Thorne stood there, arms raised, a mocking smile twisting his blood-smeared face as he took in Zach's poised claymore.

The blade mere inches from his throat.

"What's the matter?" Thorne sneered, his voice low but cutting. 

"You gonna do it? Gonna spill blood again? Let's see if you're really the 'hero' they think you are... or just like me."

Zach's grip on the claymore tightened.

His gaze locked onto Thorne's taunting eyes, but his hand faltered ever so slightly. 

Thorne's words scraped against old wounds, against memories he'd tried to bury. 

The silence stretched, heavy, as he stared down the man—

Who embodied everything he once thought he had left behind.

Every life he had taken replayed in his mind, flashing through like ghosts.

Haunting him with faces and names he could hardly remember. 

His pulse thundered, his breath shallowed. 

For so long, he'd told himself he'd changed, that he was beyond the person he used to be—a weapon for hire, a soul stainedby blood and shadows. 

But was that really true?

Thorne's sneer deepened as he sensed Zach's hesitation, his expression contorting in a mix of mockery and twisted satisfaction. 

"You think you're any better than me, Captain?"

Zach's silence lingered. 

His claymore hovering, his grip almost painfully tight as the weight of Thorne's words settled over him like a shroud. 

Every ounce of rage, every step that had led him here, every dark chapter and regret flooded his mind in that instant. 

It was as if he was facing his own reflection, twisted and tainted. 

Thorne was the embodiment of the very darkness he'd once embraced. 

But had he really escaped it? 

Or had he merely buried it deep, hoping it would stay silent?

Zach took a slow, steadying breath, lowering the claymore by an inch. 

His voice was quiet, yet resolute. 

"You're right, Thorne. I've spilled blood. Maybe... maybe more than I'll ever be able to forget. But every time I lifted my blade, every life I took... I had to face myself afterward. I had to bear the weight of my choices."

Thorne scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

"Choices? The only choice that matters is survival." 

He tilted his head, his smirk twisting cruelly. 

"Look at you, Captain. Still clinging to ideals like they mean something. Still acting like there's a 'better' you can choose." 

He leaned in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. 

"When it comes down to it, we're both killers. I just don't pretend otherwise."

Zach's gaze hardened, his jaw tightening as Thorne's words struck a nerve. 

"I'm not pretending. I know what I am." 

He lifted his sword, pressing the blade's edge against Thorne's neck, just enough to draw a thin line of blood. 

"But I don't have to become the monster people expect. I have a choice. And that's the difference between you and me."

Thorne laughed, unflinching even as the blood trickled down his skin. 

"Then make it. Prove it. Because if you let me go, I'll keep doing exactly what I've always done. I'll hunt down your friends. I'll burn villages, break people, just like I did in Solaria." 

His grin widened, eyes gleaming with malicious joy. 

"And you'll know it was because you hesitated."

Zach's chest tightened, the weight of Thorne's words pressing into his very bones. 

But as he looked down at this man, at his sneering face, he saw something that gave him pause—

Emptiness. 

Thorne's words were vile, his actions monstrous, but all of it masked a hollow void. 

A man who had nothing to live for but cruelty—

Bound to his own hatred and despair.

Zach's voice softened.

It's filled with an unexpected compassion that even he didn't know he had left. 

"I used to believe that once. That survival was the only choice, that power and fear were enough. But I know now it's a prison. And you, Thorne... you're shackled to it. I won't let myself become that again."

Thorne's grin faltered, his arrogance flickering, if only for a moment. 

He snarled, masking the crack in his facade. 

"Weakness, that's all that is. All that ever will be."

Zach took a step back, his claymore lowered but steady, his gaze unwavering. 

"Maybe. But I'd rather live with my weakness, my choices, than live as a monster who's already dead inside."

Thorne spat, his expression twisting in disgust. 

"Keep telling yourself that, Captain. Keep pretending you're better. It's only a matter of time before you're back where you started."

Zach met his gaze with quiet resolve. 

"Maybe, maybe not. But for once, that's my choice to make."

This moment isn't about sparing or condemning Thorne alone—

It's about reclaiming his own agency and defining his actions based on purpose rather than impulse or darkness.

He considers Thorne's words and his own recent revelations. 

Instead of dealing a killing blow, Zach tightens his grip on his claymore and speaks with a voice that's cold but controlled.

Zach's grip on his claymore remains steady.

"Remember this, Thorne," he says, voice low but firm. 

"You get to walk away today. But if you come back, if you continue down this path, you won't get another warning."

Thorne's face contorts with a sneer, his pride stinging from being spared rather than defeated. 

He spits to the side, mocking. 

"You think you're some saint, Captain? Offering mercy like it's a gift? Don't flatter yourself." 

His gaze hardens, a smirk creeping up. 

"Because the next time we meet, it's your head that'll roll."

Zach takes a breath, stepping back. 

The decision to spare Thorne was heavy, but it felt right. 

With his back straight and eyes resolved, he's ready to turn away.

But as he moves, he catches a slight flicker in Thorne's eyes—

A flash of triumph rather than defeat.

Zach's instincts scream at him, but before he can react—

Thorne's hand subtly signals to something behind him. 

"It's been real nice hearing your heroic speeches, Captain," Thorne says, his voice dripping with mockery.

"But all that mercy talk? I'll be the one teaching you a lesson about regrets."

Zach spins, but it's too late.

Five bandits leap from the shadows, nets in hand, eyes alight with bloodlust and eager for revenge. 

They lunge as one, casting their nets at him in unison. 

The first net hits Zach's right side, tangling around his arm and shoulder, instantly halting his movement. 

He pulls back, trying to break free, but a second net snags his left leg, yanking him off balance.

Thorne's laughter rises above the struggle. 

"You're dead now... Captain."

Another net sails through the air, wrapping around Zach's claymore, yanking it from his grasp as two more nets close in around him, tightening, restraining. 

The bandits pull, laughing as they bring him to his knees, the cords digging into his skin. 

He struggles, his muscles straining against the binds, but the weight of the nets presses down, immobilizing him completely.

Thorne steps forward, towering over him with a smug grin. 

"You thought you could just walk away, leave me humiliated? Did you really think mercy makes you a better man, Captain?" 

He leans in close, his voice a hiss in Zach's ear. 

"I don't need mercy. And neither do they."

He gestures around, and the bandits close in, their faces twisted with anticipation. 

Thorne's eyes gleam with malice as he runs a finger over the edge of his broadsword, considering.

Zach's jaw tightens as he meets Thorne's gaze, trapped yet defiant. 

"Killing me won't make you stronger, Thorne. It'll just make you weaker—another man driven by hate."

Thorne laughs, shaking his head. 

"Oh, you're one to talk. All that blood on your hands, and now you preach like a priest? Get over yourself." 

He turns, giving a lazy flick of his wrist to his men. 

"Make him regret it."

The bandits tighten the nets around Zach, pressing him down even further, grinning as they sense their victory.

One of them, a wiry man with a scar tracing down his cheek, unsheathes a dagger, the blade glinting in the dim light. 

He crouches beside Zach, his mouth curled into a sneer.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you, Captain?" he hisses, running the cold edge of the blade against Zach's jawline, just enough to draw a thin line of blood. 

"Bet you're regretting that little mercy speech now."

Zach's eyes remain steady, his gaze locked on the man before him—

Without a trace of fear. 

The bandit's taunt meets nothing but silence, and his sneer falters, irritated by Zach's calm. 

Another bandit, broader and heavy-set, lets out a dark chuckle as he plants a boot against Zach's back, pressing down hard, causing him to lurch forward.

"Think he needs to be taught some manners," the second bandit says, his voice thick with malice. 

He digs his heel in, grinding it against Zach's spine, eliciting a painful grunt, but still Zach remains steady—

His face showing neither fear nor surrender.

Annoyed by his defiance, the first bandit raises his dagger, pressing the point into Zach's shoulder and slowly twisting it in. 

Blood seeps out, staining the fabric of Zach's shirt, but Zach grits his teeth—

Refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

"Look at him!" the third bandit scoffs, stepping closer. 

He's younger, with a wiry frame but a manic gleam in his eye. 

"He thinks he's still in control, doesn't he?" 

He reaches down, yanking Zach's head back by his hair, exposing his neck. 

"How about we see if that look in his eyes stays the same?"

The young bandit slams a fist into Zach's face, his knuckles cracking against bone.

Blood trickles from Zach's nose and lips, but his gaze remains, unwavering, fixed on some point in the distance as if he's not even there with them, like he's already somewhere far beyond their reach. 

This seems to anger them even more.

The scarred bandit snarls, plunging his dagger into Zach's other shoulder, twisting cruelly. 

"You think you're above us?" he hisses, his face inches from Zach's, spittle flying. 

"We're going to break you, Captain. Piece by piece by piece by piece."

A fourth bandit, a gaunt man with a patchy beard, pulls out a flask and pours the liquid over the wounds, causing them to sting and burn. 

Zach's muscles tense as the alcohol sears into his skin, but still, he stays silent, his eyes focused, unfaltering. 

The sight of his resilience drives the bandits mad—

And they respond with more fury.

"Enough of this silent act!" one of them growls, ripping open his shirt to expose the bruises and cuts that now mar his torso. 

Another bandit punches him in the ribs, the brutal blow echoing through the forest. 

Yet Zach remains, his breathing steady despite the punishment, his gaze detached yet piercing, showing nothing but resilience and contempt.

Infuriated by his resistance, the bandits become even crueler, their blows more vicious, aiming to leave no part of him untouched, to see him crumble beneath their hands. 

But Zach's eyes never waver, piercing them with silent defiance, a reminder that, despite all their power over his body—

They had gained no ground in his mind.

"You... you're not human," one of the bandits whispers, stepping back slightly, a glimmer of fear creeping into his eyes.

And, despite the agony coursing through his body, a faint, almost imperceptible smile crosses Zach's lips.

△▼△▼△▼△

Kazaks swung his warhammer with a brutal force, sending a bandit crashing into a tree.

While Qarek hacked down two more with his war axe, the sharp edge glinting with fresh blood. 

The battlefield was a frenzy of shouts, metal, and dust as they fought their way through the encroaching bandits.

Nearby, Gargeal fought with relentless precision, blocking arrows with his massive greatsword, catching them mid-flight and breaking them like they were splinters. 

The clash of blades and the rush of adrenaline kept them going.

But then—

Gargeal's eyes flickered to the left—just past the thicket.

Through a thin screen of smoke and shifting bodies, he saw a group of bandits standing over something... no, someone. 

His stomach turned when he realized it was Zach, tangled in nets, his movements restricted, and his captors smirking as they circled around him. 

Gargeal's face darkened, eyes narrowing at the sight.

 He barked urgently.

"Qarek, Kazaks!!" 

Both men turned, catching his fierce expression and then following his line of sight. 

Their gazes landed on Zach, helpless in the midst of his captors—

Who were clearly enjoying every twisted second of torment.

Kazaks clenched his jaw, his hands gripping his warhammer so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

He muttered, his voice cold with restrained fury.

"They won't keep him there for long!!" 

Qarek nodded, his face set in grim determination. 

"Let's get our captain back!!"

 Gargeal roared, his voice fierce with conviction.

"Use your tattoo now!! We're getting Zach back!!"

At Gargeal's shout, Kazaks and Qarek's eyes widened, but then their expressions hardened with a grim sense of duty. 

They exchanged a quick, sharp look before nodding in silent agreement.

In an instant, a deep, dark glow ignited on both Kazaks' and Qarek's foreheads.

Intricate tattoos pulsed to life, each marked by a singular, unblinking eye at the center.

Symmetrical patterns radiated outward, their lines twisting like coils of energy, each mark alive with an eerie, almost primal force—

Enchancing their senses.

The air around them thickened, charged with their combined power. 

Bandits faltered mid-swing, their sneers replaced by sudden uncertainty, sensing the shift as Kazaks and Qarek's presence became something almost monstrous, larger than life.

Gargeal's voice rang out, cutting through the chaos. 

"Let's show these dogs what happens when they mess with the Renaissance Band!"

Kazaks hefted his warhammer with newfound strength, his senses sharper than ever.

While Qarek's grip on his war axe tightened, his eyes sharp and blazing with a deadly calm.

Kazaks's voice boomed over the clamor of battle, a rallying cry that surged with conviction. 

"Qarek, show them who you are! The strongest amongst us—the Warrior of Sins... the Warrior of Pride!"

The words ignited something deep within Qarek.

The bandits recoiled, confusion flickering in their eyes, but it only fueled Qarek's rage.

With a primal roar, Qarek charged forward, the war axe held high. 

He swung it with a force that split the air, the blade catching the light as it arced downwards.

A bandit barely had time to react before Qarek's axe cleaved through him, sending a spray of blood into the air. 

The other bandits faltered, their bravado crumbling in the face of this relentless onslaught.

Kazaks followed suit, his warhammer swinging like a thunderous storm. 

He smashed it down onto another group of bandits, the sound of bone shattering echoing around them. Each strike was a statement, a testament to their strength as the tattoos empowered their blows, transforming them into living weapons.

"Push forward!" Kazaks shouted, rallying the fighters around him. 

"We take back what's ours!"

With that, the tide of battle shifted. Kazaks and Qarek fought side by side, an unstoppable force of fury and vengeance, their tattoos enhancing their senses, giving them an upperhand. 

Bandits fell around them, unable to withstand the onslaught of the two warriors who embodied both pride and rage, their very presence a declaration—

The Renaissance Band would not be easily broken.

Together, Gargeal, Kazaks, and Qarek pressed forward, cutting a bloody path through the fray, their eyes locked on the distant figure of Zach trapped in the net, his figure barely visible among the chaos. 

Every stride was fueled by unbreakable resolve—they would not leave him behind.

But then—

A flash of movement to his right—a trap waiting just out of sight. 

Qarek instinctively spun toward it, reacting as his senses warned him of an impending strike. 

He raised his axe, preparing to intercept.

Just then, a faint, pungent scent hit his nose. 

Smoke—a thick, acrid smoke. 

The bandits had started fires across the battlefield, choking the air with ash and haze. 

His vision blurred as the smoke stung his eyes, and his sharp sense of smell became overwhelmed, leaving him vulnerable.

In that moment of distraction, something cold and rough whipped around him. 

Before he could react, a net dropped from above, expertly thrown by the bandits lying in ambush. 

Qarek struggled as the net tightened, his senses flooded and his movements constrained.

"These nets! Again!"

Around him, the bandits moved quickly, seeing their chance to swarm. 

Qarek tried to wrench himself free, but his strength was limited by the cords entangling his arms. 

He braced himself as the bandits circled in, grinning with twisted satisfaction at capturing such a formidable opponent.

Gargeal's heart lurched as he saw Qarek struggle, his axe tangled in the net, just out of reach.

His instincts screamed at him—

He couldn't leave him.

Gargeal roared.

"No!" 

His gaze darting between Qarek and the direction of Zach. 

His grip tightened on his greatsword, jaw clenched. 

He knew he had to make a choice, fast.

Kazaks, just a few steps ahead, halted, turning back to the commotion. 

His gaze met Gargeal's, his expression torn but resolute.

Without another thought, Gargeal made his choice. 

"Kazaks!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the cacophony. 

"Go! Get Zach!"

Kazaks hesitated, conflict flashing in his eyes. 

"But Master—"

"Don't argue!" Gargeal's voice thundered, fierce and commanding. 

"Zach's depending on us. Don't look back. Go!"

Kazaks's tattoo flared, the glowing eye on his forehead casting a faint glow as he clenched his fists. 

With one last nod, Kazaks turned, determination hardening his features as he surged forward, his focus locked solely on reaching Zach.

Gargeal spun back to Qarek, who was still struggling against the nets—

Bandits closing in from all sides like wolves sensing an easy kill. 

The fury in Gargeal's eyes turned cold, calculated. 

"Hold on, Qarek," he muttered, lifting his greatsword high above his head.

With a battle cry that split the air, Gargeal swung down with all his strength. 

The greatsword cleaved through the first bandit who dared approach, cutting a path toward Qarek as he struck with unrestrained force. 

The bandits recoiled, momentarily thrown off by Gargeal's raw intensity, but they quickly recovered, closing in tighter, encircling both warriors in a deadly ring.

Gargeal glanced at Qarek, who met his gaze, his eyes filled with frustration but a flicker of appreciation for Gargeal's intervention. 

"Master...you didn't have to—"

"Shut up and focus," Gargeal barked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

"We don't leave our own behind."

Another bandit lunged toward them, and Gargeal swung with a ferocity that sent him sprawling. 

But there were too many—each time he struck one down, another two took their place, crowding in around them, forcing him and Qarek to fight back-to-back.

With his axe trapped in the net, Qarek's options were limited, but he didn't falter. 

Instead, he fought with every ounce of strength he had, using his arms and legs to kick and shove at any bandits who dared approach. 

Gargeal fought alongside him, unleashing devastating blows, carving a brutal path through the throng. 

Yet, despite his efforts, he could feel their relentless numbers press in, threatening to overwhelm them.

The clash of steel against steel and the shouts of their enemies filled the air. 

Gargeal's arms burned with exertion, sweat mingling with blood as he swung his greatsword, each strike carrying the weight of his determination. 

But with every second that passed—

The pressure mounted.

Kazaks, meanwhile, pushed forward with gritted teeth, his gaze fixed ahead. 

Every step brought him closer to Zach, but the swarm of enemies only thickened. 

He barely looked back, knowing that even a moment's hesitation could cost them dearly. 

"Hold on, Captain." 

He muttered to himself. 

"I'm coming."

△▼△▼△▼△

Back with Gargeal and Qarek, the two warriors fought ferociously, but the numbers seemed endless, bandits stepping over their fallen comrades to press their advantage. 

Gargeal gritted his teeth, his muscles straining as he held his ground, refusing to let them encroach further. 

He reached for the net entangling Qarek, hacking at the cords, but his movements were slowed by the constant onslaught.

One bandit, wielding a jagged dagger, lunged at Gargeal's side, but Qarek, though trapped, managed to lift his leg and kick the assailant back, grunting with effort. 

Gargeal muttered, his tone filled with grim humor.

"Thanks."

Qarek just gave a tight smile, still fighting to keep his own balance. 

"Hurry up, Master. This net isn't getting any lighter."

Finally, Gargeal's sword sliced through the thickest strand of the net, giving Qarek enough slack to wrench an arm free. 

With a roar, Qarek tore at the remaining cords, freeing himself at last.

But their brief relief was shattered as more bandits closed in, sensing vulnerability.

Qarek, now free, didn't hesitate. 

He grabbed his axe and joined Gargeal, the two of them standing side by side, ready to take on the remaining foes with renewed vigor. 

Their movements became a brutal dance, each covering the other's weaknesses, striking with a deadly synchronicity that drove the remaining bandits back.

For a moment, they managed to carve out a small clearing, a space to breathe, the two of them panting from the effort, blood streaking their armor.

Gargeal looked at Qarek, giving him a nod. 

"You good to go?"

Qarek smirked, rolling his shoulders. 

"Always."

They turned, glancing back to where Kazaks had disappeared into the fray. 

Somewhere ahead, Zach was still waiting for them—

His life hanging in the balance.

═════ ◆ TO BE CONTINUED ◆ ═════

◆ ◆ ◆ Author's Notes ◆ ◆ ◆

They're getting tired...