The wind howled like a hungry beast, tearing through the frozen wilderness. Snow whipped across the desolate landscape, stinging like needles against Chael's battered face. He looked no older than twenty and his long silver hair, undone and messy, clung to his blood-smeared skin, strands whipping wildly in the storm.
A once-pristine white fur cloak draped over his shoulders, now tattered and stained red, hanging heavy with the weight of battle. He stood alone with boots half-buried in the frost and his breath ragged clouds in the freezing air. Around him, the mercenaries closed in, their grins hungry and their weapons glinting under the pale moonlight.
Chael's grip tightened on the broken sword in his hand, or what was left of it, anyway. The jagged edge of the split blade still gleamed with blood, though whether it was his or theirs, he didn't care. His chest rose and fell with each breath, pain gnawing at his ribs from earlier blows. He was outnumbered. Badly.
One of them stepped forward. He a wiry man with a patchy beard and a dented helmet. His lips curled in a sneer. "Ain't no more runnin', Chief."
Chael spat blood into the snow and his lips curled with spite. "Funny. That's what your buddy said before I split his skull."
Another of the mercenaries, with a crooked nose, sneered. "Shut your mouth, boy."
Chael chuckled darkly. "Ahaha, why don't you come make me."
And then, they rushed him.
Chael's eyes glinted and he immediately ducked under the first swing of an axe, feeling the air split beside his ear. His broken sword lashed out and the jagged edge carved into a mercenaries throat, hot blood spraying across the snow.
The next attacker lunged. Chael twisted, slammed his boot into the his knee, shattering it sideways. The mercenary collapsed with a strangled scream. Another swung a club at his head. Chael barely ducked in time, feeling the wind rush past his scalp.
He was fast. Almost as if he was a ghost in the snow. But they were too many.
A club slammed into his ribs and Chael staggered, coughing blood, but still slashed out, catching another man's cheek. Someone grabbed him from behind. A sharp pain flared as a dagger buried itself into his shoulder.
He growled like a wounded beast, elbowing the mercenary in the gut and ramming his broken blade into his stomach. The bandit choked, blood bubbling from his lips, but before Chael could pull free—
A massive hand clamped onto his right arm. Chael's face fell as he realised what was about to happen.
A moment later—
SNAP.
White-hot pain exploded through Chael's body as his arm broke over a knee. A strangled yell ripped from his throat, but he clenched his jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream.
"Curse you," he snarled, spitting blood. His vision blurred with agony, but he still glared up at the one who had done it.
The brute who had just snapped his arm was massive. His beard was thick and unkempt, his head bald and glistening with sweat despite the cold and his eyes were small, piggish, full of cruelty. He grinned down at Chael.
"You're a tough one," the brute rumbled, "But that arm's pretty useless now ain't it, boy."
Chael's teeth clenched, his breath shaky from the pain. But even as his right arm hung uselessly at his side, even as the mercenaries loomed closer, he refused to kneel.
Clap. Clap
"Took you bastard long enough to catch this brat." An unamused feminine voice called out following a slow clap that echoed through the night.
Chael looked up at the woman standing on top of a boulder.
She stood with the air of a queen among rats, her black hair tousled by the wind, her black cape flaring behind her. A wide-brimmed tricorn hat shadowed her sharp, scarred face, but he could still see her eyes. They were cold and bored, like she had already decided how this would end. A musket rested in her gloved hand, her fingers idly tapping against the polished wood.
It was obvious she was the head of all these mercenaries.
Chael knew she had been watching. Watching as he cut down her men. Watching as they broke him. And she didn't look impressed.
Chael growled, "Echinda..."
The woman known as Echinda smiled innocently, "Pleasure meeting you again, Chael. How was your little trip back from the city?"
With a snarl, he lunged. His broken sword aimed right for her throat—
Bang.
A gunshot split the night.
The impact slammed into his shoulder like a hammer, ripping the breath from his lungs. His legs buckled and he felt himself falling to the floor.
Chael dropped to his knees. Blood seeped from his wound, warm against the cold. But he forced himself to lift his head, his glare burning through the pain. His lips twisted in a hateful glare.
"Bitch." he spat, blood dripping from his mouth. That was the only thing he had to say to her.
Echidna rolled her eyes. "Oh, please." She blew the smoke from her musket and flicked the pipe between her lips. "Tie him up."
The mercenaries grabbed him, forcing him onto his back in the snow. His body ached. His arm was ruined. But still, he fought, thrashing against their grip.
"Fucking mongrels," he snarled. "You only pulled this shit because I wasn't there when you raided my tribe. You laid a trap like cowards."
"I dunno what you're talking about." Echidna tilted her head, exhaling a lazy puff of smoke. She then sneered coldly, "Break his sword hand. It'll be troublesome if he escapes again."
Chael's vision blurred with fury.
The brute loomed over Chael, his massive shadow swallowing him whole. His thick, scarred hands reached down, wrapping around Chael's right wrist like a steel trap. The same hand that had snapped his arm.
"Let's make sure you never hold a sword again, boy." The brute's voice was almost amused, his breath hot against Chael's ear.
Chael's body jerked as he fought against the iron grip, but his strength was failing him. His limbs felt like lead, his vision swimming in pain and blood loss. Still, he bared his teeth, his silver hair hanging in blood-matted strands over his eyes.
"Fuck you," he snarled.
The brute grinned. "Nah."
Then he pressed down.
A sickening crunch split through the air as his thick fingers drove Chael's hand into the frozen ground. Searing pain ripped through his nerves like wildfire. Chael's breath hitched, his body seizing as agony shot up his arm.
Then came the first finger.
The brute grabbed his pinky, twisting it in a slow, deliberate motion before—
SNAP.
Chael's scream tore through the icy night, raw and unfiltered. His body arched, his breath ragged and shaking.
Laughter echoed around him. The bandits watched with grins, their faces twisted in sick amusement.
The brute wasn't done.
"C'mon now," he chuckled. "You got four more."
Chael panted, his forehead pressed into the snow. Blood smeared across the ice as he gasped for breath, but he still managed to spit, his voice a broken rasp.
"Rot in hell."
The brute grabbed another finger.
Another snap.
By the time the fifth one broke, Chael's voice was hoarse, his throat raw from agony. His entire hand was ruined with fingers bent at sickening angles, swelling already setting in. Blood dripped from his palm, staining the frost beneath him.
Echidna walked up to Chael and crouched down, her piercing gaze locking onto Chael's.
"Now that the Ashwara Clan is no more, and their leader is in my hands…" Her lips curled into something cruel. "Wonder how much those twisted fuckers at the city are willing to pay for the brat who's been a thorn in their side for so long?"
Chael's breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps.
But still, through the agony, through the blood, he bared his teeth. He tried to curse at her but no words came out.
Echidna grinned in response. "Drag him to the hideout."