Jacob the Bloodletter (SFW - Scraps)

His legs bled and screamed, his arms ached, and his stomach was on the verge of emptying it’s contents. Jacob pushed. His body groaned. It twisted and writhed under him. Even his own mind fought against him, synapses firing like a wild gunman. Arrows stuck out of him like pins on a cushion, and his raggedy breath drew out bouts of blood from his lungs and throat. The sword he held in his left hand burned in his palm, and his hand tried to let go. It pleaded to free the burden. Jacob gritted his blood-soaked teeth, and clenched the sword. His hand wailed like a banshee in response. With a staggering approach, he continued his march against his new assailants. His new victims. He swallowed the blood that pooled in his mouth, and grinned viciously.

 

More. His thoughts, once focused on his own wounds, now focused on the wounds he would leave on them. A bloody painted mosaic, a delicate arrangement of corpses, he would create. He was thinking of killing their leader first, to demonstrate superiority, before slaying the rest. Or he could leave the leader for last and torture him slowly before releasing him from his mortal binds. The bounty didn’t seem like much of a good idea now, he wagered. Sometimes a bunch of zeroes can convince even the most stalwart of people, however. Loyalty to the crown wasn’t worth getting massacred. He always entertained these kinds of thoughts before the kill, as if it were some way to justify his actions. But it didn’t really matter anymore, he had become sufficiently lost in the bloodlust. People called him a murderer, but he would laugh and proclaim that you can’t be a murderer if they willingly come to you to die.

 

Blood began filling his boots as it trickled down his legs. The blood sprayed off his body as he turned and spun in the rhythm of the fight. His sword met one of the mercenary’s neck as he danced into the fray, their blood mixing with the blood on his body as it spurted out. Jacob kept his mouth open, letting the blood fall into his mouth. Bringing the body down in his graceful swing, he brought it up behind him to strike the next man behind him, leaving a gash across the man’s torso and face. The man cried out as his unsheathed sword fell to the rocks with a clatter. Five more remained, and they all rushed him, trying to subdue him. Jacob picked up the second sword with his right hand, his fingers aching under the weight, but he was quick enough to parry the first swing. His left sword ran him through, and pulling it out gave him enough momentum to knock the man on his left away: the man’s ornate helmet came clean off. He must be the Captain. He spun, blades out, causing the other two to back off, positioning themselves on either side of him, trying to get a good flank on him. They were terrified. The one on his right began to waver, as if his body was giving up on him. In that instant Jacob was upon him, and with a turning leap he parried the mercenary’s sword out of the way, and arced his left blade in a back-handed blow across his chest. The impact threw him to the ground, bleeding and clutching at his chest; dying, but not dead yet. He’d make sure to finish them all off, just in case.

 

While he was distracted, the final man tried to blindside Jacob, trying to run him through. With a simple side-step, Jacob dropped his right sword, grabbed the man’s skull, pulled him to the ground, and with the left sword, stabbed him through the neck while he was pinned. He gurgled and twitched under the sword, and Jacob took out the blade to return it to it’s sheath. Picking up the other sword, he in turn made sure that all the others were dead. He heard rummaging over near the leader, and saw that he was trying to stand up. Jacob approached the pathetic man, and stuck his boot on the man’s chest. The man began to cry, his hands scrabbling at the boot on his chest. Jacob grinned at the sight before him, his blade still clutched firmly in his vastly injured hand. Throwing the blade to the ground, Jacob drew out his knife, and leaning down to the man, he began crudely drawing his insignia onto his chest. Then, pleased with the work, he slit his throat and stabbed his eye.

 

Jacob, finally feeling the tremendous exhaustion, tumbled to the ground, allowing the rest his body demanded. It wouldn’t be until a week later that people would find the mercenaries, with Jacob nowhere to be seen.