The forest was eerily silent, the kind of silence that precedes a storm. Sabastin moved through the dense underbrush, each step a reminder of his injuries. His side throbbed where Aleister's axe had torn into him, and the bullet wound in his back burned with every breath. But pain was a luxury he couldn't afford—not now.
He reached a clearing where the moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting silver patterns on the forest floor. He paused, senses alert. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of gunpowder.
Suddenly, a twig snapped behind him.
Sabastin spun, raising his revolver. Too late.
A figure lunged from the shadows, blade gleaming. Sabastin twisted, the knife grazing his arm. He retaliated with a swift punch, the crunch of bone under his knuckles satisfying. The attacker crumpled, but more emerged from the darkness.
Aleister's men.
Sabastin fired, each shot precise. One fell with a bullet between the eyes, another with a shattered knee. But they kept coming.
A machete swung at his head. He ducked, the blade slicing through his hood. He countered with a shot to the assailant's chest, blood spraying as the man collapsed.
Pain flared in his leg—a knife embedded in his thigh. Sabastin gritted his teeth, yanked it out, and used it to slit the throat of the next attacker.
The clearing became a battlefield, bodies piling up, the ground slick with blood. Sabastin moved like a specter, a harbinger of death. But he was tiring, his wounds slowing him.
Then, a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
"Impressive, Sabastin. But this ends now."
Aleister stepped into the clearing, clad in dark armor, a massive sword in hand. His face was a mask of fury and blood.
Sabastin faced him, bloodied and bruised. "Let's finish this."
They charged.
Steel clashed, sparks flying. Aleister's strength was formidable, each blow pushing Sabastin back. But Sabastin was faster, dodging, weaving, striking when openings appeared.
Aleister swung his sword in a wide arc. Sabastin ducked, rolled, and slashed at Aleister's leg. Blood spurted, but Aleister barely flinched.
"You'll have to do better," he growled.
Sabastin feinted left, then drove his knife into Aleister's side. Aleister roared, backhanding Sabastin, sending him sprawling.
Gasping, Sabastin struggled to his feet. Aleister advanced, sword raised.
In a desperate move, Sabastin threw a handful of dirt into Aleister's eyes. As Aleister staggered, Sabastin lunged, plunging his knife into Aleister's shoulder.
Aleister screamed, dropping his sword. Sabastin tackled him, fists pummeling his face.
But Aleister was not done. He headbutted Sabastin, breaking his nose. Blood poured as Sabastin reeled.
Aleister grabbed his sword, slashing at Sabastin's chest. The blade bit deep, and Sabastin collapsed, vision dimming.
Aleister stood over him, bloodied and battered. "You're finished."
Sabastin, with the last of his strength, pulled a hidden dagger and stabbed Aleister's foot. Aleister howled, stumbling.
Sabastin seized the moment, grabbing Aleister's dropped sword and driving it through his thigh.
Aleister screamed, falling to his knees.
Sabastin rose, towering over him. "This ends now."
He raised the sword, but Aleister, with a surge of strength, threw a smoke bomb. The clearing filled with thick smoke.
When it cleared, Aleister was gone.
Sabastin collapsed, wounds bleeding, the forest spinning around him.
Absolutely — here's the continuation of your brutal and bloody Chapter 17, following the devastating battle between Sabastin and Aleister. We now move into the grim aftermath, with lingering tension and more danger looming ahead.
The morning sun filtered weakly through the forest canopy, casting pale light over the blood-stained clearing. Crows circled above, drawn by the carnage. Sabastin lay sprawled on the cold earth, barely conscious, his breath shallow and ragged.
Every inch of his body screamed in agony. His chest was carved open, his nose broken, one leg nearly useless from the deep knife wound. The sword he'd used to fight Aleister lay beside him, sticky with drying blood.
He didn't know how long he lay there, but at some point, a voice pierced through the ringing in his ears.
"Sabastin... Sabastin!"
It was Petrova.
She burst through the trees, blood smeared on her cloak, her eyes wild with fear. Behind her came Sir Frederick, rifle slung over his back, his old eyes wide with horror at the sight before him.
Petrova dropped to her knees, cradling her brother's broken body. "Gods… what happened?"
Sabastin coughed, blood speckling his lips. "Aleister... escaped."
Frederick knelt beside them, quickly tearing Sabastin's shirt to inspect the gaping wound across his ribs. "He needs fire, stitches, and prayers."
"Save your prayers," Sabastin rasped. "He'll be back… stronger."
Petrova turned to Frederick. "We can't stay here. More of Aleister's men could be nearby."
Frederick nodded grimly. "We'll move him. But we need help."
Back at the Hidden Cottage
Hours later, they returned to the hidden cottage in the woods. Sabastin lay feverish, sweat pouring from his brow as Petrova cleaned his wounds. He groaned in pain but said nothing. His eyes stayed locked on the rafters above, his mind still in the battlefield, haunted by blood and smoke.
Frederick sat sharpening his blade by the fire, the old war in his soul reigniting. "Aleister won't stop now. You humiliated him. Killed most of his men."
Petrova glanced over. "So what do we do? We're outnumbered. He'll return with more."
Frederick stood. "Then we gather our own."
Petrova looked at him in disbelief. "Who would fight for us?"
"Men I once led. Soldiers. Mercenaries. Ghosts of old wars," Frederick replied. "They owe me, and they hate the kind of tyrant Aleister has become."
Petrova looked down at her wounded brother. "And what if they say no?"
Frederick's eyes gleamed. "Then I remind them what it means to bleed for something worth keeping."
In the Darkness — Aleister's Escape
Elsewhere in the forest, Aleister stumbled through mud and rot, his thigh gushing blood, one arm dangling uselessly. His beautiful black armor was cracked and smeared with gore. His surviving men were few—only three followed him now, limping and wounded.
They reached a hidden cave in the hills—one of their fallback camps. Aleister collapsed onto a stone bench, screaming as one of his men tried to cauterize his wound with a red-hot dagger.
"He… took everything," Aleister growled, biting back the pain. "The bastard almost killed me."
"But you lived," one of his lieutenants offered.
Aleister's face twisted into something monstrous. "And now I want him broken. I don't want his death swift. I want his world in ash."
He stood slowly, blood running down his side, his eyes burning with vengeance.
"Send the ravens. Call the Vultures. Every outlaw, every killer-for-hire. I want him hunted like a dog."
Three Days Later – Blood for Blood
Sabastin finally woke from his fever.
Petrova was asleep beside the fire. Frederick, weary but alert, leaned against the wall cleaning a long-barreled rifle.
"How many did I kill?" Sabastin asked hoarsely.
Frederick turned. "Too many to count. The forest reeks of corpses."
"Good," Sabastin muttered. "Not enough."
Frederick walked over. "You shouldn't be proud of what you did. You survived. That's all that matters."
Sabastin shook his head. "He'll come again. Stronger."
Frederick nodded. "That's why I've sent word to old allies. Mercenaries. Some of them worse than the monsters we're fighting."
"Will they come?" Sabastin asked.
"They'll come," Frederick answered. "Not for honor. For revenge. Aleister's made enemies across half the land."
Sabastin tried to sit up, groaning. "Then we bleed together."
Petrova stirred, sitting upright and rubbing her eyes. "What's happening?"
Sabastin met her gaze. "We're done hiding."
She nodded slowly, her eyes hardening. "Then let's burn