Blessed Visor

The sun beat down mercilessly on David's back, each step a grueling testament to his weakened state. The rough rope chafed his wrists, biting into his skin with every sway of the heavy steel coffin he was forced to drag. The cobblestones, usually cool beneathfoot, radiated heat, mirroring the burning pain that throbbed through his bruised and battered body. The jeering faces of the townsfolk blurred in his vision, their voices a distant, mocking chorus. He could taste blood in his mouth, a metallic tang that mingled with the dust kicked up by his shuffling feet. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, dust, and the faint, underlying scent of decay that seemed to permeate this world.

They stopped at the town well, the only source of respite in the oppressive heat. David's legs trembled, threatening to buckle beneath him. He slumped against the coffin, the cold steel a momentary relief against his burning skin. A woman, her face etched with pity, approached with a bucket of water. Her hand trembled as she offered it to him, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and compassion.

Just as David's parched lips touched the cool rim of the bucket, a rough hand grabbed the woman by her hair, yanking her backwards with a sharp cry of pain. The water spilled onto the dusty ground, a small, dark stain spreading quickly. David's vision swam, the world tilting and swaying around him. The sounds of the crowd, the harsh words of the guards, the woman's cry, all blended into a distorted, echoing cacophony. He could hear whispers in a language he didn't understand, phantom voices that seemed to crawl inside his skull.

Then, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, he saw Elara approaching. She moved with a confident stride, her armor gleaming in the sunlight. In her hand, she carried a small, worn leather pouch. She stopped before him, her expression unreadable.

She opened the pouch, revealing the object within. It was his Barrett XM109, its heavy, imposing form unmistakable. The sight of it sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, momentarily eclipsing the pain. He noticed a black heart tattoo, intricate and finely detailed, now visible on the back of his neck, a mark that hadn't been there before.

"I wondered if we did match," Elara said, her voice low and almost gentle. "Any last words?"

David, his voice hoarse and strained, managed a weak, bitter smile. "I should be asking you that."

Elara's brow furrowed slightly, a hint of confusion in her eyes. She gestured to the coffin. "Prepare yourself."

David, his movements slow and deliberate, walked towards the steel box. He reached out and grasped the heavy lid, lifting it open with a metallic groan that echoed through the square. He stared down into the coffin's interior, his eyes narrowing.

As Elara moved to stand beside him, to finally see the face of the man she had condemned, she noticed the black heart tattoo on his neck again, a strange mark that seemed to pulse with a faint, inner light. She paid it no mind, her attention drawn to the inside of the coffin. It was lined with thousands of sharp iron spikes, each one glinting menacingly in the sunlight. A gasp escaped her lips, a sound barely audible above the murmur of the crowd. She didn't speak, her eyes wide with horror.

David, his back still turned to her, spoke, his voice low and menacing, a complete shift from the hoarse whispers of before. "This is going to be your grave."

Elara, a chill running down her spine, turned to face him, a question forming on her lips. "What…?"

Before she could finish the word, a deafening BOOM ripped through the air, a sound that felt like a physical force, a shockwave that slammed into everyone present. It was a single, earth-shattering report, the sound of the Barrett XM109 firing. The air itself seemed to vibrate, the very ground beneath their feet trembling.

The effect on Elara was horrific. The .50 BMG rounds, designed to penetrate light armor and destroy vehicles, tore through her body with horrific efficiency. The rounds didn't just pierce; they transferred an immense amount of kinetic energy, creating massive cavitation wounds. Where the rounds struck her torso, chunks of flesh and bone were simply blown away, leaving gaping, ragged holes. The impacts to her head were even more gruesome. One round entered through her left eye socket, exiting the back of her skull in an explosion of bone fragments, blood, and brain matter. Another tore through her jaw, shattering bone and teeth, leaving her face a mangled ruin. The sheer force of the impacts caused her head to snap back violently, her helmet flying off and landing with a dull thud a few feet away.

Her body, already riddled with gaping wounds, landed heavily in the spiked coffin, the spikes now further embedding themselves in her mangled flesh. The metallic clang of her armor hitting the steel was almost lost in the high-pitched ringing that filled everyone's ears, a ringing that would linger for hours. A thick, coppery scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the dust and decay.

The guard who had been closest to Elara, his face contorted with a mixture of horror and rage, rushed towards David, raising his sword in a desperate attack. "You bastard!" he roared, his voice cracking with emotion.

David, his movements swift and precise despite his weakened state, turned and raised his hand. The Barrett barked again, the recoil sending a jolt through his arm. Two more gaping holes appeared in the guard's chest, and he crumpled to the ground, his sword clattering beside him.

The guard who had been closest to Elara, his face contorted with a mixture of horror and rage, rushed towards David, raising his sword in a desperate, clumsy attack. "You bastard!" he roared, spittle flying from his lips. The sword, a simple, well-worn arming sword, flashed in the sunlight.

David, his movements swift and precise despite his weakened state, turned and raised his hand. The Barrett barked again, the recoil sending a violent jolt through his arm, the force of the weapon almost throwing him off balance. The sound was a deafening BOOM, a shockwave that slammed into everyone present, followed by a high-pitched crack as the .50 BMG round impacted the guard's sword.

The bullet didn't stop. It shattered the steel blade at the point of impact, sending fragments of razor-sharp metal flying in all directions. The sound was a chaotic mix of snapping metal, the thwack of fragments hitting flesh, and the wet splatter of blood.

One large shard, still glowing red-hot from the friction, tore through the guard's raised arm, severing tendons and muscle before embedding itself deep in the wooden gate behind him, sending splinters of wood flying. Another, smaller piece ricocheted off the shattered sword hilt and sliced across the face of a nearby townsman, leaving a deep, bloody gash across his cheek. He screamed, clutching his face as blood streamed down his fingers. A third fragment, spinning wildly, embedded itself in the soft earth near the well, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

The main force of the bullet, however, continued its trajectory, unimpeded by the now-destroyed sword. It slammed into the guard's chest, just below his sternum. The impact was devastating. The round didn't just pierce; it transferred an immense amount of kinetic energy, creating a massive cavitation wound. The entry wound was relatively small, but the exit wound on his back was a gaping, ragged hole, spraying blood and fragments of bone and tissue outwards. The force of the impact threw the guard backwards, his body arching violently before collapsing to the ground in a heap.

His eyes rolled back in his head, a final gurgle escaping his lips as blood bubbled from his mouth and the gaping hole in his back. A dark pool of blood quickly spread beneath him, staining the cobblestones a dark, crimson red. The air filled with the coppery scent of blood, mingling with the lingering smell of gunpowder and the faint, underlying scent of decay that seemed to permeate this world. The silence that followed was broken only by the ragged breathing of the terrified onlookers, the distant cries of gulls overhead, and the steady drip… drip… drip… of blood from the shattered sword embedded in the gate. The guard's drool mixed with the blood on the ground, creating a grotesque, viscous puddle. The space where his chest once was now a mangled mess of torn flesh and shattered bone, the shape of the wound a testament to the raw power of the weapon. The feeling in the air was thick with horror and disbelief.

The guard's body crumpled to the ground, a grotesque parody of a human form. Blood sprayed outwards, some of it splashing onto David's face and chest. He blinked, the warm, sticky liquid momentarily obscuring his vision. He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, leaving a red smear across his cheek. He looked down at the carnage, a cold, almost detached expression on his face. "Arrogant monkeys," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the ringing in his ears.

The onlookers were frozen, their minds struggling to process the sheer brutality of what they had just witnessed. The silence was thick and heavy, broken only by the distant cries of gulls and the soft patter of the continuing drizzle. They stared at the mangled remains of Elara and the guard, their faces pale and drawn, a mixture of horror and disbelief etched on their features. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, the acrid smell of gunpowder, and the faint, underlying scent of decay that seemed to permeate this world.

Then, the silence began to crack. A low murmur rippled through the crowd. "What… what was that?" one man stammered, his voice trembling.

"What's a… monkey?" another asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"I don't know," a third replied, his eyes wide with fear. "Is that… what we are? Monkeys?"

A man in simple, worn robes, a priest by the look of him, his face pale and his eyes darting between David and the carnage, suddenly gasped. A memory surfaced in his mind – a fragmented tale from a forgotten gospel, a story of a war hero from a distant land who wielded a weapon of similar destructive power. The gospel spoke of thunder and lightning in the hands of man, of metal rain and fire that consumed all before it. A chilling realization dawned on him. Could it be…? Are you… a legend…? He started to ask, his voice trembling. "Are you…?"

Before he could finish the question, David's hand moved, the Barrett pivoting smoothly in his grip. The long, dark barrel now pointed directly at the priest. The man's eyes widened in terror, his breath catching in his throat. He instinctively raised his hands in a futile attempt to shield himself.

A terrified shout erupted from the crowd. "It's a wizard! A witch! Run!"

The shout triggered a wave of panic. The crowd surged backwards, a chaotic mass of screaming, scrambling bodies. People tripped and fell, their cries of terror mingling with the frantic thud of running feet. The priest, caught in the crush, was knocked to the ground, his robes becoming tangled around his legs.

The stampede was merciless. One heavy boot landed squarely in the priest's open mouth, mangling his lips and teeth. Another crushed his chest, the air escaping his lungs in a painful wheeze. A third landed directly on his heart, the force of the impact causing a sickening crunch. Another foot landed on his leg, and the bone snapped with an audible crack, blood spurting from the open wound. The priest's screams were quickly silenced by the trampling feet, his body becoming a bloody pulp beneath the panicked mob. His eyes rolled back in his head, and a final, gurgling breath escaped his crushed lungs.

A child, separated from their mother in the chaos, stared in wide-eyed horror at the ground where the priest had fallen. Their eyes focused on the dark, spreading stain. "Blood…" the child whispered, their voice trembling. "Blood… coming from the ground…"

A nearby woman, her face pale and drawn, looked down at the spreading pool of blood, her eyes widening in terror. "It's… it's blood magic!" she screamed, her voice high-pitched and hysterical. "He's using blood magic!"The woman screamed about blood magic, and the wind picked up, carrying the scent of blood and gunpowder across the deserted square. The rain fell harder now, washing over the carnage, turning the cobblestones into a dark, glistening mirror reflecting the bruised sky. The only sound was the steady drip… drip… drip… of blood from the shattered sword embedded in the gate, a grim reminder of the power that had been unleashed. David walked away, leaving behind not just bodies, but the shattered remnants of a world he was only beginning to understand.