Vestigia Vindictae

The next wave came fast. More organized, more prepared. The weaker ones had been picked off, but now he faced the more experienced fighters. The ones who had held back, watching, analyzing, learning from the mistakes of their fallen comrades.

Talio barely had time to react before a massive axe cleaved through the space he'd occupied seconds before. The air hummed with the force of the swing, the blade whistling past his ear. Instinct saved him—his body moving before his mind fully registered the danger. He rolled to the side, twisting just in time to bring his blade up. The clang of metal against metal rattled his bones, the impact nearly forcing his weapon from his grip. 

These ones are stronger. Smarter. More patient.

No more reckless swings. No more desperate lunges. These fighters were methodical. Calculated. Talio's muscles screamed in protest as he shifted his stance, forcing himself to breathe through the burning in his arms. His fingers flexed around his sword hilt. He needed to be just as methodical. No more wasted movement. No more second-guessing.

A short, stocky man rushed forward next, fists wrapped in bloodstained cloth. A brawler. No weapons—just sheer, brute force. The kind that relied on endurance, on absorbing hits and outlasting his opponents. Talio barely dodged the first punch, the gust of air from the strike brushing his cheek. The second, however, caught him square in the ribs. Pain exploded through his side, a sharp, splintering ache that stole his breath. He stumbled, barely keeping himself from falling.

Oh yeah, that's gonna bruise. Maybe crack a rib. You'll feel that in the morning, Talio.

The brawler grinned, stepping forward to press his advantage. Talio, still gasping, shifted slightly. Not enough to be obvious—just enough to make himself look more unsteady than he actually was. The brawler took the bait. He lunged, throwing another devastating punch.

Talio struck first.

He ducked under the blow, twisting his body at the last second to drive his knee up—hard—into the man's gut. He heard the wet gasp, saw the spittle fly from the brawler's mouth as the air was ripped from his lungs. Talio didn't give him a chance to recover. He grabbed a handful of the bloodied cloth wrapped around the man's fists, yanking him forward. A savage headbutt followed, the sharp crack of bone against bone ringing through the chaos of battle. Stars exploded in Talio's vision, his own skull throbbing from the impact, but the brawler staggered back, dazed.

A perfect opening.

Talio drove his blade forward, slipping it between the man's ribs. The brawler stiffened, a shuddering breath escaping him before he crumpled to the ground.

No time to breathe. Another opponent was already closing in.

This one was different. Twin daggers glinted in his hands, his stance low, his movements precise. A rogue, maybe an assassin. Talio barely managed to deflect the first strike, but the second carved a shallow line across his shoulder. He hissed through his teeth, stumbling back to put some distance between them.

Tsk. That's what happens when you get distracted. Rookie mistake.

The rogue smirked, twirling a dagger between his fingers. Taunting. He thought he had Talio figured out. That was fine. Talio had him figured out, too.

Fast, but predictable.

The rogue lunged again, blades flashing. Talio stepped back, watching, waiting. The first slash came—he dodged. The second—a feint. Talio didn't fall for it. He saw the slight hesitation, the overcommitment to the movement. That was the moment he needed.

He shifted inside the rogue's guard, stepping into his space before he could react. A brutal elbow to the throat sent the rogue choking, his balance faltering. Talio grabbed his wrist, twisting violently. A sickening pop followed as the joint gave way, the dagger slipping from numb fingers. The rogue barely had time to scream before Talio's blade found his heart.

Then he felt it.

A shift in the air. A weight pressing against his senses.

He wasn't alone.

A greatsword cleaved toward him. He barely twisted out of the way, the force of the swing sending a blast of wind against his face. His eyes snapped up to meet the brute wielding it.

Tall. Broad. Unshaken. Unlike the others, this one wasn't charging blindly. His stance was steady. Measured. He knew how to fight.

Talio gritted his teeth.

This one's going to be a problem.

The brute swung again, and Talio barely managed to roll beneath it. The ground trembled as the blade carved into the dirt where he'd been standing moments before. He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. He couldn't block a strike like that—he'd be cut clean in half.

"You're quick," the brute rumbled, watching him with dark, calculating eyes. "But how long can you keep dodging?"

Talio didn't answer. He was already analyzing. The greatsword was powerful but slow. Every swing left a brief opening.

I just need one mistake.

The brute swung high. Talio ducked low. The moment the blade passed overhead, he surged forward, slashing at the man's side. The steel bit deep, blood spraying across the dirt.

The brute didn't flinch. Instead, he grinned.

"Not bad."

Talio's stomach twisted.

Shit.

The brute's fist crashed into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. Before he could recover, a knee slammed into his ribs, sending him sprawling. His vision blurred, his ears ringing. He tasted copper in his mouth.

Move. Get up.

The brute raised his greatsword. Talio forced his body to react, rolling at the last second. The blade carved into the dirt beside him. Without thinking, he grabbed a fistful of sand and flung it upward. The grains caught the brute's eyes, and he roared in pain, staggering back.

Talio didn't waste the opportunity. He lunged forward, aiming low. His blade carved through the brute's hamstring. A howl of pain ripped through the battlefield as the man crumpled to one knee. Talio didn't stop. He drove his sword into the brute's throat, twisting for good measure.

The body fell still.

Then he felt it again. Stronger this time.

A presence. Overwhelming. Suffocating. A shadow at the edge of the battlefield, watching, waiting.

The bandit leader had arrived.

Talio wiped the blood from his blade, forcing down the exhaustion creeping through his limbs. His fingers still trembled, his ribs throbbed, but he forced himself to stay steady. He couldn't afford to falter now.

Oh, now this is where things get interesting.