I struggled to pull my little sword free and Hardt's arm fell across me, forcing me backwards towards the stairs.
"Stay behind me," the big man rumbled. In truth it was wise advice, but I bristled all the same. I didn't like the idea of needing anyone to protect me. I had a sword and the barest knowledge of how to use it. I wasn't about to let others fight and die while I cowered behind them just because I was younger than them, and a woman.
"Why the fuck should I?" I shouted back at Hardt. "I'm more use than you. Or are you going to put those big bloody fists to use for once?" It hurt him, I could see that. Unfortunately, we didn't have time for me to cuddle his feelings, nor for him to hide behind the rest of us as we fought for our lives. If we were going to survive, we needed to use our greatest weapon. We needed to unleash the monster within Hardt.
I stepped forwards, planning to fight alongside Yorin, but Hardt dragged me back again. His strength has always been legendary and I had no chance to resist it. "Stay out of this," he said. "You'll only get in the way."
He was right, of course, but it stung all the same. I wasn't trained to fight. Isen had barely finished telling me how to hold a sword properly before I ruined that for us both. Fighting is like any skill, it requires knowledge and practice, and I had neither. Still, I drew my sword and waited behind the others, my back to the stairs, as they held off the horde.
For all his flaws, and all his damned cowardice, Isen could fight. I watched him, thinking how slow his sword work had been while we played at training. Side by side, he and Yorin looked untouchable. Nothing breeds trust quite like the mutual threat of being eaten alive. It's a lesson I've learned to be true more than twice over.
The creatures darted in again and again, baring teeth and sharpened nails. The others held a semi-circle of protection with me at the rear, driving them back and dealing wounds wherever possible. Even Hardt threw the odd punch, though I could see he was more trying to deter our foes than kill them. Tamura proved his mastery time and time again. Whatever martial art he knew, it resulted in a lot of broken limbs.
The battle stretched on forever. Hardt tells me it was quick, but then his judgement of time is as skewed as my own. He lost track of almost everything in the bloody mess he created in that hall. I think maybe it was because I was forced to watch that time dragged so.
Again, I felt my hand drop to the pouch at my belt. Again, I wished it to be a Pyromancy Source. I have always had an affinity to fire. I'd wager it's because fire is so destructive, and I am far better as destroying things than creating. Evidenced by the fact that I have a lot more dead enemies, than living friends. With a Pyromancy Source I could have sent a wave of flame through the hall searing flesh from bone. I could have ended the fight in moments. I could have fucking killed all of them!
I felt a prickle between my shoulder, a feeling, like knowing that someone is watching, and looked up. One of the Damned was crouching on the stairs behind me. It leapt and we went down together, rolling on the ground and scrabbling for purchase. I felt hot, rancid breath on my face and heard the snap of teeth so close to my neck. Sharp nails dug into my arms and the pain was intense.
Luckily for me, I was scared, terrified even. Up close the things looked even more terran, and also strangely less. Its grey skin was dry and cracked in places, oozing a yellow fluid. Its eyes were a bright blue and bloodshot. I didn't have time to consider what had made them that way, and neither did I understand where the new strength flooding into my limbs came from. Ssserakis was feeding off my terror and, linked as we were, that gave me power.
"I am the weapon!" I screamed at the thing, a guttural sound torn from my lips as I rose up and shoved it hard against the stairs. I held it in place with a hand around its neck, ignoring the flailing arms and tearing nails. And I drove my little sword into its gut over and over again. The thick blood that dripped out of its wounds looked more black than red.
I staggered away from the broken creature. It all felt more like a dream. Or a nightmare at least. Soldiers call it a battle haze. The world feels fuzzy around the edges, distant, almost. It is a place of raw emotion, easy to get lost in. I wasn't the only one in that hazy world.
When I turned back to the others, I saw Isen was down, bleeding from a gash down his leg. Yorin was close by, dancing back and forth as he stabbed at the creatures around him. Tamura stood over the downed brother, his legs apart and his hands ready to catch any attack that came. But Hardt... Hardt was violence incarnate.
He was solid muscle, tempered by skill, driven by blood lust, and topped with steel knuckles. Every punch broke bones and pulverised flesh, and he was throwing them out in generous helpings. My own haze broke as I watched the big man fight. I collapsed backwards on one of the stairs, caught between awe and disgust. I had done this. I had pushed so hard to unleash this. And now that it was free, I couldn't help but wonder… What had I done?
Hardt's rags had torn free. He was topless, covered in little bleeding cuts, and I could see, for the first time, just how muscled he really was. I've seen the sight many times since, and I still marvel at the man's strength. I suppose he was fairly well built before being sentenced to the Pit, and day upon day of digging has a habit of making you stronger.
Eventually the remaining creatures turned and fled from the giant threatening to make them extinct. It wasn't that they couldn't get close, or even land a blow, but more that Hardt didn't seem to feel it. I know now he felt every cut, scrape, and bruise, but in that state, pain just drives him forward, makes him stronger. He was tearing them to pieces and even as primitive as the Damned are, they could see they were losing the fight.
I went to him once it was all over. He had knelt amidst a pile of corpses, drawing in ragged breath after ragged breath and staring at nothing. His eyes were wide and his face looked longer than normal. Unchecked tears ran down the lines of his face, dripping from his chin and mixing with the blood on the ground.
It's always the same for Hardt. When the rage takes him, he says it's almost like watching through someone else's eyes. But he sees it all. Feels it all. Afterwards the sadness strikes him hard. Unfortunately, we had neither the time, nor the alcohol to help him drown his sorrow. We needed to leave before the creatures regrouped and came back.
Sometimes a lie is worth a thousand truths, and I would tell a thousand lies to spare Hardt a single moment of pain. He's earned that and more for sticking with me through the years. I have a habit of turning people into monsters and Hardt is probably my greatest creation. Well, after my own daughter.
"They were imps," I said. "Mindless, soulless creatures from the Other World. I doubt they even felt it." Sometimes a lie can go too far, exposing it for what it is.
Hardt looked up at me and I felt tears well up in my own eyes. Emotion can be like that. It's contagious. Even without Empamancy I felt a little taste of Hardt's turmoil and it nearly broke me. It's a wonder to me he ever manages to come back from the depths of his despair.
"They felt it," he whispered. "I know pain. They fucking felt it." His voice broke on the words.
I gave him a moment with that grief. But only a moment. "Isen is hurt," I said. "And we need to leave, before they come back."
I heard the clang of metal hitting rock as Hardt let the steel knuckles drop from his hands. I could see blood and worse on those knuckles, on his hands too. He stood then and it looked a struggle to get his body moving. I collected the steel knuckles and followed, surprised by the weight of those weapons. But as heavy as they were to me, I knew for Hardt, they were much heavier.