The Remnant

Chapter 36

Soren Grayson

Soren was a natural-born fighter. From a very young age, he'd been a fighter. Whether it was the kids in his town or the kids in school, he was someone who was constantly looking for a fight.

Soren wasn't nice or smart. Hell, he didn't have money, ambitions, or pretty much any normal character trait that ordinary people had. In a nutshell, he was different. He wasn't like normal people.

What he did have, was grit. An unyielding, unbreakable will. The word 'surrender' wasn't a word he was familiar with. It wasn't part of his vocabulary. Soren didn't care if you held a knife to his throat, or if you threatened to cut him into small pieces. He lived by one principle, and one principle only. Death before dishonor.

That fact had never changed. Even now, as he stood in the face of death, that code of life rang in his mind, with more volume than ever before.

Soren let out a war cry as he swung his sword with all his might. His blade cut through two, no, three enemies as if they were made of dough.

"Is that all you've got?" Soren's voice boomed, filled with defiance as he taunted his enemies. There was no way in hell he would allow a horde of weak familiars to bring him down.

The familiars exchanged hesitant glances, their confidence wavering for a fleeting moment. Sensing an opening, Soren lunged forward like a viper, severing the arm of an enemy, and delivering a bone-crushing kick to another's face.

The familiar clutching his severed arm cried out in agony, tears welling in his eyes as he stared at the discarded limb. Exploiting the distraction, Soren swiftly moved behind him, thrusting his sword deep into his chest.

As he pulled out his sword from the corpse, Soren leaped back just as a hammer swung down on the spot where he'd been standing. The familiar he'd kicked had recovered, and was on his tail, desperate to land a killing blow.

In an attempt to disorient his pursuer, Soren began sprinting in circles, making it hard for the familiar to track his path.

"Stop running away, coward!" the familiar barked, baring his feline fangs in a display of predatory fury.

A sly grin crept across Soren's face, determination blazing in his eyes. "As you wish."

Planting his blade firmly in the ground, Soren propelled his body upward, executing a lightning-fast aerial kick. The back of his boot collided with the familiar's cheek, the force snapping his neck back with a sickening crack.

As the familiar stumbled backward, Soren landed gracefully on both feet, reclaiming his sword from the earth. In one fluid motion, he swung his blade, cleaving through the familiar's neck, cleanly severing his head.

"That makes fifteen kills!" Soren exclaimed triumphantly, his adrenaline-fueled gaze sweeping the battlefield to gauge Pascal's progress.

At a distance of about fifty feet, Soren watched as Pascal lifted a familiar into the air before smashing his face on the ground.

Another familiar jumped on the gorilla's back, raising his dagger in the air to deliver a killing blow. Before he could bring the blade down, Pascal leaped into the air and landed on his back, the weight of his body, crushing the familiar.

"What a show-off," Soren whispered under his breath as he approached his friend.

"How are you holding up, buddy?"

Pascal shrugged, making it seem that he was fine. Soren knew better than to believe his friend. For the last hour or so, Pascal had been the one handling the bulk of the enemy force. Even though he looked fine at a distance, up close was a completely different story.