Thomas held his cold hands over the campfire, and savored the feeling of warmth. That is what the lone warrior felt; what he saw was neither hand nor flame. Beyond the crackling logs, and smoldering ash, Thomas saw her as she was on their last day together.

Standing naked in the steamy waters of a natural hot spring, she appeared as a goddess come down to Earth to grace the last of mortal men. Her long dark hair lay wet across her slender shoulders, cascading between her ivory breasts as if laying a trail for the eye to follow down to the moist dark thatch between her inviting thighs.

“Come to me, my love.” Her voice penetrated his heart, and captured his soul. Before he was aware of it, he was striding towards the water’s edge. Forgotten, was the search for food, or shelter.  The only thing larger than his lust was his mighty shaft aimed directly at his desire.
He was marveling at her sensual smile, when suddenly it fell, and her scream cut through his joy much like the broken Sun cut through the Earth.

So great was the agony of his memory that Thomas did not notice his fingers smoking. Finally, physical pain overrode his mind. He yanked his hands back, and plunged them into the surrounding snow.

He was taking deep breaths, and blowing over his scorched fingertips when he caught a rancid foulness in the air.

His right hand slipped down to his axe. He closed his eyes, and let his ears guide him. Three, no, four. Three in front, and one behind. Yesss, I hear your heart beating. So strong, so fast, you have me unawares. That’s it.  Don’t make a sound. I am occupied with the fire. Pull your blade. Slice my throat. You have me. I’m yours!

With an unnatural speed, Thomas dipped to his left, as a blade cut the air where his neck used to be. His axe was out in a flash, drawing a smooth arc behind him. He felt only the slightest resistance as his steel sliced through the assassin’s arm. Always moving, never stopping, Thomas snatched the man’s dagger from his severed hand before either touched the ground. Without looking, he threw the knife through the flames, where it lodged into the throat of the second bandit.

Thomas locked eyes on the third man, as the fool leapt through the fire.  So hot were the flames that the bandit closed his eyes as he soared through, while swinging his sword down. When he opened his eyes, Thomas was no longer there; instead the man found his sword buried into his friend’s neck.

While one killer died at the hands of another, Thomas was on the other side of his camp spilling the hot entrails of the forth bandit onto the melting snow. He turned in one fluid motion, and ran toward the last fool. Like an avenging demon, covered in steaming blood, he crunched through the cold snow. The man must have seen his death in the warrior’s eyes, because he tossed his sword, and dropped to his knees.

“Please…have mercy.” He crossed his chest with his hand in the old religion. “I was wrong. Please, have mer…”

But Thomas heard none of what the man said, nor did he truly see him. In his blood lust, all he saw were those who took his only reason for living in what remained of his dying world, and for that, there could be no mercy.

“You killed her, took her away from me.” Before a denial could be uttered, a warm severed head rolled in the cold winter’s frost.

For several hours the warrior stood in the midst of carnage and death. The faltering sun had risen, and his fire had long since died. The happy song of a rare snowbird somehow reached his tortured mind. He quickly cleaned his weapon, relieved the dead of items they no longer needed, and resumed his search for those who ended his life. Perhaps he’d catch them before the world died, perhaps he'd find them in Hell. It didn’t matter; she was gone, civilization was gone, and so was hope.