"Afghanistan sure is hot.", The Figure now thinks to themselves as they move to remove their sword from the body it's embedded in. They've been here for what seems like an eternity, time droning on and on as they slaughter every opponent in their way, the goal of culling the Taliban's numbers fresh in their mind. The Figure is surprised by the sword not budging, but then uses more of their strength. The sound of the sword scraping across bone is slight, yet significant, their enhanced hearing picking up the sound with ease.
They grimace from the sound slightly as they proceed to wipe the blood off the sword using the clothes of the recently deceased person laying down in front of them. They look around at the village structures surrounding them, a damaged yet stable building standing out to them.
"Maybe some rest will do good for my mind after three straight hours of fighting.", the thought comes as the sun beats down on them. A burning, sharp feeling suddenly registers, as they realize that a knife is embedded in their side, the pain now present yet also now disregarded. The Figure simply takes out the weapon with a grimace, and their injury stops bleeding as it knits back together in a quick fashion. "I'm getting careless", the thought comes as they feel embarrassed by an amateur mistake they haven't made in a year. Their androgynous visage moves to the building as they start to sheath their sword in its scabbard. A sound from behind them is picked up by their hearing, and they turn to the source of the noise, one of the combatants they fought very recently. "Seems I left one, shame. He could've lived if he stayed quiet.", They think as they start the process of unsheathing their sword again.
The act is deliberately slow and well practiced, to cause at least a modicum of fear from those they face in battle. It is unnecessary, as the man is too engrossed in the pain he is currently feeling from being a victim of dismemberment. He looks at The Figure approaching, a flash of fear appearing on his facial features, before giving way to anger, then finally hate. "Allah will bring ruin to you, Witch!", The Man speaks in pashto, as he clutches the stump where his right arm used to be. The Figure feels annoyed as they realize the man implied he was a woman, and simply ceases their target's life with a cracking stab through the skull, the human cranium standing no chance against his enhanced strength driving the sword past the strongest part of the human head.
They huff in annoyance as he repeats the process of cleaning their sword and sheathing it again, then turns around to walk towards the building. They open the door carefully, assuming a high chance of the building being booby-trapped. They walk in after judging the entryway to be safe, then close the door behind them, waiting for a threat that never comes. After a minute passes, they walk to the couch to rest as he hears a floorboard creak to their left. They hastily unsheathe their sword at inhuman speed and turn around to aim it behind them. What they see is a little girl with her face covered, no taller than four feet and six inches, just underneath their blade's tip.
"What the hell?", The Figure says, as the girl just stares at the outstretched sword aimed at her with horror.