The Peacekeepers

Part Three; Chapter Forty-One

One Against Many

They turn and face me. Their smiles bloody from the setting sun. They think they can win this. They may be right. There must be fifty or more of them, but I won't go down without one hell of a fight. I stand here fearless, ready to embrace death's touch.

"Well?" I address them. "Come on then! If you're going to kill me, quit standing there with your thumbs up your asses! Come on! Just do it!" At that moment, with that statement, I fired the starting gun.

They scream as they charge at me. Like barbarians from the olden days. I too run headlong into them. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. Time slows. I feel no fear. No guilt about my decision and no second thoughts. I'm committed from here out. I leap onto the first one I get to and slam my elbow across his jaw and it shatters like a china plate. One down, forty-nine to go.

I can't hold back anything. If I misstep, if I miss a strike or if I don't drop them in one hit... I'm a dead man. I find myself throwing people and breaking bones more than actually hitting. A punch comes at me. I grab the arm and snap it at the joint. I kick him away and punch another in the eye with so much force the eye dislodges from his skull. I shift my weight to kick another attacker in the ribs, shattering them. I punch one in the teeth and feel a sharp pain in my knuckles. Ignore the pain Drake. Ignore the broken tooth in your flesh. Fuck, that's gonna get so infected.

I drive my elbow behind my head and nail one in the nose. He falls back and I feel warm blood splash my forearm. I kick another attacker's knee out of place and swipe my elbow across his jaw. I get bear hugged from behind and he starts to crush me. I get swarmed with punches but kick the multiple attackers away. I stomp the bear hugger's foot and flip him over my shoulder into a few more Fallen Kings. I turn and hit one in the forehead, driving the tooth farther into my knuckles. Another part of my knuckle splits wide open. Damn it! Looks like I have to go southpaw. It's awkward but I'll have to deal. "Learn to adapt to a changing battlefield. If not you'll wind up just as dead. Never forget that Drake."

I sweep someone's foot out from under them, grab it midfall, lift him up and swing him into another attacker. Their heads clank together knocking them both out cold. Fatigue is setting in. My punches are struggling and my legs drag with every kick. I resort to sheer brutality now. I rip and tear at flesh with my fingers. I break single fingers, I tear an ear partially off, gouge some eyes in with my thumbs, Hell, I even bite a chunk out of someone's arm, another's left cheek partially off and another nose gets added to the collection of things I bite off. I hate them. With every ounce of flesh I rend from their bodies I release that hatred just a little bit. But it's not enough.

I knock someone down with a punch and stomp him in the face. I turn to swing at someone and hit nothing but air. I look around and all I see and hear are a few running footsteps, moans, groans, crying and a few pained screams and I'm surrounded by wounded and unconscious men. The dry dirt is saturated with the blood of the battle. I almost wonder how many I've condemned to death. How many lives have I unofficially ended? I can't think about that now.

I look up at the leader of The Fallen Kings. I say nothing. My actions, my face, the look in my eye, it screams what I'm going to do to this man. He's shaking, and his face is devoid of color. I'm coming for you next. You can bet on it.

I take all of two steps then I fall face first. I can barely walk. I'm out of breath, dizzy and hurting. Every time I open and close my hand I can feel the tooth digging into my flesh. I look at my hands, they're covered in blood and the heels and knuckles are practically skinless from the friction of scrapping against flesh and bone. The steel toes on both boots are dented and covered in a thick layer of blood.