, most people here drank alcohol.

He splashed the liquid at the still magic casting bandit. In short order, the alcohol drenched him, and in an even shorter time, the man burned to death. The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the room as a man inadvertently killed himself.

The rest of the bandits were wary now. The Orsimer was now watching in interest, while his victim lied still in a heap.

John didn't give them time to think.

Even as there was a burst of lightning from one of them, John weaved his way through to the bridge. The archers started firing then. John snatched a bandit's shield and was satisfied when he heard two dull thunks on it.

Moving quickly, he snapped off the ends of the arrows embedded in the hide, and threw the arrows like darts. They hit the mark. One hit right in the first archer's eye, who fell into the water screaming. The other hit the second archer in the knee. That man fell forward suddenly into the wooden barrier, effectively knocking him out.

The lightning persisted behind him. He couldn't risk getting hit by it, and there were still two more dagger users that hadn't made themselves known.

He threw the shield, similar to those old American comic book heroes. The rounded hide wasn't affected by the lightning whatsoever. The impact was meaty, but not anywhere close to the thud the bandit's head made after it crashed to the stone floor.

"Well fought, human." The Orsimer spoke out loud. He didn't seem concerned at the murder of his men, "I haven't seen fighting like that since I left the strongholds."

"The children." John wasn't one for words when fighting. But this was a unique situation, one where truly innocent lives were at stake. He'd make an exception for that.

"I figured as much. Go on then, take them." The orc waved dismissively to the hostages, to the protest of the last two bandits.

"Brouk, you can't be serious!" A Redguard woman, dressed in light leathers, shouted, "He killed everyone!"

"And what do you think is going to happen if you continue to fight?" Brouk, the orc, spoke with a tone that belied no interest whatsoever, "He's killed everyone else, do you think you stand a chance against him?"

"...Fuck!" The woman cursed, before backing up with the other Redguard man. They still had their weapons drawn, but made no moves towards him.

Cautiously, he approached the orc, worried that this was some sort of trap. He'd heard stories from around Riverwood, orcs were supposed to be warriors through and through. Any subterfuge would be taboo for them, so perhaps he was just being paranoid.

Then again, orcs were supposed to be all for 'honorable deaths'. That one was forgoing a battle was a worrying sign.

It must have shown on his face, because the bandit chief snorted, "I know a damn losing battle when a man butchers his way through an entire camp. My brothers may call me a coward, but at least I'll live another day."

He nodded at John, and John nodded back, finally relaxing. Bandit he may be, the Orsimer had seen just how dangerous he was. How far he was willing to go. How skilled he was despite the overwhelming odds. Nobody here was under the impression that John wouldn't be able to kill him.

More than that, John was tired of killing. He'd already bloodied his hands again, to the trauma of two children.

He'd killed for less, true. But he had also shown mercy in situations most would not.

With the hostages secured, all while keeping an eye on the last bandits, John left. The two children clung to him, almost hiding from the blood splattered on the floor.

In the end, nobody was satisfied. Even if he'd saved everyone he came for, their lives would never be the same.


"I see you've done quite well."

"Of course."

Two Redguards lied motionless between them, blood pooling from knife wounds on their back.

"He is as every bit as lethal as our Lord said."

"I can certainly see that. Well, your job here is done. Your loyalty has been proven true."

A black mist. A sharp knife. A gasp.

"You, you bastard!" Dripping blood, "W-why?"

The orc crumpled to the floor, his armor clanging noisily on the stone.

"Loyalty is for fools, you ought to have known that by now."

The black mist moved, and the three bodies were left well alone.


Commissioned by: brutalcrab

A/N: If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.

And a special thanks to: Oliver vazquez, brutalcrab and Tassimo.