Ser Erik Tallboy, sworn knight of Baron Ulrek Bathroy, champion of a dozen tournaments, Lord of the Western Wastes, screamed into his visor as he stabbed frantically down into the open mouth of a peasant whose eyes were bulging from his face like something out of a nightmare.

"GOD WILLS IT!'

The battle cry came from every side and Tallboy watched in horror as three of his men-at-arms were simply buried beneath the weight of the dead, their horses tumbling into the melee so that peasants could drive blades through the gaps in expensive armour. His own horse was moving, constantly shifting its hooves, lashing out to break bone, even sinking its teeth into the shoulder of one peasant to shake the woman like a broken doll. 

His own breathing was loud inside his helmet, a hollow panting noise, as he slashed down to separate a hand from an arm. The fear he felt when the peasant ignored the wound and continued to pound at his armoured leg with a bloodied stump was real. He could feel a warmth running down his legs and he knew it wasn't blood. He was terrified. He had never encountered any real fighting before, and never with a mob who showed no fear or pain.

He twitched his reins even as he beat down another of the mob, shattering the womans skull so that she sank to the ground with a strange mewing sound. His horse seemed sluggish however and he twisted to look over his shoulder. The narrow view of his visor allowed him just enough of a view to see a pair of peasants hacking at his horses hamstring with wicked knives. Already the beast was beginning to sag and kick in pain. 

Tallboy frantically kicked his feet free of the stirrups and dropped to the cobblestone. He landed awkwardly on a body and felt his ankle give a nasty [i]click[/i] before pain shot up his hip and he staggered. It was enough for blood stained blacksmith who stepped forward and drove his mace down onto the knights head.
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The knights helmet gave a satisfying [i]crunch[/i] as Devon stove it in with the mace he had made only a year before, possibly to sell to this same knight. He turned away from the downed man and looked for another enemy. Part of him knew he should be terrified, that he should run away. But the memory of Kane, glided in white armour, the power of God blazing in one hand, served to fill him with further zeal.

There was a roaring sound in his head. It could have been his own voice. He didn't know. He gave cry once again and stepped past the dying knight to slam his mace at another mounted man. The heavy head was turned aside by a well placed shield and Devon gave a cry of frustration before trying to smash the wood apart once again. 

This time the knights sword deflected the blow and Devon felt the blade whisper down the side of his face. Pain shot tore through his skull, or it might have if he was normal Devon. The loss of his ear did nothing to slow his next blow as he hammered the mace past the shield and sword, smashing the blunt head into the saddle. The cantle shattered and he smiled in satisfaction just long enough for the knight to kick him in the jaw and send him staggering backward.

The feel of pain was distant in his brain and he ignored it as he raised the mace, preparing to throw himself on the knight once more. A heavy blow struck him in the back and he staggered forward a pace, noting with an almost detached interest the several inches of pike head that had appeared out of the front of his chest. He coughed and blood spilled over his lips as he crashed forward into the bloodied street. 
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Gord ripped the pike out of the back of the dying peasant, pausing long enough to stomp on the mans skull to keep him down before driving the pike into the chest of a frail old man who was busy biting the throat of a warhorse. The man looked almost comically surprised before collapsing beneath the horse.

The pikeman ignored the shouted thanks of the knight and hunted after another peasant. This one was a pretty little thing, perhaps fifteen years old. She was stark naked and blood ran in rivulets down her breast and thighs. He could see where she had already taken a wound to her leg but she seemed oblivious to it as she watched him come.

She smiled at him, a coy look, her eyes regarding him playfully beneath jet black lashes. It was enough to make him pause. In a world where most women looked like they'd been kicked in the face by a horse, this little beauty was something else. Perhaps it was why she had lived so long. Amazing what a pretty face did for you.

Gord's thoughts were rudely interrupted as the smile turned into a feral scream. She had somehow gotten close to him and now drove a dagger into his groin. He felt pain blossom as she twisted the blade, still screaming in his face. He gave a sort of hiccup sound as he sank toward the ground, hands clutching at hers, trying to pull the blade free. Still she twisted and laughed in his face.

She was still laughing and twisting when his eyes closed for the final time.
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She stood, the small knife clutched in one hand, the other pushing back the blood slicked hair from her face. Before Kane had come, Beth had been a whore. Someones whore. A man who had forced himself upon her when she was a child, tearing her insides and leaving her broken on the floor. He had come back again later. And then again. Violating all of her orifices. Then when she had no more fight left in her, he sold her to other men. 

The coming of Kane had filled her with righteous vengeance. She had known it was permitted to take revenge and so, when the city went mad, she killed them all. The men who had raped her. She would never be able to remove the stink of their bodies nor the taste in her mouth, but she was able to remove their manhood.

Now she metted out the same to the dying pikeman. Slicing his balls off and hurling them at the horrified knight. She could see his eyes wide behind his visor and she gave an open mouthed laugh before ducking beneath his sword and stabbing his horse in the gut. The beast gave a horrible scream and kicked out. The blow struck her full in the chest and she was thrown into a nearby wall. She felt her back crack and could feel the pain in her chest immediately. She tried to claw her way back to her feet, her wicked little knife reaching for the knight. But her strength was gone and she sank to the cobblestone, aware for the first time how cold it was to the touch.
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Ser Vinicus managed to get clear of his downed horse and he frantically looked around for the girl who had run beneath him. He had watched her slaughter the pikeman and was determined that no such thing would happen to him. He finally caught sight of her slumped against a nearby wall, her chest caved in, her beautiful breasts destroyed.

He didn't have time to think further on the subject as someone slammed into his shield. He hacked down without thinking and a small boy, no more than nine, teetered away with half a shoulder missing. This was madness.

All around him the street had broken into a thousand individual brawls. Men at arms struggled with enraged peasants who died in twos and threes, holding the knights weapons in their own flesh so that others could bring down the more heavily armoured enemy. One small knot of men-at-arms had managed to get their backs to the wall of a nearby house and were fending off the horde with expert lunges. A dozen men, with three others behind them, taking turns in the wall. Even the mindless mob was starting to grow wary of them.

Vinicus began to cut his way toward them. He smashed his shield into the face of cobbler, stomping on the mans throat to keep him down. He took the hand of a tailor, the nose and lower jaw of a baker, all of them requiring at least two blows to finish. The men-at-arms had seen him and were shouting at him to make a run for it, a small gap opening to allow him access. Safety was but three strides away.

Then Kane came. Vinicus did not know how he knew the mans name but the instant the white clad figure appeared, he knew. The peasants around him gave a moan of ecstasy, almost like Kane was to much for their eyes and began to chant his name. 

"Kane! Kane! Kane!"

The men-at-arms quickly relocked their shields, one of them managing to spare Vinicus an apologetic look. It turned out, he would have been no safer behind those shields than he was in the middle of the street. Kane struck the wall like a storm and Vinicus watched as fully armoured men-at-arms sailed through the air. Kane never even drew the sword at his side as he tossed men like leaves before a storm. 

Vinicus was still staring in abject horror when a stone block thrown from a roof above caved in his skull and the world went black.