Oh, wow, this was actually kind of brutal to watch.

Turns out my little haphazard strategy was working out pretty darn well! The Zealots were coming in hard and falling flat on their faces like dummies, all thanks to the extremely hazardous terrain the Pal-Dian earth mages had whipped up. I felt sorry for the horses, though. Or as much as I can feel sorry for anything, y’know?

The poor beasts were just doing their jobs.

It was much harder to feel any empathy for the idiots riding them, though.

Well, I shouldn’t say it like If you can’t feel something, just fake it, right?

Empathy is easy to mimic if you know the right words to say. My problem has always been trying to guess which ones to use in the correct situation. Example: Someone’s dad has just died and they’re crying. Never say

That’s the wrong answer!

Even though it’s obvious they should be pleased because they’re about to get their inheritance and never be forced to eat dinner with the deceased on Sundays or Thanksgiving, ever again, they're still required by social norms to put on a public show of grief.

(Being a person is complicated! Axes have it way easier!)

Also don’t say “My condolences.” It just sounds fake. Instead, say “Oh, you poor thing.” Unless they’re a guy, in which case you say “Damn, man. I feel for you.”

It took me a lot of trial and error to work that one out.magic

“They are damned! They must be expunged!” shouted some nut who managed to get into our defensive parameter. Quite a few of them had, actually. Wow, these guys were so determined!

Was religious fervor really such a powerful motivator? Did these guys believe that dying while literally committing a hate crime was okay because their gods approved of it? I mean, they were basically coming at us like Xenomorphs from the franchise.

Too bad for them, because that was exactly what Rachel wanted them to do! If these guys had brains or even a rudimentary instinct for self-preservation, they would not be doing as Rachel wished. Rachel was...well, that is to say...

Hmm. How best to describe someone who was clearly in love with itself?

Oh, that was a tough one! It really was! Okay, let me share the impression I'd gotten of her so far.

Now first of all, I don’t want to cast any aspersions on Rachel’s character. She’s clearly a quote, unquote, who was risking her life to protect these helpless Peleton users (was that right? I felt like that might not be right).

She was the quintessential Paladin at first glance.

She was beautiful, wore silver armor, and seemed to shine with an innate nobility that had nothing to do with her high station in life and everything to do with her purity of heart. She was charismatic and even pretty funny once you earned her trust. I could also tell from the way the people she was shepherding regarded her, that she was genuinely loved.

In other words, she was an exemplary Knight, right?

Yes. Yes, she was. She really, was.

Know what else she was?

A Kill Crazy Psycho!

I know, I know, this is calling someone else that! Well, just see for yourself, okay?“Let the gods bring their judgement!” said some stout boy wielding a big stone maul. He raised it high, preparing to bring it down on a defender’s head, but then There was Rachel, slicing him in half at the waist with that crazy sword of hers.

He took a long moment to realize he was dead, then his body fell in two separate directions.

“The gods delivered their judgement!” she smirked.

I’m not going to lie; in that moment I was beset by two conflicting e…e…emotions? Were these emotions? Had to be.

In that moment I felt I mean, I could have done that too! I could have chopped that dude up good! I’m an axe, it’s my specialty! You ever heard of an axe that couldn't deliver a grevious injury? I bet you haven't!

The other emotion was a little more embarrassing to describe, but uh, in a word: It was Fiery, burning, consuming, brain shaking, groin quaking lust! Too descriptive? Sorry! But jeez, man, she was killing people left and right, and there was blood all over her face and hair, and she was laughing like a young girl who’d just discovered ice cream and I

Look at that! Rachel just threw her sword, and it spun around decapitating three of these bozos before returning to her hand like a boomerang. That was so cool! I could do that too! I wanted her to see me doing something like that!

She saw me staring and gave me a wink.

God DAMN!

“He who serves sin has become a SINNER!” bellowed some jobber who tried to catch me from behind.

Oh, I wanted to chop him in half! Ohhhhh, I wanted to cleave him in twain! RAAAAAAH, I wanted to bisect him! Heck, I wanted to learn how to bisection so that I could write a short novella about my urge to bisect him! I wanted to register my sexual orientation as Bisect-ual to best express how much I wanted to divide this guy vertically!

Ha, get it?

But I If I did, my big brother, or sister, or whatever my older sibling currently being wielded by Rachel was, would target me and that would be it for poor ‘ol Max! Poor, poor Max! I was the saddest axe in the world! All the other axes got to do whatever they wanted, but I was being singled out! Oh, the injustice! Oh, the sorrow! Oh, the tears, the tears, the tears!

Oh, hey, I punched that guy in the face so hard, his head exploded.

was pretty sweet!

Ohhh, that’s right! I’d customized this meat suit for higher performance. My little scrap with that jerk, Denard, had taught me that I needed to be more physically robust if I was ever again forced to deal with someone as strong as him.

Even without my [Troll Regeneration] running, I still estimated this thing to be four or five times stronger and faster than the best human athlete that could be produced on my old world.

In other words…

Nuts, I couldn’t think of any other words. No, that’s not right; I could think of of words, it’s just that most of them were stupid. Wait, hold on! I just thought of something! Let me start over, okay? I’m starting over!

In other words, it was time to make some guacamole. Because I was going to turn these guys guacamole! guacamole, that was.

There was going to be a

I leapt into the fray, dishing out spinning back kicks, shuffling thrust kicks, forward thrust kicks, and the nearly impossible but utterly devastating jumping double axe kick! My feet were thunderous cannons of pulverizing force!

How did I know so many ways to kick people, you wonder? Well, I don’t mean to brag, but when I was in third grade, I earned a yellow belt with an orange tip in the deadly Korean art of Tang Kwan so. Or something. I learned it in a strip mall from a guy named Teddy with a beer gut and a greasy ponytail.

It was fun, and I would have kept up with it, but Teddy had to move after he lost everything in his divorce, and by then I’d learned it was a lot easier to just hit people from behind when they didn’t realize I was there, then it was to try kicking them.

So, low ranked though I was, with a body this strong and precise, I may as well have been a grandmaster Jedi compared to these guys! Yaaah! Wooooo! I am the board, and I am hitting you back!

Heh heh heh.

But you know, as fun as it was pummeling these guys to death, it still just wasn’t the same. Pugilism wasn’t without merit, but if I wasn’t slicing people in half, I just wasn’t being And you should always do your best to be yourself, guys.

Life’s no fun if you can’t be yourself!

And with that thought weighing heavily in my heart, that’s when I saw

He was one of the zealots. He was big, he was wearing some armor, he seemed terribly angry, and blah, blah, blah, who cares? The important thing was that he was wielding a comically huge BATTLE AXE. She was gorgeous! She was a silver-enameled blade mounted on an ebon handle, with a skull sculpted in her center.

Ohhhh,

Why do you look so sad? Is it because you’re being wielded by some clumsy looking oaf who doesn’t know how to you? Are you tired of his rough grip? Do you long to be wielded by the soft and nimble fingers of someone who will use you

Well, I’ve got you, baby. Max has got you.

I walked up to the guy and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around. I’m absolutely certain the following conversation went like this:

“Walk away, bruh. I’m takin’ your girl,” I informed him.

“Bitch, you ain’t takin’ nothing from me but these ” he replied.

“Give it up, fool. She’s mine now.” I insisted.

“Everybody a gangsta, until they get cut."

“Ask Shorty,” I suggested.

“Wut?”

I snatched the axe from his grasp and used it to slice his head off in one smooth motion. A geyser of blood fountained from his neck as his body collapsed to the ground.

Shorty what it I grimly proclaimed.

What, what?