SotF Shorts: Unlikely Survival Ch. 8 (Finale)

AN:

And so the short story comes to an end. 

In more ways than one. I've made the decision that I'm not going to continue forward with this experiment into March. This is the last short story that I'm going to write for some time, I think. The extra writing, even just two shorter chapters a week, has been hell on my schedule. 

And that's because I've been writing a real second series for the last couple of months. Something that I intend to write concurrently with Sins of the Forefathers for a considerable time. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem producing these short story chapters as well, but writing two stories at once in addition to the short story chapters has been killing me. The proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. 

I've got about twenty chapters of the new project written so far, and I'm thinking it might be ready to start posting sometime in May. Ish. 

Even though it doesn't even have a title I'm satisfied with, I'm pretty happy with the work itself. I feel like it's going to target something that not many, if any at all, are trying to write. It's fairly unique for the LitRPG/Progression space, in my opinion. 

I intend to launch that onto this Patreon around the Royal Road/Scribblehub launch as well. It won't have 40 advance chapters, though. I'm thinking around 20. 

Still, if you were enjoying this short story, apologies for the cancellation of the project. 

Cheers, 

PreCursive

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Bront didn’t pay any attention to the two toadies accompanying Don Thraggec, as they stepped in front of the crime boss and drew daggers. Instead, he kept his eyes locked the Martelli family head. Even though his face was concealed by his helmet, he was sure that the Don was meeting his eyes across the distance.

“Let’s all stay calm here, now,” Said Don said slowly, raising his hands in a soothing gesture. He was just barely audible over the distance of the hall. Bront could see the sweat on his brow, though. The dwarf was nervous.

He should be.

“Whatever you’re gettin’ paid, I can double it,” Traggec called down the hall desperately. “No, I’ll triple it! There ain’t no need for this to go any further.”

Bront chuckled, fully stepping into the hall. His three mates followed after him, with Paolo searching around as he got inside. With an unhinged chuckled of his own, the former Rhoscaran Lieutenant pulled a lever on the wall, causing the false door behind them to swing closed.

Bront shook his head slowly. “Ain’t here for no money,” He said, taking another step forward. The two guards tensed at his move. “I wasn’t even intendin’ on lookin fer ye, Don. But I gotta say,” He stomped on his next step forward, causing the stone of the dungeon to crack under his mailed foot. “I ain’t complainin’.”

“What?” Thraggec furled his bushy brow in confusion. “What the hells are ye doin’ here th-” He cut himself off, looking over his shoulder. When he turned back around, the older dwarf had an incredulous look on his craggy features. “Don’t tell me you’re here for the girl?”

Bront took notice of where the Don had looked, his heart leaping. Was Marva in that cell? “I am,” Bront said, continuing his advance. His three friends kept pace with him, keeping silent.

They were more than willing to let Bront settle this how he wished.

They had a pretty good idea how, though.

Vallin and Torrin snickered, elbowing each other.

At Bront’s confirmation, Thraggec visibly calmed down. He sneered. “You damn fool. Is that what this is? Some kind of heroic, misguided rescued attempt?” He spit on the stone below, shaking his head. “You must be the bouncer I told me boys to deal with. What was your name, Trashbin or somethin’?” He laughed derisively, causing his two flunkies to laugh along, uneasily. “I don’t know how you found this place, but I’m gonna make you regret it. Take him, boys.”

The two guards started to uneasily step forward at their boss's command.

That was a bad idea.

Bront barely even reacted to the advancing guards. He just kept walking, his eyes pinned on the crime boss.

His boys knew what to do.

Vallin loosed the arrow he had been hiding behind Bront’s broad back, while Paolo heaved his short spear and threw it with considerable force. The arrow pierced the throat of the left guard, while the right was pinned to the stone floor below. The spear had pierced straight through his heart.

Both guards were dead before they even knew what had happened.

The Don blinked confused, blood splattered eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t get the chance.

Bront knocked him off of his feet in a shoulder check. Beaky was drawn, pointed straight below him at the Don’s throat.

The Don finally reacted to the unexpected turn around. “Wait!” He screamed desperately. He started babbling. “Take the girl! A-a-and I’ll pay you! I’ll even t-t-tell you who wanted you-”

“Dead?” Bront said, smiling grimly in his helmet. “Don’t want yer gold, and I was gonna take her back anyway. And honestly?” He leaned down, making sure the Don could see his eyes. “I don’t really care who wanted me offed. It was still ye who did it.”

Before the Don could scream again, Bront ended it by thrusting Beaky downwards. He barely blinked at the spray of blood that leapt up at him. He did sigh, though, standing up from the corpse of the dead dwarf.

Behind him, Bront heard Paolo chuckle again. “That’s gonna piss some people off.”

Bront didn’t care about that, either. The Don had been an enemy that had come after him and his.

The Army had taught him at least one good thing.

You killed your enemies.

Bront stepped over the corpse and approached the door that the Don had been standing in front of. Opening the latch, he sighed in both relief and rage at what he found.

Marva was inside, thankfully. She looked to have been roughed up, though. The female dwarf was unconscious, with blood oozing from a blow to her temple. Her clothes were a bit torn, but thankfully, Bront didn’t think anyone had taken any liberties with the baker.

If they had, he would have slaughtered every last hammer in this damn house.

Bront opened the latch and hurried inside. Taking his only healing potion from a pouch on his belt, Bront picked up Marva’s head as gently as he could and held the potion to her lips. Luckily, the red liquid eased down her throat easily enough.

Marva’s eyes flew open, suddenly rejuvenated.

She screamed at the sight of the black armored dwarf crouched over her.

Bront cursed and tore off his helm. “Marva! Marva, it’s me.”

Marva Kegborn stopped screaming at the sound of Bront’s voice, blinking up at him. Her eyes immediately flooded with tears, as the dwarf lunged forward to embrace the former soldier. Bront held her in his arms, as she wept into his breastplate.

“Bront…” Marva mewled. “Bront, ye came fer me…”

Bront’s heart softened, and he lay a hand on top of her head. “Course I did. After all, ye said I’m yers now.”

The couple were interrupted by the sound of Torrin clearing his throat. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but we should probably get out of here. We don’t want to get caught havin’ killed the hammers boss.”

Marva looked up in confusion at the words. “What? Ye killed the Don? Bront, that’s…”

Bront grimaced, understanding why Marva was at a loss for words. “It means both of us need ta get out of the city, now,” He said, meeting Marva’s eyes. The female dwarf sighed, but nodded.

“Aye,” She said in resignation. “The other Martelli’s knew their boss was comin’ down here, from what he was sayin’. I…I’m gonna have ta say goodbye ta me parents.”

Bront nodded. “We’ll swing by on the way ta the docks. Now, we need ta get out of here.”

………………………………………………..

Luckily, it didn’t look like any alarms had been triggered in the Martelli compound. With as many guards as he and his boys had taken out, that struck Bront as incredibly sloppy. He guessed they had never figured anybody would have the stones to sneak in and knife their boss.

Oh well.

Their group managed to sneak out of the compound easily enough, having cleared the way already. Bront tried to shield Marva’s eyes from the carnage of who the four former soldiers had slaughtered, but he needn’t have bothered. She actually spat on the corpse of the Don on their way out.

Bront didn’t know what he had been saying to the now former baker to make her react like that, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Bront kept his word. The group swung by the Kegborn bakery before they reached the docks. Thankfully, it was on the way. Bront left his boys to guard the door as he and Marva snuck inside and woke her parents.

There was first confusion, and then terror and more than a little bit of anger at the two of them once Bront and Marva had detailed all that had happened. The Kegborns agree with them, though. Marva couldn’t stay in the city any longer. If she did, it was only a matter of time before some hammer boy knifed her in the street as revenge.

After a teary goodbye and some hasty packing, the group left the bakery behind.

Once they reached the docks, Bront found that his Ma’ had been good to her word. The older dwarf had arranged for a schooner bound for the capital of the Principality to take them on.

But, Bront was a bit surprised at who was going to come with them.

“What?” Bront said in confusion, standing with his Ma and Marva at his side. Everyone was currently gathered on the dock next to the schooner, a ship named the Salty Stone. “Ye boys want ta come with?”

Torrin, Vallin, and Paolo exchanged looked, but it was Paolo who spoke for them. He shrugged at Bront. “Aye, ain’t got any reason ta stay. Turchese is as good as Rhoscara. Might as well stick with ye fer now, Bront me boy.” The twins nodded at Bront when he looked at them in confusion.

“Well.” Bront said, at a loss for words. He shrugged as well. “The more the merrier? But yer gonna hafta speak ta the captain yerself.”

As the trio of former soldiers wandered away to do just that, Bront turned around to look at the ship in consideration. He hugged Marva to his side as he did so, as Tarus crested the horizon and cast the world in green light.

He sighed in relief.

Bront guess he had done it. He, his family, his girl and his friends were soon going to be getting out of this blasted city. He would miss parts of it, he supposed. But he was going to be leaving with what mattered most.

You know, he was thankful for Fanziel’s warning. If it hadn’t been for his warning, Bront might not have survived the night.

He’d make it up to the uppity pub owner, one day.

Bront Stonebin didn’t ignore his debts.

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