Praetor''s friends quickly sprang to their feet and rushed to help. One man dove for their own tackle, but Mulct bounced back and then met the man''s face with a swinging kick. Shin collided with nose in an audible crack that silenced the tavern. There was a moment''s pause of stunned confusion and then a fist came flying. Mulct used the momentum of the incoming fist to help flip his attacker over his shoulder, sending them crashing partly onto a table, hip slamming against the edge while the upper half of their body missed the table and continued to the ground. The legs then followed, folding over themselves and leaving the man crippled on the floor.


    Mulct, being too distracted by the satisfaction of his strike, was too late to notice a giant fist hurtle toward his face. The punch sent him spinning off his feet and into the air, his body careening toward his chair. His chin clipped the edge as he fell, sending a rattling sting through his entire head.


    He did not get up. The tavern had gone silent in the sudden reprieve from violence. A few fighters slowly approached the downed drunk. "What the hell was his problem?"


    Mulct''s rattled mind stuttered back into consciousness, and he spat out a bloody tooth. The reaction stilled any conversation in the tavern. Mulct reached forward and grabbed onto his black mace, then quickly spun around, launching the end of his weapon into the soft skull of the man who had hit him, instantly killing him.


    "What the-!" The entire crowd recoiled at the sudden aggression, and Mulct seized his chance to charge. Leaping to his feet, he slammed into one man, knocking him to the ground. He rolled with the momentum, coming up on his feet and finishing with a kick to another''s chest, the sound of cracking ribs echoing through the tavern.


    A nearby patron picked up a wooden chair and swung it into Mulct''s back, knocking Mulct to his knees. The patron swung again, but this time, Mulct met the chair with his own mace, eviscerating it into a powder of shrapnel that was blown back into the man wielding it. The man collapsed to the floor with a carnal wail of agony.


    Another patron rushed to the rescue with his sword drawn just to be met with the butt of a mace to his teeth, shattering them and knocking him to the ground. Mulct turned back to the man with the splintered chair impaled in his body and smashed the mace into his skull. The skull easily compressed under the weapon''s might, leaving a sizable impression, and the skull''s owner flopped lifelessly to the ground.


    Mulct ducked low to evade a sweeping sword strike of a second fighter, then swept his leg out to trip a third arrival. He swung his mace up to crunch into the second''s fighter chin, the blow sending the man''s head snapping back. As the fighter crumpled, Mulct expertly guided his fall, ensuring the sword in his hand drove deep into the chest of the other. Mulct then turned to the man covered in shrapnel lying on the floor with his head caved in. Mulct bellowed a guttural howl and plunged his mace into the already dead man''s head, squashing it flat and sending viscera exploding across the entire room.


    Mulct grabbed a nearby table with his free hand and effortlessly threw it at the door, knocking down some approaching guards before they could even fully enter the building. With a snarl, Mulct was about to charge into the new wave of enemies, but his eyes caught a terrified patron reaching for his white mace resting against the wall.


    His heart skipped a beat. Mulct pivoted sharply on the balls of his feet and sprinted toward the patron, his voice booming. "Donsh''t tusch him!"


    With a primal grunt, Mulct swung his mace with both hands, the weapon smashing into the body of the unfortunate barfly. The force sent the man hurtling through the tavern wall, his limp form crashing into the alley outside and careening further through the next wall over.


    Breathing heavily, Mulct retrieved his white mace, its pristine surface now marred by a few bloodstains. Without hesitation, he charged into the next building, making use of the newly formed entrances, the wreckage of the walls still crumbling around him.


    The wounded victim lay on the ground, arms wrapped around a horribly bruising chest, internal bleeding flooding to the fore. Mulct did not stop, he smashed his black mace into the felled man. He struck again, not even checking if he survived the first hit. He struck down and struck again far past the point where his weapon even felt resistance, his own bloodlust only being interrupted by the terrified screeching of the family watching this slaughter occur in their own home.


    The guards finally reached the new battlefield, their advance momentarily faltering at the gruesome sight before them. The first guard who broke from his stupor threw a jab with his spear. Mulct, unphased, sidestepped the spear thrust with fluid precision, his body a blur of movement. He didn''t strike back, though. Instead, he slammed his mace one last time into the lifeless puddle at his feet and again once more to fully render the victim to paste. Only then did he turn, locking eyes with the approaching guards, a grim resolve setting in as he prepared to continue the battle.


    Mulct didn''t freeze like his opponents. With a roar, he dove headfirst into the chaos, a whirlwind of fury amidst the spears and swords surrounding him. One arm was tucked protectively behind his back, guarding the white mace, while his other arm swung the black mace in a relentless flurry of death and destruction. Flesh and bone whirled like butter around his blunt demolition. The rustic and ill-kept weapons of the guards could do little more than shatter in defence of the incredible stress from the mace.


    With a surge of energy, Mulct''s relentless assault dragged the battle out of the invaded home and into the streets, where a vast battalion of soldiers quickly formed a cage of steel around Mulct, their numbers and weapons threatening to overwhelm him.


    A volley of spears shot forward, an inaccurate barrage of panicked retaliation, but Mulct moved like lightning. He sprang impossibly high, soaring over the deadly bombardment, and landed with a thunderous crash in the heart of the battalion. With a battle cry, he carved his way through the soldiers, each swing of his mace fueled by raw, unbridled fury, sending bodies flying and hysteria rippling through the ranks.


    The reinforcements flooded in, but even their numbers couldn''t stem the tide of carnage. Slowly, the battlefield emptied, leaving only a handful of bodies in their wake. No soldier fled. This was their home—if they had run, they would have abandoned their families, their children, to the wrath of this madman.


    Their courage and dedication were matched only by the brutal ferocity of their aggressor, which had driven them to the brink. In the end, only one soldier remained breathing, surrounded by the wreckage of their comrades.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The last soldier lay crumpled on the ground, unarmed, drenched in his own concoction of liquid fear. Mulct raised his mace high, ready to finish what he had started when a sudden pressure against his legs halted him. He looked down to find a small child, barely more than a toddler, his tiny hands clinging desperately to Mulct''s legs. The child''s body was too small to even lift a weapon, and yet, he hurled himself at Mulct with all the strength he could muster.


    A stream of tears streaked down the child''s face as he sobbed and cursed, his feet digging into the soft mud in a futile attempt to hold Mulct at bay. "NOOOOOOO! Stay away from Daddy! Stay away from here, you monster!"


    Mulct''s grip on his black mace slackened as his gaze swept over the devastation. The tavern had been reduced to rubble, and the house beside it hadn''t fared much better. A blockade of corpses cordoned off the street.


    The once-orderly road had transformed into a river of red, the blood pooling up to his ankles, staining the soil beneath. As Mulct surveyed the carnage, his sharp eyes caught the unmistakable sight of civilians among the fallen—noble peasants who had dared to stand against fate in defence of their town, now scattered like broken dolls among the soldiers.


    Mulct stared down at the child, whose small frame bore down on his legs, fueled only by raw rage and desperation. The child''s futile resistance seemed to make the air itself grow heavier.


    Mulct''s black mace slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a dull thud as his vision blurred. A sting of emotion welled up in his chest, and for a moment, he could feel the hot rush of tears threatening to spill. But before he could process it, a sudden burst of delighted laughter pierced the tension, drawing his attention away from the child.


    Mulct turned, his gaze drawn to the source of the laughter, and found himself facing a strange woman accompanied by a little girl. The odd woman looked almost human, but not quite. Her clothing, skin, hair, and even her impossibly wide-brimmed hat were all bathed in an impossible pure white. The only aberration in her flawless appearance was her one disturbing, clouded red eye, its gaze unsettling and unnatural. Mulct couldn''t help but feel a flicker of gratitude that her other eye was mercifully hidden behind a pristine white eyepatch.


    The little girl, on the other hand, was dressed in an odd scout''s uniform complete with inane badges, but what stood out most from the eerie child was her brilliant yellow headband and repugnant blue eyes, cerulean and piercing, as if they saw through everything that he was.


    The little girl adjusted her yellow headband, her expression unreadable, but remained utterly silent. It was the strange white woman who couldn''t contain herself, clutching her stomach as she let out peals of almost hysterical laughter. "Such an unstoppable beast, brought to his knees by the heart of a child—" Her words broke off as she gasped for breath, struggling to control her mirth.


    She wiped an invisible tear from her cheek and turned slightly, gesturing toward the girl scout. "I never thought I''d see the day, Can you believe this, Pen?'' she asked, her voice lilting with amusement as if the scene before her were the most delightful spectacle she''d ever witnessed.


    Both Mulct and the child clinging to his legs froze, momentarily stunned by the sudden presence of the intruders. The woman in white began to approach them, her movements unhurried, almost languid, as if she were strolling through a garden rather than stepping into the aftermath of a massacre. Mulct snapped to attention, gripping his white mace and planting it firmly before him, readying for whatever came next. But to his confusion—and growing unease—the woman paid his defensive stance no mind.


    The white woman knelt gracefully beside the child, her dress soaking in the river of blood, the plain white eagerly drinking up the dark red that clawed up her clothes. Her single clouded eye drifted aimlessly, unable to lock onto the child''s gaze. With unnaturally long fingers, she reached out—a hesitant, trembling motion—until her hand found the child''s cheek. She brushed away a lone tear with a touch so light it could have been a breeze. Her voice, soft and silken, carried a strange comfort as she whispered, "Don''t cry, dear child. There''s no need to mourn for those who have not died."


    A smile spread across her face, unfitting for the scene surrounding her. "And lucky for you." The woman tapped her index against the child''s small nose. "No one has died today."


    She rose to her full height, brushing off her red-stained clothes in a futile effort to remove the dust and blood that now marred them. With a tilt of her head, she continued, "In fact, no one was even born today if you think of it. But…" she made a faux show of looking over the devastated streets even though her glazed eye obviously saw none of it, "But... I suppose that''s hardly relevant here, is it?"


    The white woman''s face turned stern as she tried to glare at Mulct. Without warning, she delivered a gentle yet deliberate karate chop to the top of his head—not hard enough to harm him, but firm enough to convey her dissatisfaction. "What were you thinking!?" She scolded, her voice sharp and cutting.


    "Just because they''re not real doesn''t mean you should just go around willy-nilly like some uncontrollable psychopath! If you''re so uninterested in the preservation of these bodies, then why are you even so angry about losing Filch?"


    The white woman shook her head in exasperation as she began combing her unnervingly long fingers through Mulct''s dishevelled hair, plucking out bits of gore and stray giblets with a look of distaste. "I mean, look at you," she said, her voice dripping with mock disappointment. "You smell awful, you look awful, and you sound awful. Honestly, you should be ashamed of yourself."


    She flicked away another grisly piece, her expression softening into one of faint pity. "I''m sure that precious Filch of yours would not be very impressed with your behaviour if he saw it."


    Mulct finally found it within himself to interject the stranger, his voice steady now, no longer weighed down by slurred speech—the adrenaline coursing through his veins had burned away most of the inebriated fog. "What are you talking about? Not real?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing as confusion gave way to frustration. "And who even are you?"


    The woman bit onto a knuckle as if to stifle a giggle that nearly escaped. Though her sightless crimson eye couldn''t fix on him, it seemed to pierce through the space around her with an uncanny awareness.  "Wow," she said, her tone light but edged with mockery. "I thought with how you were acting, you already knew everything."


    The woman then tapped her finger on her chin a few times in a mockery of thinking something over, and then with an equally feigned a-ha moment, she eagerly exclaimed, "How about instead of wandering around aimlessly moping around pretending that you can ruin other peoples'' days as much as yours was, why not try something different? Why not join me and actually make a difference? Wouldn''t you like that?"


    Her grin widened, somehow both inviting and unsettling. "To finally stop complaining, take some initiative, and make the world a better place? And while you''re at it," she added with a teasing grin, "You might even get to see Filch born for the first time."


    "What?"


    "It shouldn''t take long; I think we can get the whole ordeal done at The Tournament in twelve years."


    Mulct blinked, still struggling to process the words. The swirling cocktail of alcohol and adrenaline in his system left his mind in a daze, and he couldn''t seem to grasp anything she was saying. Finally, he managed to ask, his voice thick with confusion, "Who are you?"


    "Oh, how rude, I forgot to introduce us." The white woman pointed to the little girl with the yellow bandana. "This is my very dear family, Pen. And I…" She moved her disturbingly long fingers to now point at herself. "I, well, most people like to call me the White Witch."