Conquest of the Horde

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"Charles!" The word came with the sound of a plate shattering on the wooden floor of the cabin.

The man stared, eyes wide in shock and pain. The blade lodged in his stomach jerked abruptly and nearly cleaved the man in two.

Blood poured from his wound as entrails spilled out onto the ground.

A dark figure stood in the doorway, blood splattered his armoured form and drenched his claymore. His eyes set upon the horrified woman cowering by the fireplace. The man marched forward a few heavy steps, a boot falling upon the wounded Charles and breaking his jaw. Agonized, the man writhed and flailed against the blood drenched floorboards of the cabin. A pair of teeth drooled from his mouth in a waterfall of blood, his screams little more than choked wheezes.

Anson took another heavy step forward, a gauntlet wrapped around the woman's neck and hoisted her high. Legs kicked and thrashed as she struggled to get free. Tears stained her cheeks and blurred her eyes as she was brought close to her attacker. Her blouse tore as the blade dragged across it, nicking her exposed stomach and drawing a line of blood to run down her skin.

She sobbed and choked, throat hoarse from screaming, only to be released. Her back landed harshly on the wooden floor, a boot pressed between her breasts to pin her down.

"Please..." The woman tried to beg, hands gripping the metal of the man's boot atop her chest. Her eyes darted erraticly, as if searching for an angel to save her. She set them upon Charles on the floor, his lifeless body coated in blood and sweat. A thought stung her mind.

I'm going to die...

Three hours.

For three hours it had been the only thing said.

Again and again, as he drove hot pokers into sections of her arms and legs.

She had screamed, for certain. After a while her throat had become so scratchy and hoarse that she could barely even breathe, let alone scream.

The torture had finally come to an end as she was hoisted against the wall. Her eyes fell shut and lifeless as she was pinned to the wood at the tip of a sword. Blood ran down her legs as she was left to hang for some time longer. The woman had yelled and screamed many things over the past few hours. Much of it useless pleading and cries of suffering.

Anson jerked his claymore from the woman's chest and sent her body to fall onto the blood drenched floorboards. Her arms were carefully crossed over her chest, legs straight and close together. The man marched out of the building as a torch fell to set it aflame. He watched with narrowed eyes as the small cabin was devoured in fire.

"Death before heresy."