(Brandon Fletcher – Cobblestone Village)
The trip proved to be longer than he had anticipated. Ironically, the shortest route required time-consuming gymnastics in the middle of a forest, but at least no other threat was present during the journey that would require further usage of brute force, like with that creature he had killed earlier. It was also informative. Braylon had the privilege of observing local flora and fauna, which were astonishingly Earth-like, so much so that the Vault Hunter had considered the possibility that he had landed on Earth, though whether it was "his" was a whole new problem.
He reached the village at afternoon. The descending sun highlighted the finer details of the outstanding landscape as the seagulls squeaked in excitement. The moderate temperature allowed the locals to wear outfits reserved for summer, each unique in their own way, with more daring ones wearing clothes that did a wonderful job at attracting the bystander's gaze at desired body parts. Children would run in and out of the wooden houses, a staple in a tropical paradise, and often jump into the sea where they would continue their games. Two things used stone in their design; a narrow road that connected all the dirt ones of the village, including a small dock to the east, and a well that took the role of the village core, judging by the few vendors that made their nests there.
Even with all the soul-soothing splendor and peacefulness that the village had offered, Braylon still had the feeling that something wasn't quite right. For a village of such size, there should have been far more people in the streets. The dock was devoid of ships, so it couldn't be a basis for an explanation. He was willing to ask the locals about it, but they didn't seem all too friendly towards strangers. When he tried to ask for directions, several people either left in a hurry or frowned as they locked themselves behind doors and windows. Even the vendors left, leaving their merchandise behind. He was grateful for that gesture, because it meant that he could get his hands on some of the sweet food.
Many watched in disgust, fear and anger as the stranger would take a bite of a fruit, only to throw it away in exchange for an uncooked fish. When he grew tired of that too, he went back to the fruits and vegetables. His appearance only added fuel to fire that were the growing assumptions and prejudices. A child whispered to his mother that the man looked like he didn't eat anything in months before being scolded and brought into a house. Despite that, no villager had the courage to step forward. There was something feral in his stance, his eyes and his hands. The local hunters would later tell their friends and families that it was like watching a cornered animal wearing the skin of a teenager.
Tired of standing around and doing nothing, one old man gathered the strength to approach Braylon, shaming all youngsters that did nothing all day except making fools out of themselves trying to impress the ladies. This frail Human being in a red toga-like dress with brown sandals and an even browner stick was about to establish first contact with the savage.
"Stranger." The man's hostile pair of brown eyes was directed at him. Despite being old, his voice held that strict, commanding tone that would make a common man tremble. "Can I have a word with you?"
Braylon dropped the fruit he was holding, wiped his mouth with an arm and spun around. The old man noticed a gleam of sincere shame in those dull eyes.
"Sorry, old man. I tried to ask your people for help but they… I had to eat. Didn't taste food in a while."
How quick was this young lad with his disrespect for those on a higher social position. Only a whelp of the city would have such a deplorable accent and a brutish tone. The old man's face wrinkled, his brow furrowed.
"Are you a traveler, lad?"
He stroke his chin.
"…You can say that, yes. A traveler."
"Could you be… the Huntsman we requested? The one that should have arrived a week ago?"
Now it was the lad's turn to frown. For those who lived longer than anyone in the village, this pup was like an open book. He was clearly searching for words.
"Hunt… A Hunter I am, I guess. Hunt for rewards…"
His speech was worrisome. The old man tried to understand why. Perhaps the lad had a first taste with a dialect that wasn't present in city, which would explain his usage of "Hunter" instead of "Huntsman". Perhaps he was a stranger to those lands, as people from other kingdoms had the similar problems. However, the old man had trouble understanding too. It was as if the teenager never spoke the language before.
Perhaps he was just a beggar.
"I see…" the man stroke his long gray beard, "May I know your name?"
For some inexplicable reason, that question made the boy tense. Gone was the awkwardness, the pitiful gait, replaced instead with stance worthy of a warrior and an expression that spoke of experience. Even the gadget on his arm was more eye-catching now. The boy was a Huntsman, no doubt. He just wished they didn't send the young ones…
"Braylon. Just Braylon."
"Well, "just Braylon". Are you a Huntsman?"
"Just a guy who is kinda lost and has no idea where he is."
"So, not a Huntsman?" the elder thought, crestfallen. They didn't even bother to send a Huntsman to solve their problem. No, they threw a mercenary at them and hoped he would fix it up.
"What has the kingdom come to." he muttered in his beard. "If you are not a Huntsman, then why have you come here?"
"Lost, like I said. I would like to have some directions, if you can help me with that. If not, thanks for the food and I'll be on my way."
Maybe his old eyes fooled him, maybe they gave him unfounded hope that would help make his village a better place. Maybe it would be a wasted effort, but he had to try.
"Say, perhaps are you willing for... a compromise?"
"A compromise?"
It wasn't the first time he heard that word, or its synonyms for that matter. Whenever someone needed a scapegoat for some dirty job, whether it be killing thy neighbor or hunting down a creature just for the sake of it, he would be the fool who would conveniently appear for that person to abuse. Not that grandpa over there would understand or know.
When the old man was about to explain in detail the exchange of favors between the two parties, two gunshots, followed by cheers, echoed across the village. It was a sign for the villagers, who scattered in all directions, seeking a safe shelter that would protect them from whatever was coming their way. Only Braylon and the old man remained on their places, the former confused while the latter frowning more than humanly possible.
"What's going on?" asked Braylon, annoyed by the sudden interruption.
"Hmm... trouble..."
And trouble it was. A group of five men and one woman walked towards the two with grins that did little to hide their intentions. They were members of a gang, proven by their sleeveless black jackets with fake spikes on the shoulders. Their most striking traits, to Braylon, were the wild colorations of their hair and eyes, traits less frequent among the villagers. The one who led them was a man with purple dreads and yellow eyes. Braylon was no stranger to such trends, as the more creative people on Pandora also had the most creative hairstyles. The man raised a triple-barreled flintlock gun at them. It took a lot of strength to not laugh at his face for that one. Apart from the additional barrels, the gun looked no different than its antique counterpart.
" Are we in the 1850s all of a sudden?"
"Feast your eyes on this, boys." Purple Dreads smirked. "Seems like grandpa over here is having a little chat with a hobo. And an awfully smelling one, at that. Like, seriously, where have you been?"
"Where is my grandchild?" He demanded calmly. "I want to see her."
Purple dreads pushed Braylon to his right and reached grandpa, who wasn't intimidated by the attempt.
"You listen to me, you shitty old man. You got no position to make demands here, 'aight? Either you gives the money or we throw her sorry ass in a ditch, understand?"
The man spun around after hearing the cracking of knuckles behind his back. His friends varied from mildly annoyed to ready for a fight.
"Damn, I know kids who can threaten better than you." Braylon looked the man in the eyes, "And what's with the "hobo" thingy, crackhead? Your mom never told you that it's not nice to judge a man by his looks?"
Purple Dreads stared at the teenager as the gears in his skull began moving. He gave a small chuckle that soon turned into a full-blown laughter, further supported by the laughter of his partners in crime. One of them, a nobody with a short green hair, together with his brown undercut friend, punched Braylon in the stomach. The latter kneeled down, only to be thrown face-down on the stone by a leg.
"You speak one more time and I'll cut your nuts off, boyo!" shouted the girl.
Pleased with the demonstration of loyalty, Purple Dreads turned around…
"Now, as I was saying..."
…and he was interrupted again.
"I hope everyone in here saw what happened to me, 'cause now that I have an excuse…"
Braylon kicked the girl's knee, dislocating the kneecap. He jumped back on his feet as the girl screamed in pain while holding her leg and crying.
"…It's time for you to feel pain."
He knocked out one of the shocked goons with a punch before kicking another towards Purple Dreads. They both crashed on the ground like sacks of potatoes.
Angered, the man with green hair tried to punch Braylon again. The Vault Hunter crouched and punched him in the groin, then broke his jaw with an uppercut that made him unconscious.
"Son of a..."
"Enough of you."
Braylon dived forward while also materializing his Jakobs revolver, Unforgiven. He fired two rapid shots, one for each bandit, killing them with bullets that pierced their hearts. The girl who kept screaming for the whole time got a bullet to the back of the head. A tiny protest came from his conscience as he heard the screams of mothers and their children from the scared crowds. There was no time to be sorry.
"Get off me!" Yelled the man with purple dreads as he shoved the lackey from himself, who also got shot as soon as he rolled off his boss. Getting up, he aimed with the flintlock gun.
"Now you've-!"
But then his eyes were drawn to his dead subordinates and felt a wave of terror creeping up from the depths of his being.
"H-hey now... let's not get nasty..."
Braylon shattered the flintlock gun with a bullet before pistol-whipping its owner. Rather than let him fall, the Vault Hunter grabbed him by the jacket, pulled him closer and pointed the still-warm barrel under the jaw.
"Who are you working for?" he asked as the man squealed in pain.
"I-I-I'm my own boss!"
Another smack to the face, more violent than the last.
"That one's for being a liar. You, your own boss? Little fish like you don't have what it takes to be their own boss, much less someone else's." He mocked. "So you better tell me who's your real boss and where he is before I break every bone in your body. Or worse."
"O-okay man! Calm down man!" The man sighed, trying to hold back tears. "Okay. W-We are members of Hutton's Gang. You must've heard about us, right?"
"Not a clue."
"What? But we're - ow! – okay, man, gods!... We are a tribe that constantly moves around Sanus to find a village we can raid for supplies. Found this village and... and I said "what the heck, let's go for it"."
Braylon turned his face to see the elder, who stood in his place, though it was unknown to him whether it was out of fear or of something else.
"Is this true? You know something about it?"
"Yes, I'm afraid. They are led by a good-for-nothing criminal named Duke Hutton. From what I heard, he is a convict that escaped from the prisons of Vale few years ago."
"Vale?"
The elder raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Vale. If my memory serves me well…"
Braylon shook his head in irritation.
"Never mind that."
Purple Dreads, who seemed to be somewhat more perceptive than the elder, said in disbelief: "No way. Have you been living under a rock?"
"You shut up! Nobody asked you anything!"
"But... Vale!"
"What about it?"
"It's one of the four biggest cities on Remnant, dude! You can't "not know" about Vale!"
"Wait a minute, you don't know about Vale?" the old man gasped.
"Remnant? Never heard of such planet... and there is no data on my PDA about it either."
"Because this is not your reality."
"...What?"
"Apparently that rift led you to a reality different than your own."
"You knew? You knew and you didn't tell me?!"
The man with the purple dreads, seeing how his captivator's face not only twisted in various expressions, but also turned a dark shade of red, then paled, only to return back to red, started feeling insecure about his physical health and asked fearfully: "Uh, you alright?" Seemingly returning to the world of the living, Braylon replied: "Shut up! Can't you see I'm having a conversation?!" The man, now that he received what he thought to be a hint for an upcoming psychotic breakdown, turned his head towards the town elder, who shrugged in response. Braylon pistol-whipped the man for a third time, knocking him out, and spoke with the elder.
"You... I guess your "compromise" had something to do with this trash, right?"
"Yes." He nodded, ignoring or seemingly unnoticing Braylon's violent act. "I was honestly doubting your abilities before, but you proved your worth. So what is your answer? Will you help our village getting rid of Hutton's gang and save my granddaughter?"
"In turn I want an answer to every question I ask."
"You got yourself a deal."
Braylon put hands on his hips and sighed. "Alright. Let's see what our little birdie has here."
Looting the unconscious gang member gave more fruits than Braylon hoped for. Apart from finding custom-made bullets that he couldn't use, he also found a functioning, collapsible holographic tablet in one pocket.
"I've never seen something like this."
"Where are you from again?"
"A far, far away place. And, please, don't insult me."
"I apologize."
Braylon flipped the device in his hands, trying in vain to find a way to open it. "So what is this thing?"
"That is a Scroll…" the old man said slowly, "A very useful device easy to handle because it can be collapsed, much like a scroll made of paper, hence the name Scroll."
"Hmm..."
"I suggest you take that one. Out there, a Scroll can make a difference between life and death."
Convinced, Braylon decided to keep the device, or rather, its technology. He placed the Scroll in his right hand while activating the scanning lights of his PDA. The device disappeared in front of the elder's eyes, who was intrigued to see the technology at work.
"If I may ask, where did you put the Scroll?"
"Nowhere. I simply digitalized it, broke it down and let my own device absorb both the technology and its functions."
"Amazing. I never saw something like that in my whole live."
Braylon grinned. It was a grin that, according to the old man, should be on every child's face.
After assimilating the Scroll with the Tech Assimilator, a PDA's function capable of integrating foreign tech to improve itself by breaking I down into digistructed data, Braylon concluded that, so far, he was doing good and his decisions had borrowed edible fruits. He had learned where the gang's hideout was, based on copious amounts of anecdotal evidence, the name of the Purple Dreads guy, who was in fact called "Purple Dreads" Martin as well as some background information on him. He was thrown in a "juvie" because he "accidentally" stabbed a teacher. Five times.
He would have been such a good bandit on Pandora.
The term used to be given to brigands and petty marauders, who infested mountains, passageways, forests and other locations where unsuspecting victims could be ambushed for easy profit, usually because they were the social outcasts that nobody liked. Living from today to tomorrow, knowing that sooner or later they would hang from the first tree they come across, this wretched waste of society was willing to do everything to survive, even if it meant acting like parasites. On Pandora it is a term not to be thrown around lightly, as nobody who is willing to survive won't shoot anyone branded with it. Whether they were arsonists, murderers, rapists, petty thieves or bloodthirsty midgets, bandits were a threat to everything in existence. As such, they needed to be exterminated on a daily basis. Truly, not even nature could bring the "survival of the fittest" law to its extremes like desperate humans on a deathworld.
Being born and raised in such environment meant that an individual would receive a very unique kind of mentality. Behavior that would be condemned as savage on a civilized planet is mundane on others. But even then, few are the planets where death is embraced with open arms like on Pandora. In fact, death is so common that people simply shrug when their relatives die. The sharpest among the audience will soon understand what... "possibilities" such mentality can bring. Just to name one: a mercenary is better paid than your average local town mayor.
The hideout was, for all intents and purposes, a camp surrounded on all sides with thick walls of vegetation. Intelligence was something Hutton's Gang had plenty of in its ranks, as evidenced by a wooden stockade, complete with a gate, to defend themselves from unexpected ambushes. For Braylon, it simply meant that he had to deal with smarter-than-average bandits.
As for the Gang itself, there were only few tents, three small and one large, suggesting that it was a relatively small group. The larger tent was probably the living quarters for the boss himself, Duke Hutton, and quite possibly the girl's prison.
"Are you going to waste the whole night just sitting there and doing nothing?" chastised the demonic voice.
"This is harder than it looks, you know? I need to save the girl." Complained Braylon from his spot on a nearby hill.
"That mortal never specified in which condition he wanted to see her..."
(HOME - Scanlines)
Slapping his head slightly, Braylon used the darkness to approach the camp's stockade. With a whisper, he ordered the PDA to activate the infrared vision, which was done with a blink of his eyes. The energy pistol proved to be rather useful against the stockade, since it made a noise much quieter than his revolver would., along with burning a hole large enough to fit through. Braylon sneakily infiltrated inside the camp. Unfortunately a guard spotted him and pointed the gun at his forehead before he could stand up.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" The man grinned.
Braylon tagged along and raised his hands slowly. Before the guard could do anything else, he materialized his Holo Sabre and turned the guard into a cripple for life with a quick swipe. Knowing that, should the guard scream, he would alert the whole camp, the teenager finished the job by placing the blade below the guard just as it fell, resulting in a rather gruesome death.
Since plans never go as they should, another guard, a woman, noticed Braylon and fired a shot in the air with her rifle. He cursed before dashing towards the nearest cover. A stray bullet hit the barrel, his cover, and made it explode, releasing the water that was stored within. Braylon returned the favor with a shot of his own, melting a hole in the guard's stomach large enough to see through.
The proverbial Hell broke loose as the cacophony of screams filled the quiet night. There was profanity, there was rage, there was fear. Braylon quickly ran away from the scene before more problems came searching for trouble. It wasn't long before the boy heard an alarm that would suddenly change everything, immediately followed by a loud crash and multiple gunshots.
"Beowolves! Beowolves!"
"Heh... looks like someone else is going to take care of the bandits."
Proceeding towards the bigger tent, where Duke was supposed to hide both himself and the girl, he was able to see the unraveling carnage at full extent. Through the now destroyed gate, dozens of creatures resembling humanoid wolves rushed into the camp, hastily mutilating as many humans as possible. What surprised Braylon was the same color theme he saw on that bear-like monster applied to these ones as well. The similarities were so astounding that the only difference Braylon could came up with was the physical shape.*
"What the fuck is going on?"
Trying to avoid the chaos as best as he could, Braylon ventured into the larger tent. A lot of commotion could be heard coming from the inside. Something shattering, followed by screams of both man and woman, ending in gunshots. All accompanied with loud, rhythmic clip-clopping of hooves. As Braylon was about to remove the curtains, something suddenly crashed into him like a speeding train, sending him flying several meters backwards.
He was sure that a rib or two had been broken by the impact alone. The weight of the object above him made it harder for him to breathe. When he raised his head slightly, he saw the weight, which was nothing else than a decapitated corpse that blocked his view.
Something tore the tent's fabric, clip-clopped some more and let out a bull-like cry, a cry familiar to him. Braylon, still stunned by the violent clash, slowly removed the decapitated corpse from himself. Some of the blood that still poured out stained the borrowed clothes.
"Oh, fuck..."
No one will never know for sure if Braylon was aware of it, or at least able to understand his actions, but his eyes started tearing up as a feel of incomprehensible dread suddenly bombarded his psyche the more and more he stared into the demon that chased him before he escaped through the rift. Now that same demon stood only few meters away from him, tall and threatening just like the first time they met. Its teeth were bloody red, with bits of bone and viscera stuck between them. A man screamed as he foolishly stabbed his knife into the leg of the giant. He met his end when said giant picked him up like a doll, turned upside down and ripped him in half by stretching the legs.**
Braylon's mind almost reached critical failure, as he desperately tried to figure out how did the demon got in the same reality as him. Words slipped away from both his mind and mouth as he mumbled and crawled backwards. What puzzled him more was the fear he felt, despite, he thought, him already having an acquaintance with Hell and demons.
"W-why d-d-do I f-feel this f-f-fear?"
"It's only a natural reaction when a prey sees its predator."
"S-still..."
The two never broke eye contact. While Braylon was terrified beyond reason, the demon desired for nothing more than carnage, ready to snap him in two like a twig. He wasn't the only one who noticed the elephant in the room. Both the "Beowolves" and the bandits became aware of the terrifying presence. And while bandits experienced same paralyzing fear like Braylon did, the black-furred things wasted no time in assaulting the demon, who proved to be more than a match for each of them.
"T-this is my chance."
Braylon knew that, in his current state, should he go against the demon, he would definitely loose. That is why he decided to skip past it, go to the tent and find the girl. While there was no doubt that none of the attackers would even begin to scratch it, they would definitely provide enough time for him to find what he came for and get out.
A girl chained to the bed, like a dog to its house, in the middle of the mess that was inside the tent, mumbled and cried, traumatized, as she continuously stared in one fixated point without even noticing his arrival. With his Holo Sabre he destroyed the chain and approached the woman, who began screaming and struggling as soon as he touched her. Having no other choice, he was forced to knock her out with one punch so that he could pick her up and remove himself before things went out of control.
He returned to the hole in the stockade he made earlier, squeezed through along with the woman and started running. Only this time, however, he decided to take another route, as going uphill would only slow him down. Not even five minutes had passed and he already heard the hellish hooves fastly approaching behind him. Cursing slightly, Braylon prepared himself for yet another chase through the woods.
With the unconscious girl in his arms, the Vault Hunter ran through the forest with the intention of increasing the distance between himself and the restless clip-clopping of demonic hooves. He would emerge into a clearing surrounded by a forest, where large rocks of varying sizes were strewn around. Braylon decided to put the girl on one of the smaller rocks so that he could gather his thoughts and ease the burning pain in his lungs. Only then did he take a good look at the proverbial damsel in distress. She was somewhat taller than him, with long brown hair and emerald green eyes. She would have been a perfectly average human if it weren't for the pair of bear ears sticking out from the sides of her head.
"What the..."
He touched one of the fluffy appendages. The girl gave no response. He would then check whether she had human ears as well. She didn't. Either she was a mutant or she wasn't human at all.
"Oh boy." He hid his face in his palms. "What have I got myself into?"
"Hah! An even lesser being than a mortal!"
"She looks human to me."
"Looks can be deceiving. Don't get fooled by this pathetic excuse for a mortal. Her race is even lower than that of humans!"
He raised his left arm and stared the carved symbol. It was still there, painful and grotesque, just as when it appeared back then. Whenever he tried to make eye contact with the entity, the five-pointed star would start bleeding. The more it bled, the more pain he would feel.
The fact that the night was approaching was frustrating. It became jaw-dropping when he had, without a warning, discovered that the planet's moon was shattered; an astronomical body with bits and fragments of it scattered into the cosmos, yet unwilling to let go of the main body, eternally frozen in place. Braylon realized that adapting to the new "normal" would be much harder than he h ad previously thought.
"What is wrong with this fucking place?" He whined before hearing once again the cry he was sure he had shook off back in the forest.
(Dark Souls 3 – Dragonslayer Armor)
"H-How did he find me?!"
"You still haven't figured it out?"
The Vault Hunter immediately got up and materialized his Unforgiven. He knew that he had little to no chance of success. Fighting aliens, beasts and battalions is one thing. Fighting a demon, well...
"That symbol on your arm. Others can track you down because of it."
"Are you serious?!"
"Not in the mood for jokes right now."
"And you didn't tell me?!"
"You never bothered to ask."
One distant rock suddenly exploded as the demon smashed it with a punch. Some tiny pieces went so far that they reached Braylon.
"Hiding and running are pointless now."
"Are you telling me to fight that monster?! The bandits back there didn't do shit to it!"
Another rock exploded just as Braylon went out of his hiding spot, in search for another one far away from the girl.
"That's because they don't have what you do."
"Which is?"
"Just focus on the fight."
"Easy for you to say..."
His cover blew apart as one large red hand easily smashed through it and went for his chest, throwing him out in the open. He bounced like a rock when tossed at the sea before he finally stopped, his face buried into dirt and grass. The gun was thrown somewhere.
"Damn... that strength..."
If he could speak, he would explain his pain away as being hit by a rampaging bull, only ten times worse. Breathing became even harder as blood clogged his throat, urging him to cough it out. He thought that one of his lungs was probably a goner. Nothing that his PDA couldn't heal, given a certain amount of time. But time was a luxury he couldn't currently afford, as he had to roll sideways to avoid getting burned by a green fireball. Every movement brought him great pain in the chest, to the point that he was unable to move properly. The hoofsteps came closer and closer.
Braylon raised his head just enough to see the giant's fist getting coated with green fire. Said hand would then grab him by the left hand and lift him up. The pain he received from the burning hand was enough to make him scream as loud as he could. It felt like he was burning alive, despite the physical injuries being nonexistent. A type of pain that went beyond the abilities of a simple nocireceptor found throughout the animal kingdom. Him being able to remain conscious was nothing short of a miracle.
"No... I must... resist..." He was even unable to form complete thoughts. "I... can feel it..."
"This is so painful to watch as much as it is amusing."
For a moment he thought it would be the end of his short life. He would die at the hands of the embodiment of death that stood before him, who was enjoying every bit of the show, finding it rather amusing. For Braylon though, it wasn't fun, it was an experience he simply wished he would never experience again. Still, he knew that, should he survive, he would relive such a thing countless of times, only with different stage and actors.
That is, if he survived.
As a sort of cosmic justice of some kind, his mind rolled back all his past deeds, his crimes, his heroic acts, everything suddenly rushed in front of his eyes. There were times when he simply wished for his life to end, to just die somewhere and be forgotten by the rest of humanity, just like many others had before him. Every time it happened, the irony would kick in, and he would immediately wish for the exact opposite.
The same thing happened now.
"No... I can't die... not like this! Noooooooo!"
A sudden surge of adrenaline that came from the instinctual will to survive granted Braylon the strength to not give up. Further empowered by the fear of going back to the place from which he escaped, the Vault Hunter's brain sent an order to the PDA, the materialized Holo Ripper and through the arm. He could hear cracking of bones and tearing of the flesh as the demon let out a monstrous, ear-splitting scream. It released its grip, allowing him to fall down. As he did so, the holographic chainsaw split its arm in two, showering both in green blood and gore.
Wishing to inflict further pain, he pierced its right thigh and sawed through until he was sure he reached the bone. With a quick slash to his left, thus violently releasing the tool from the flesh, the giant kneeled before Braylon, now screaming even louder. But as he went in for the finisher, he saw at the corner of his right eye the other, healthy, fist quickly approaching.
He was sure that the blow not only disintegrated his right ear, but also fractured his skull. He couldn't even feel the hard dirt when he fell due to the screwed up senses. The only thing he was able to do was to roll until he could see the starry night sky above him, or rather, a distorted image his eyes were able to catch.
The demon made sure that the human got his wrath-filled message, as it stomped full force until it reached his body. It was so loud that even his ears were able to pick up the noise, despite being occupied with a hellish buzzing sound. The blurry figure stood tall above him, and while he was unable to see its movements well, he was able to figure out its next move.
Stomp him to death.
It lifted one leg and quickly brought it down on him. Before it could do that, however, he materialized his Holo Sabre and held it upwards like a nail that was about to meet someone's foot.
The effect was immediate and expected. The creature, unable to see the surprise in time, brought its hoof right down the Sabre, which pierced said hoof and went so deep that it almost touched the knee. It screamed once more before moving the injured leg, loosing balance and falling backwards with an echoing thud.
"This is my chance... I... need to..."
Lifting yourself back on your feet with a concussion is quite hard. Braylon stood up, only to fall back down, just so he could rise once more. The strength was leaving him and his legs were failing to support his weight. He approached the demon, before tripping over something he failed to spot in time. Braylon fell on the demon's stomach. It felt like falling on concrete.
Materializing Holo Ripper once again he climbed over the demonic body until he reached what he thought was the head, stabbing it once in a while. Being able to recognize the grotesque head, Braylon, with a war cry, rammed the chainsaw through its teeth and skull.
"Fuck! You!" He yelled as he pulled upwards, splitting the skull in two. The meaty plop he heard afterwards was a sign of victory, so he moved away from the now-defunct demon and laid on a rock.
"Man. My everything hurts." He coughed. "I... can finally rest... now..."
Feeling as if a huge weight had been thrown from his back, the young Vault Hunter slowly closed his eyes, praying that this night wouldn't be his last.
PDA Biopedia:
*Entry #2: Beowolf
Type: Grimm - Beast
Faction: Creatures of Grimm
Description: "There were these two brothers of mine way back then. The older one had creativity, yet lacked materials to create anything. The younger, on the other hand, had the materials, but lacked creativity. One day the older one stumbled upon a mortal female, we are talking about the days when we used to walk among mortals right after we lost and followed her around. He waited for the perfect opportunity, turned himself into a wolf and assaulted the mortal. The result was the first, and last, werewolf, who got killed by another mortal, courtesy of the Anathema. The younger one saw it all and decided to copy his brother, just to spite him. And thus the first Beowolf was born. Now that I think about it, there is some sort of irony in its name, don't you think?"
*Entry #3: Baron of Hell
Type: Demon
Faction: Forces of Hell
Description: "You know, I always wonder why the so-called Dark Lord decided to leave these buffoons into the "royalty", instead of just using them as cannon fodder. Their intelligence is only a match for a brick... ugh... Sure, they are far tougher than any mortal, regardless of race, can ever hope to be, but that is pretty much it. Don't let the title fool you. While the title of "baron" could give you the image of someone who earned that position by being strong, there are brothers of mine who are far stronger out there. I suggest you strongly pray to Anathema that you never encounter them."