#nro.2

He was always sure he’d die with his boots on and holding his sword in his hand, but Pero Tovar didn’t think it would be like this, ambushed in the middle of the forest with just William Garin by his side. 

William Garin who had fallen. 

Had he just been knocked out or killed, Pero didn’t know. He’d only seen his friend's eyes flash towards him in fear or something else Pero didn’t want to name before they fell shut slowly and the man crumbled to the ground with a loud thud. 

There was no time to grieve though, the armed group advancing on Pero now from all sides made sure of that. They had gleaming eyes, rotten teeth, and the smell of death that permeated their skin prickling Pero’s nose as they moved closer and closer. He was cornered from all sides, his back nearly pressed against the ancient rock formation. 

“Yer all alone now, merc. Wish ye join yer friend or shall ye bargain fer ye life?” The leader spat out, the words both insulting and taunting. Pero’s eyes narrowed, his hand slowly pulling out the second sword he’d kept strapped to his back until now. He might be cornered, but that didn’t mean he had nowhere to run. 

With a hungry look in his eyes, Pero jutted his chin out in defiance. “We shall see who joins the afterlife, amigos. Don’t know about you, but I am liking my odds,” He knew his words would goad them and it was exactly what he wanted. The first of the group stepped out, his own hunger for blood taking over and Pero knew he had his target. He charged, both swords at the ready. 

It was a blur after that, a cacophony of feet shuffling in the ground mixed with pained grunts and metal clashing against metal. First blood was drawn and the sound of torn flesh joined in the panting that filled the air. A flock of birds flew off a nearby tree when someone thumped against its bark only to not rise up again. 

Pero sliced through one of his opponents, his own hands slick with both his own sweat and blood and the blood of his enemies. He didn’t think, he acted on pure adrenaline and base instincts, the will to live far too great to be diminished just yet. He turned, swirling on his feet to meet the sword aimed at his back by the leader of the group - the only one left standing opposite him. 

“You are good. But that black powder belongs to me!” The leader grunted, a glint in his eyes teling the story of how he’d already gone mad over the idea of the powder and the power it yielded. Had Pero been feeling any less murderous by William’s demise, he might’ve laughed. 

“You think I have any powder with me?!” 

“Yes! And it will be mine!” the man yelled, charging forward again. Pero twisted, the sword aimed at his chest missing by mere inches. The two men stood at the clearing, bodies of others thrown around like dolls in a children’s room, panting and bleeding profusely. Pero huffed, his breath coming in short and ragged, his hand never shaking under the weight of the swords he still held up and pointed towards the aggressor. 

“What’s mine shall never be yours,” He told the man, his gaze turning freezing and his tone low. A darkness seemed to rise from his shoulders, wrapping the sun in its cloak and making the ground shiver under the sudden coldness. 

Pero seemed to grow in width and height, the dangerous aura around him sweeping to nip at the feet of the other. He could see the other man realize just the depth of trouble he was in, his sunken eyes widening in fear and his hand going slack with his sword. Pero grinned, his teeth stark white against the dark veil suddenly on top of them both. He took a single step forward, his voice booming through the woods and the rocks.