Martha’s hand was off him in a flash as she broke off from Carrell, pulling back and readying her thin blade. Carrell followed suite, falling in behind her and shifting his lasgun into a position that felt comfortable for him, the stock pressed into his shoulder as he struggled to keep it steady between a hacking cough and raspy breaths from his sore throat. Carrell’s voice came to him as he regarded the small blade that Martha had ready in her hand, a hoarse muttering that could barely be heard beneath the sharp clattering of metal as the knights charged them. “I don’t think that toothpick will be much help”

He didn’t receive any response, at least no more than a short shrug as she coldly stared towards the approaching foe.

The world seemed to slow as the first CRACK of Carrell’s lasgun snapped through the air, the brilliant red beam puncturing a neat hole in the leader’s chest plate, the metal had melted on contact with his blast, the padding beneath it alight with flame. Another CRACK followed the first as this shot passed through the same gap made by the first, burning through the padding of his target’s armour with a flash of light, searing and cauterising the great wound that the second shot had now opened. The knight stumbled forwards, carried ever-so slightly by his own inertia and the weight of his body as he crashed to the ground. Metal ringing as it struck the stone floor.

Martha had moved before Carrell had even brought his gun to bear on the next target, knife flying from her hands, hilt striking into the visored helm of the second closest assailant. With her opportunity created, she darted forwards, catching the blade as it bounced back off her target helm. She leaped forwards after closing the short distance between them, passing through the area of threat that her opponent could create with his weapon, one hand gripped the warrior’s shoulder, jumping up and heaving herself upwards in one sharp motion, legs wrapping around the feudal soldier’s waist as she brought her knife-hand up, jamming it between a narrow gap in his visor. The man screamed, blade falling from his hand as he tried to grasp at the borderline bestial woman that had leaped atop him, trying to wrestle her from his body. By the time one of his hands had found purchase on a part of her cloak, she had drove her blade deeper. The warrior continued to frantically pull her from him.

Martha finally came loose, wrenched from the knight in a frantic heave. She hit the ground lightly, picking herself up quickly, readying her blade once again, it’s once silver sheen now painted crimson.

So enraptured in her assault was Carrell, that he only remembered there was a third opponent when a violent scream erupted less than a foot from his ear. “Die bastard!”

The guardsman fell back as the tip of his new opponent’s blade cut a small gash in his arm, tearing the simple clothes he wore and rending the flesh beneath it. Quickly, the swordsman brought the blade back up, cutting another lump of flesh from Carrell as he stumbled backwards, reeling from the pain.

Bringing the gun up again, metal clashed as a sharp thrust from his attack had caught his blade on the lasgun’s power pack. Carrell taking his chance as he opened fire on his opponent. The shot struck into his opponents pauldron, flesh-melting it in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately, his foe seemed unperturbed, with a twist of his blade, the sword caught on the bottom of the lasgun’s curved power pack and wrenched it from his hands. As the weapon slammed into the stone, it let off a wild discharge, melting a small dent in the stone wall its blast struck.

Disarmed, Carrell quickly tried to escape from the knight’s weapon. But, hungry as a shark, the steel bit deep as the guardsmen was caught by a well-trained thrust, the blade sliding between his ribcage as it punctured straight through his clothing and split his skin like paper. Hungrily, the blade pushed further inwards, rending flesh until it finally stopped, the blade having widened enough that it jammed between his ribs. With a deep growl, his opponent wrenched his blade free, Carrell slumping backwards, clutching at the wound in his chest as he forced to keep a hold of himself, mind alight with a burning pain. The blade rose above him. Wearily, Carrell’s head lolled to one side, seeing Martha through his unsteady vision, her own foe was unmoving beneath her feet, both her blade and body splattered with life.

His last words would be something heroic, a final goodbye or a witty catchphrase that he would always be remembered for. Instead, he merely managed to groggily mumble “Grbulb” as the man above him began to bring the blade down.

The air was alight with a violent azure as the blade above him vaporized, along with the man holding it, there one second, gone the next. A pile of soot spread along the floor where his attacker had once stood, the light had gone as soon as it had come, all that was left was a static in the air that made his spine tingle and the thin hairs along his back stand to attention in unison like a Mordian platoon.

He saw a figure in his hazy vision, a boy with a small, diminutive frame, wrapped in rags, pale skin marred with purple welts. The figure let his hands fall slowly, sloppily to his sides before speaking “Assho-”

The boy was silenced as Martha crossed the distance between them and cracked his head against the wall, putting him back into an unwilling slumber. Finally, her attention turned to Carrell, taking a knee beside him as she looked over the wound. “You look like shit”

“Mhmm.”

“We should get you to a medic.”

“Aren’t you a Hospitalier?”

“Eh, I’m a lot better at making wounds than fixing them.”

“I know...”

The tingle of his spine settled to a simple, horrifyingly cold numbness as his vision slipped from him, scarlet-soaked hand slipping away from the gushing wound in his chest.

Carrell allowed himself the slightest thought as he slipped into the darkness. It was his time to meet The Emperor.