Forrest and Saxon Part 2

Forrest And Saxon Part 2 
Continued from Part 1

Saxon ended his broadcast and heard the ruckus outside.

Grabbing his helmet, he launched himself

from the norman tower into the fray below. 

When Saxon got the to ground, it looked like the

battle was already over. A trio greaser bodies

lay strewn about, missing heads and bloody stumps.

The stranger stood arched over them, breathing heavily.

  Forrest was working her way to her feet,

her armor disappearing as the spell wore off. 

Saxon wasted no time and grabbed the Vekpire

by his shirt collar, with no resistance. 

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" Saxon demanded.

His famous temper, seldom seen but legendary,

was boiling to the surface 

"Kill me if you like."

The Vekpire whispered.

"End this for me." 

Saxon was more than happy to grant this request

and wound back his fist.
Forrest held out her tiny

cybernetic hand and stopped Saxon's blow with ease. 

"Hun. Don't."

She was calm,

"He saved me." 

Saxon paused for a moment,

then dropped his fist.

The Vekpire was unflinching,

like a rag doll being held up by a string. 

"If what she says is true, I owe you one."

Saxon offered through gritted teeth. 

"You can either kill me or kill the man who made me, to end this curse."

The Vekpire spoke calmly.

"His name is Marson. Should you..." 

The request was punctured by a thunderous noise getting louder in the sky. 

The trio looked up to see a VTOL craft fast-approaching. 

"It's MI5, probably here to mop up these bodies." Forrest offered. 

"They sure keep a close eye on us,"

Saxon offered to her before turning to face the Vekpire.

"You, there's a cabin a few miles into those woods.

Go hide out there and we'll see what we can do about helping you out.

You have my thanks." 

The Vekpire wasted no time, heading towards

the safety of the tree line as the helo made it's descent. 

Forrest and Saxon were greeted by a familiar face,

Brigadier Waltham "Manker" Manchester,

the hardest-nosed solider in his majesty's service. 

His voice boomed over the load-speaker,

"You two, pack a bag and throw in a swimming costume.

King Andrew is kindly requesting

your presence somewhere warm."