part 4

Jordan Berlson stood atop the walls of Graystown and watched the so call knight confront the Maneater Marak, his thick arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown on his face. While Ares did look rather striking with his long blood red coat and duel swords on his back, there was no escaping the fact that he looked like a toddler confronting an adult as he faced Marak. A grating noise caught Jordans attention and he saw the gates being opened, the more militant of the townspeople had apparently been shamed by the boys actions and decided to help him fight, not matter how outmatched they were.

The people that swarmed out of the gates were not simple peasants or farmers. This far south where there was no army or patrols to fend off bandits and monsters the simple people learned that survival depended on their ability to fight. The majority of them were hunters and trappers who grew up hunting the deep forests or were ex man at arms that turned to a simpler life. He was not surprised that most of the Wild bloods of the town were the first to leave the gate.

Wild bloods were what they called people that were born with animalistic traits. The majority were canine or feline featured (although bear was fairly common too), often having animal ears or tails, claws and animal like eyes. They were not fully animals by any means and did not have fur or misshapen limbs. The blood did however often grant them with superior senses, strength or speed. Nothing compared to a Maneater of course, but enough to give them an edge against a normal human. It was said a pure Wild blood looked like a human shaped animal, with thick fur, reversed knees and muzzles.

The Wild blood in Graystown had diluted over generations though and most could pass as a pure human with a hat and gloves. There were others in town with blood lines just as diluted. Really it was hard to find anyone without some famous bloodline in their ancestry but after 2 or 3 generations the blood was so diluted the clans did not consider you one of them. Those of the Ogre bloodline were often supremely strong, even the thinnest of young girls of the Ogres could out arm wrestle Jordan. He was fairly certain the hunter Parl had some Ogre in him.

There was also the Hawk clan blood, whose keen eyes and unerring aim marked many a hunter. Moonspider blood could be found in many a thief and trickster, although they rarely turned to outright banditry. Those with Raksha blood almost always turned to mercenary work or banditry, their red eyes, bloodlust and fiery temper making them useless for much else. Jordan was sure some that each of those great bloodlines, diluted through generations, was present in the townspeople below.

Jordan ceased his musings as suddenly Marak took up his great club, made from an entire tree trunk and belted in iron bands, it must have been 6 feet long and yet Marak lifted it effortlessly. Jordan could not hear any of the words spoken but suddenly the bandits started running, swarming past Ares to attack the townspeople that had come out to meet them. Jordan watched Ares and Marak face off with each other, neither moving as the bandits flowed past. He desperately wanted to believe in Ares, but reality looked quite bleak.

Jordan didn’t think he had blinked but suddenly there was sound like two boulders crashing together as Marak’s massive club smashed into the ground. The force of the blow was such that it sent some of the closest bandits tumbling off their feet. It looked for a moment like Ares had been smashed flat but Jordan spied in in the air to Maraks side. He had jumped 8ft into the air in an instant when Marak had attacked. Ares spun in the air and lashed out with the Black blade, the edged arcing directly for Maraks throat.
Jordan could barely follow the movements of the two fighters and knew now that Ares was what he had claimed to be. He wasn’t sure he could be Marak, but he was certainly no ordinary boy. The Black blade sheared through Maraks gauntlet as he brought his hand up to block. Ares pushed off with his foot as Maraks massive hand lashed out after blocking and landed a dozen feet away.

Ares seemed to be on the defensive, at a disadvantage due to the huge difference in reach. Marak sweeped his club across the ground so close that it dug a furrow through the road and had his other hand reared back, ready to slap Ares out of the sky when he jumped. The move was not that sophisticated and Ares seemed to see through it as he instead dashed forward, slipping underneath Maraks arm. Suddenly Jordan saw Ares flying backwards dozens of feet and Marks foot stomping back down on the ground. The hand had been a feint and Marak had been aiming to kick Ares as he dodged through.

Jordan worried that the fight was over but saw that Ares was standing where he had landed after the kick, apparently unharmed. The exchange had only taken a few seconds and the bandits and townspeople were just now meeting in battle. Jordan spared a glance down, as that battle was happening only a hundred feet from the gate. Compared to what he had just witnessed their battle looked like children play fighting, though he knew both were a life and death struggle. 

He looked up suddenly, his eyes wide as Marak suddenly brought his club down in a double handed over head blow. Ares was still a hundred feet away but the blow sent a shockwave tearing through the ground towards him. Ares jumped easily aside but the shockwave continued, a series of eruptions tearing up through the earth, sending dirt and stone dozens of feet into the air. The line of destruction traveled all the way to the gates, tossing aside the bandits and townspeople in its path like toys. It hit the gate with a thunderous boom, buckling it inward as if a catapult had struck it and Jordan desperately held onto the wall as it shook violently, threatening to throw him off.

The bandits and townspeople that had been fighting near the gates had stopped fighting and turned to watch the fight between Ares and Marak. They all realized their fight didn’t matter now as either Ares or Marak could wipe out the entire town, or the bandit group, on their own. The two of them moved in a blur, Ares’ blade gouging chunks out of Marak’s armor and leaving bright red gashes red the blade bit into him. Jordan thought Ares was pressing Marak, the giant seemed to be covered in blood from the gashes across his arms, legs and stomach, then suddenly Maraks giant club swung and there was a loud boom as the gate buckled and collapsed, leaving Ares kneeling and panting amidst the wreckage.

The bandits cheer however was short lived as Ares walked out of the gate in a trail of splintered wood, shoving aside planks of wood bigger than him without notice. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his face. The scowl on his face and blazing eyes sent bandit and townspeople scurrying out of his way as he walk unhurriedly back to Marak. Jordan wondered if the town would even be standing at the end of the fight.

His worry was unneeded and the end of the fight was what some would call, anticlimactic. What had looked like it would be a drawn out battle between two titans of equal skill and strength instead ended in the blink of an eye. When Ares was within a 100 feet of Marak, he suddenly dashed forward, his speed again to fast for Jordan’s eyes to follow. Marak’s club smashed into the ground, tossing those outside the gate off their feet once more with its great impact. Jordan looked desperately for Ares and finally spotted him behind Marak, sheathing his blade and turning around. Ares had crossed some 200 feet in the blink of an eye. Jordan’s amazement at Ares speed was forgotten as he watched in confusion and awe as the top half of Marak’s torso slid off the bottom, blood fountaining from both halves as his bisected body toppled to the ground.

There was stunned silence, everyone trying to process what had just happened. To the watchers, in the blink of an eye the battle was over. The entire fight had only taken minutes. Then suddenly the townspeople were cheering outside, and those inside began to climb the walls and cheer as Ares began a slow walk back to the gate. Most of the bandits gaped in stunned silence, though a few ran for it. Jordan paid little heed to the bandits, still trying to come to grips with what had happened. In less than a day his town went from safe, to doomed and now safe again.

As Ares got closer Jordan looked closer at him and then rushed down the wall and out the shattered gate to see him. Most of the townspeople were backing away from him in awe. It was one thing to cheer their savior, quite another to get close to a boy who had just single handedly killed a Maneater, one of the most feared creatures in the land, and seemingly without much effort.

Jordan had noticed what the townspeople had not though. It had not been without effort. It looked to him like Ares was holding himself up by will alone. He walked as if trying not to limp, he was covered in blood although most of that was not his own. Still his lip was busted open and scraps and bruises covered his face. Jordan could not even imagine how someone could survive the blow from Marak’s club that had sent Ares crashing through the gate. Even if he had been in full armor his body should have been crushed. 

Jordan reached Ares and realized he wasn’t sure what to say. His injuries didn’t look like anything serious really, nothing anyone wouldn’t have after a fist fight and it suddenly seemed like the likes of him, a country smith and ad hoc mayor of a town barely bigger than a village had no right to be speaking to this boy. No, this knight as he had claimed.

He gulped finally and steeled himself. “ Sir Ares! You have saved Graystown from Marak and we are eternally grateful. Is there anything we can do for you? We don’t have much but I will try to find a suitable reward…” He trailed off as Ares looked up at him and spoke, and Jordan felt justified in his concern at hearing the exhaustion in Ares’ voice.

“Food”