Rachel pulled the bloody ax out of the man’s skull, sending a spatter of gore onto the stacks of gold coins, dulling their sheen. She turned to his companions and raised her ax, holding it poised, waiting in stillness, while brain matter dripped from the blade.
They hesitated, Rachel did not. She danced among them, a whirling dervish, separating limb from body as a woodcutter hews branches from a tree.
When it was done, Rachel was panting. The floor was slick with blood. Ruined limbs and organs mixed with the disarray of gold that had been scattered during the fight.