Haymaker: Part 1 of the Hayflick Series

Prologue

Smoke stung at the man's eyes as metal clashed against metal. Attackers surrounded them on all fronts, circling around them like sharks eyeing prey.

The man held his blade tight, the grip hot in his hands. Soot and blood (not all of it his) stained his clothes, and he clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth just might shatter. His body cried out in agony at the thousand cuts that covered his skin, and he blinked rapidly to stop the blood running down into his eyes.

He'd already lost everything. His rank. His leader. The people he loved. All that was left was his own life.

The warrior flourished his gore-covered blade, and his attackers took a step back, eyes wide and cautious. They'd already won, but they knew that if they weren't careful, they could very quickly become extra casualties.

The dawn sky, yellow and blue and pink overhead, would make an excellent backdrop for his last stand, the man thought to himself. Although smoke clouded the skies and battle cries and gunshots and dying screams filled the courtyard, he was in the zone.

This was just another battle. If he lived, so be it. If he died, so be it.

But hell, if he wasn't going to go out without a fight.

An attacker charged at him rashly, his battle cry wavering, and the warrior struck him down in a swift, sweet stroke, metal singing, steel tearing skin. The circle about him widened, nobody willing to risk the same fate.

His body was in agony. His joints ached, his hands were swollen, and there was not a single angle on his body where there wasn't a deep gash, red blood escaping. But this was battle, and despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but love every second of it.

These men were cowards. Scum. And he would enjoy slicing and dicing as many of them up before he fell.

The warrior twirled his sword one final time before slashing once again.

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