My new instincts took over and I leapt back, crouching low and raising my swords in a defensive posture. The two thugs growled and pulled out their own weapons; the young man on my left brandishing a club and the grizzled old man on my right wrapping a chain around his fist and letting it hang in long loops.
The young man screamed and rushed forwards, swinging his club wildly. I parried each attack deftly with ease. I sidestepped and tripped him without breaking stride, not watching as he went sprawling in the mud. The old guy swung his chain above his head and lashed out, wrapping the chain around one of my blades. He yanked on it, but my grip was firm. Gritting my teeth I twisted my wrist as I stepped forwards, pulling the chain from his grasp, and slashed with the other sword, striking him in the forearm, hoping to repeat the same trick as I had on the leader, but instead of biting flesh, the blade clanged off something metal. From the rent in his sleeve I could see the glint of iron and from how stiff and rigid he'd been appearing to hold that hand I guessed it was a prosthetic.
Catching me off guard, he swept the hand up and to the side, slugging me in the jaw with a sickening crunch which I was sure cracked some teeth and sending me flying backwards onto my arse in the mud. In the shock I dropped both swords and shook my head to clear the daze. When I looked up I saw the man advancing as he pulled a knife from his belt and grinned, showing yellowed, rotten teeth.
