A Man's Will

Warning: Violence.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!"

In the Little's inn at the far end of the commoners' market, a crowd of rowdy drunken men merrily slapped their tables' surfaces, cheering on the broad shouldered man who was finishing his fifteenth mug of beer.

"Hah! That have hit the spot!"

Fred slammed the large mug down on the counter and the cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Whoo! Now that's manly!"

"Hahaha! Did you enjoy the show, you naive fools?"

Fred laughed, showing his sharp canines. Under the golden light of the rusty bulb that hung from the whitewashed ceiling of the inn, his chocolate brown eyes glistened youthfully.

"One more beer, Mr. Ponytail!"

The man on the other side of the counter glared at him. One thing that Drake could not tolerate was being made fun of his ponytail. Everyday he would tie his straw colored hair up into a ponytail; a style unfitting for a man in his early forties who ran a rundown inn in the corner of the city. Even his little boy would make fun of him, but he refused to amend his ways for them. Same went for that man with a crewcut and a stupid grin on his flushed face.

"Why don't you call it a day, old man? I don't look after passed out customers."

"Old? Me? Hey, Meyer, do I look old to you?"

He shook his partner's shoulder vigorously, making the beer from his mug spill all over his white tunic.

"Shut up, you drunkard!"

Meyer threw the heavy mug at him, hitting him right into the face; the impact made him sway back and he slipped off his stool.

He fell on his back. The crowd watched as the stool swirled around at its spot before toppling over and hitting Fred in between his thighs.

"Ooh!"

The onlookers winced, some even spitting out their beer as if they themselves had felt the man's pain.

"Has he passed out?"

Meyer clicked his tongue.

"Tch! Nah! That numbhead is just sleeping."

Meyer got off his stool and placed 5 gold coins on the counter.

"That's more than you should be paying, lad."

Meyer ran a hand through his short silver hair, not even trying to hide his annoyance.

"That should be enough for asking you to come with me, old man."

Drake raised an eyebrow.

"Come with you?"

"I'd prefer you do not take out that knife."

Beside his leg, Drake's hand halted at the drawer's handle.

"It will only make things difficult. For you that is, not me."

A shadow fell upon Meyer's back.

"Shut your trap!"

Meyer ducked just in time for a table to get crashed into the counter.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Meyer looked up at the man who towered over him. He was twice his size; his biceps bulging under his old grey shirt.

"Yeah! Beat him up, Bran!"

Behind him, Meyer heard Drake's footsteps as he made his escape.

"Shit! Stop you-"

"You ain't going anywhere, pipsqueak!"

Bran grabbed him by the back of his head and lifted him up from the floor. He swung his arm and with all his might, threw him across the room.

Meyer collided into the wall. He fell down to the floor; cement and small rocks falling on him from the dent that he had left on the wall. Silent fell upon the men.

"Woohoo! Way to go, Bran!"

The cheers and whistles mocked Meyer and he spat at the floor.

"Is this bastard with you?"

Meyer saw Bran bending over and grabbing Fred from the front of his shirt.

"What a loser-"

Bran's face got smashed by a stool. His grip on Fred loosened up and he fell back on his rear.

Blood trickled down his forehead and he blinked at the silhouette that hovered over him. Golden eyes glared back at him; they held bloodlust and Bran dared not move a muscle.

Meyer raised his fist into the air before smashing it into Bran's face.

Punch!

Punch!

The crowd had gone silent as Meyer pounded his fist into Bran's face again and again.

"You. Dare. Touch. Him."

Bran had passed out for a while now, but Meyer anger had yet to cool down.

"Hey! Look! That old man's gone!"

Meyer's fist stopped inches away from Bran's face and he snapped his head to his right only to find an empty spot where Fred previously laid.

"What's in my hand?"

Fred stretched out his palm.

"Nothing."

The little begger girl giggled; her pigtails bouncing merrily. Fred grinned and put his hand behind her ear. Her eyes grew wide as she saw him pulling out a gold coin.

"What's in my hand now?"

"A coin! A coin!"

The girl jumped at her spot with a wide grin on her chubby face. Fred handed the coin to her and she laughed joyously. Fred got up from the concrete block he had been sitting on and grabbing his right shoulder, he swung his arm out and across his chest to warm up his muscle.

"Run away little miss."

He looked over his shoulder and said with a grin. She nodded eagerly and ran down the alleyway; easily finding her way among the shadows that lived there.

Fred's ears perked up at the footsteps that sounded from the alley to his right.

"Took him long enough."

Huff! Huff!

Drake glanced over his shoulder once again for any sign of his pursuer; there was none.

'Well done, Bran!'

He had fled the moment he could and now he was running for his life. With his chest burning and his legs begging him to let them rest, he cursed the ones responsible for his misery.

'Those bloody noblemen!'

The Little's inn that he ran was something more than just an old bar for the commoners; it was also an auction house for jewels, magical artifacts and most importantly, humans.

Men, women, children.

They were sold there, prices put on their bodies and their lives weighed against gold and silver.

The biggest market for buying and selling living humans.

Drake tripped over something in the darkness of the alley and he fell down on the dirty hard ground. A rat went squeaking past his face and he shrieked.

"Weak hearted, aren't you?"

A familiar laugh echoed in the alley and Drake got up on his feet. With his back against the wall, he glanced around in panic, trying to find the source of that ominous laugh.

"Up here, Mr. Ponytail."

Drake snapped his head up and sure enough, that drunkard from the inn was there; sitting on a wooden plank that stretched across the alley's width from one window to another.

"What the heck do you want?"

"Beer."

"Huh?"

"And meat to go with it."

"Don't joke with me! I-"

A knife went flying past Drake's head and hit the wall behind him. He touched his stinging cheek and saw blood staining his finger.

"I'm not joking."

Fred jumped down from the plank, and landed on his feat in front of him. Stumbling back, Drake reached into his back pocket.

"Don't."

Fred growled and grabbed his wrist.

"The hell!"

Drake smashed his fist into the side of Fred's face and his head turned the other way.

"What a fool..."

Fred spat at the ground and ducked, evading Drake's fist. He punched Drake in his stomach.

"You son of..."

Blood spewed out of Drake's mouth and he bent over, groaning in pain. He heard Fred stepping closer and he pulled out a knife from his pocket.

"Die!"

He threw the knife at him, but Fred jumped away in time to avoid getting hit. The knife went past him.

"Hey! Grandpa!"

Fred snapped his head and saw that beggar girl waving her hand from the end of the alley.

"Get down! Shit!"

"Aaah!"

Her shriek pierced the air. The knife had sunk into the flesh, making warm blood seep from the wound. The girl opened her eyes and looked up at the man's face. She gasped upon seeing the blood that dripped from his arm on to her dirty white dress.

"Thank...goodness. Ugh! Hurts like hell!"

Drake leaned away from the girl. The rubber band had slipped down letting his long hair fall freely over his shoulders. He grabbed the knife's hilt and pulled it out.

"Eee! Bloody hell!"

He heard heavy footsteps behind him and from the corner of his brown eyes, he saw Fred standing beside him.

"What? You gonna stab me in the back now?"

"That's a good idea. Little miss, are you alright?"

She gave him a timid nod and Fred helped her up to her feet. He rubbed her head.

"Off you go then."

She ran off and Drake turned around in his spot, and leaning against the wall, he looked up at the man. Fred reached out and grabbed him by his collar.

"Why did you do it?"

"Do you prefer letting a child die in men's fight? You really have gone senile."

"Tch! A human trafficker preaching about a human's life. Don't make me laugh!"

Fred punched the wall beside Drake's head leaving a dent in the concrete.

"Venting at me won't get you anywhere. I'm just a pawn in this bloody game."

"Then tell me! Tell me who the hell is pulling the strings!"

"Heck if I know! I just monitor the products."

"Hah! That's what you call them?"

He let go of his collar, shoving him into the wall.

"It makes me nauseous."

Fred ran a hand down his face. Drake looked up at the sky; his arm had gone cold and he had started to feel dizzy. A face flashed across his mind and a small smile appeared on his face.

"I have a boy at home. A hot tempered little brat who isn't even my own blood."

Fred frowned.

"Huh? I don't need that bloody nonsense!"

"I know what you want. Names. Hints. Anything to catch the one behind all this."

Drake looked him into the eyes.

"14th of this month. Don't forget that date. Come to the inn and tell Bran that you want to sell peanuts."

"Do not fool me-"

"I'm not fooling you! Do not forget what I have just said!"

"Bran?"

"Ask your partner. He'll know. There's only one noble whom I can tell you about. Marquis-"

A thin cut stretched across his neck and blood sprang out from it like a fountain.

"Drake!"

From above the ringing inside his ears, he heard the man said. Blood had soaked his shirt and he swayed forward in his spot before hitting his head against something rigid. With one eye, he peeked up and saw Fred's face.

Fred's ears perked up at the rustling from the shadows, but it went quiet the very next instant. The assassin was down with their job.

"Don't you die on me, Drake!"

"Making fun...of me...you did know...my name... after all..."

"Shut your trap! I'm getting you out of here!"

"Tell my...boy... he can...have two oranges...from..."

His smile slowly froze upon his face and Fred brought his hand up to cover his cold eyes.

"I'll tell him that."