Conquest

Savage - Part Two

The city was flooded with people. Shoppers bargained with merchants, soldiers patrolled the streets and kept order, shopkeepers called people to check their self-claimed excellent merchandise. One would think the siege outside the walls is all but non-existing.

Yet no one could ignore the refugees. There were thousands of them, scattered across the city, lying in the gutters, roaming the streets, standing in line for a portion of food that barely helped them calm their stomach. They stood in every corner, wearing ragged clothes, their eyes sunken and tired. Indeed. they walked a long way. such a waste it all had been in vain.

'Amusing,' The big man thought, 'The city's so crowded, yet there's enough room to stay away from me.'

And indeed, it seemed like anyone who passed by did his best to keep some distance from him. People who met his eyes quickly lowered their heads and scurried away. He didn't blame them. People moved away from him as if he was a wild animal, everywhere he went. They called him Savage. Honestly, he liked that name better than his real one. He forgot it long ago, anyway.

He noticed a group crowding beside him, whispering, pointing. a twitch of anger passed through his eye, and a wicked smile spread across his lips. He moved toward the group, which quickly fell silent and looked at him with fear, some taking a step back and the others staying rooted in their place. He sent his hand to the hidden blade in his belt but paused. his muscles ached to slaughter these people, to make them bleed, to spill their blood on the cobbles. Yet the pulses pounded at his ears, so he moved on.

"Soon," He said to the baffled crowd before walking away. "Fucking gold." He muttered to himself, contorting his face in annoyance.

Then he heard the rustle of metal behind him. He turned to see four armed soldiers, spears in their hands and swords in their sheaths. Chain mail covered their torsos and heavy helmets rested on their heads, very similar to the ones that dead boy wore.

"is there a problem?" Savage asked the commanding officer of the group, a flushed-faced soldier with thick brown moustache, which looked as if he was experienced wielding a sword as an infant experienced in walking.

The soldier looked at him, his eyes wide and his mouth open, and apparently lost his ability to speak. Savage had that kind of influence on people.

"ah... who... who are you?" He managed to mutter, looking up at Savage's eyes.

"Me?" He asked innocently. " I am a poor refugee, banished from his home after the terrible tyrant burned down his village and killed his family. If you don't mind, soldier friend, I will be on my way."

The officer stared at him with confusion as Savage turned around and continued toward the City Center.

"s-stop!" Ordered the soldier. Barely. "What do you have on your hand?"

"My hand?" asked Savage and looked down. The boy's dry blood was covering his arm.

"Sir, it looks like blood." said one of the soldiers.

The man with the moustache frowned and readied his weapon, his soldiers doing the same. "Where did that blood come from?" asked the soldier, more firmly this time.

The street grew silent, curious to see how the situation will developed. Savage looked at his hand, then at the soldiers, then at the surrounding crowd, then sighed heavily.

"Shit."

He turned around with incredible speed and hit the man flushed face with his fist, sending him crushing on the nearby people. He then caught a soldier's head and smashed it on the cobbled pathway. The soldier near him regained his composure and dropped his spear, useless for close fighting. He drew his sword and cut at Savage's back but hit nothing. The big man seized the man's arm and twisted his sword free, then clubbed his face with the hilt of the sword and sent him reeling to the ground. Savage swung the sword at the last standing soldier's skull, hitting his helmet with such strength that the blade cracked, and the metal caved under the impact with a sickening noise of cracking bones. The soldier crumpled to the ground, blood oozing from his nose and bubbling at his mouth, his eyes crossed and his body twitching and jerking. then he was still.

Savage walked to the soldier with his face to the ground and lifted his head. The man was unconscious, his nose broken and his brow bleeding. Savage, with a wicked smile, slammed the soldier's head on the ground. Again. And again. And again. He did so until the man was nothing more than a bleeding pulp, his head the shape of a rotten potato.

The crowd still watched with horror. A desperate scream came behind him and Savage turned around to see the officer running at him, his spear lowered toward his belly. But Savage merely twitched away, caught the wooden haft and with a flick of his hand turned it to splinters, as if breaking a twig. The soldier looked at him in horror, and Savage simply grabbed his head and broke his neck, as easily as he broke the spear, the soldier falling to the ground like a pile of rags.

Savage picked up the officer's fallen sword and calmly walked toward the last soldier, which was groaning in pain on the cobbles. He put a heavy boot on his chest and the man grunted with surprise.

Savage lifted the sword and shoved the blade in the man's mouth. He pushed slowly, an anticipating smile on his face. The soldier opened his eyes with horror and tried to lift savage's boot off him, but he kept on pushing. The man struggled, tears staining his face. He clutched at the blade and tried to push back desperately, his hand bleeding on the sharp metal, but to no avail. The edge of the blade hit the back of the soldier throat and he tried to scream and beg, yet Savage pushed on, ferociously slow, his eyes completely indifferent and a devil smile on his lips. The sword pierced the man's head and scraped the ground behind it. The soldier gave one last gurgle, then stopped struggling.

Savage straightened up and viewed his fine work, nodding with satisfaction. It's not that he loved killing, it's just that he was very fond of the idea.

He looked around, the people surrounding him staring with utter shock and terror. Then they started screaming. They screeched and shouted, running away and hitting each other, calling for help as if they were the next to meet their end.

Savage rolled his eyes and scratched his head.

"So far for being quiet, eh?" asked and poked the impaled soldier's body with his boot, as if telling a joke to a good friend. "Well, the City Center then." Said, and started running.