Bjorn rushed as he followed Taya back to the center of the island. It seemed they were going to join the fray.

As they neared the encampment, which was lit up in flames and echoing with agonized cries for mercy, Taya stopped to tear away the bark of a tree, revealing a dug out compartment in the trunk that held a massive greatsword that was almost as long as Taya was tall. She unwrapped the layers of cloth over its blade.

“We have nowhere to go, Stormtamer. Let us get your weapons and try to increase our chances of survival,” she said before charging into the encampment.

Nikan soldiers, in lamellar armor, reveled in the slaughter of plague victims. Blood splashed over the dirt like lapping waves as screams replaced the screeching of seabirds. None were spared in the massacre, not even children.

The Avisilan guards had deployed and were trying to fight them, but their small numbers were no match for the battalion of imperial soldiers.

Bjorn stared at the slaughter only a moment before Taya’s scars crackled with light and she unleashed her strength on par with the gods upon the Nikan. Her sword was used more like a club than a slashing weapon, the force breaking bones before cutting flesh..

He turned away from her and looked to the one building that had been bothered to be constructed in this place: the storehouse.

A triad of soldiers stood between him and the storehouse where he would find the weapons he was dropped here with.

Bjorn glared at them, almost challenging them to approach him.

Drawing on fifteen years of training as a warrior, Bjorn’s mind focused itself completely on his opponents and defeating them as quickly as possible. He grabbed a spear as it was being thrusted towards him. He stomped on the shaft, breaking the wielder’s grip and smashed the butt of the spear into the head. Bjorn spun the spear around and impaled a second soldier through the neck on it.

Bjorn finished them off when he redirected a particularly unthoughtful sword swing into the first stunned soldier before gripping the pommel and shoving the blade under the wielder’s chin.

He aimed his shoulder at the wooden door and burst through it with a single ramming of his body. The room was full to the brim with crates and racks full of clothes, weapons and valuables.

Being the only Ascommani to come to the island, Bjorn recognized his weapons pretty easily when they had been set aside next to his round shield. The wooden shield was painted crimson, with the black insignia of the Valravn on it.

He grabbed the shield, his axe, his sword and a few bolas一heavy balls of wood tied together with rope一along with his iron goggled helmet. He wasn’t going to be caught in anything bigger than a skirmish without being professionally armed.

Bjorn burst through the doorway, his helmet on and his shield and axe at the ready. He ran into the fighting to help Taya, who was starting to be overwhelmed by the Nikan’s sheer numbers. Each time she knocked them away or slashed through their ranks, more soldiers replaced them.

Bjorn toppled five or six Nikan soldiers with a particularly sudden and powerful shield bash into a bunched up group of men eager to take a stab at the Sklaveni.

His tactical mind knew this was insane. He faced tens, maybe hundreds with naught but one useful ally. So he abandoned his reason and drew on his wildness. The center that many Berserkirs said to focus on in the midst of panic or doubt. His inner bear.

The combat became a blur. Where once Bjorn paid attention to everything and anything that might give him the advantage, he now only thought of one thing: Killing.

He buried his axe in the throat of a man before smacking another with the blunt end and kicking him to the ground. He let another man’s sword wedge itself in his shield before tearing the weapon away and hitting him in the ribs with a crushing axe blow. His mind paid no heed to how he killed the men after a while. Just that blood flowed or bone cracked.

There were many enemies, but none appeared to be very well trained. If he had to guess, the most training any one of them had lasted only a few months or so. Up against Bjorn’s extensive experience and proper arms, they were but insects beneath his foot.

Before he knew it, the soldiers started to flee, in accordance with an echoing horn. Bjorn withdrew from the bear, his reason returning to notice the burning sensation in...well, everything.

“You’d better run, cowards!” Taya cackled as the soldiers retreated.

But they weren’t fleeing out of fear. They’d just done their job, whatever that was. Because Bjorn and Taya were the only two Plague victims still alive as far as he could see.

Bjorn took out a bola and twirled it in his hand. He launched the ropes at one of the straggling soldiers. The trap wrapped up his legs, sending him to the ground. Bjorn quickly threatened the man with his axe before he could stand.

Flames crackled softly from what few fires still burned. The waves of the ocean lapped at the shore not far away. The wind whistled as it wove through the trees. But the sound of death permeated every other sound. That sound laid like a thick, suffocating blanket across the island. The sound of death, of course, being silence.