The Judge Leaves His Post

*This is the combination of Carnage and Carnage Cont. It was original posted here for the fanfiction. It does not have to be in Order of Threads as long as the above two are accounted for.*
The call commander continued yelling across the field, ordering attacks and the execution of well trained techniques. He continued to try and maintain order, even as the ground was being soaked with blood and the area being torn up around them. Orskaf stood and watched in grim silence, but then his eyes glanced up. He watched as his men were flung into the air by Hel’s tendrils, and how they were dying. He closed his eyes, his fingers gripping at the hilt of his sword. The commander glanced back at him, he frowned. “Sir…? Sir! Relax,” he turned to face him. “This battle will not reach you Sir.”
Orskaf opened his eyes, and then wiped a hand down his face, shaking his head. “No…” he said, and then turned to the stairs. Drawing his blade, Orskaf jumped down, and fought beside his men. 
His attacks were as precise and deadly as Haddock’s, only less showy and elegant. They were instead sturdy, and showed clear evidence of effective military training. The rebels had gotten close, just like they had said they would. But Orskaf could not abide the thought of standing idle while others died for him. He cut past the rebels around him and the soldiers in his ranks were rallied. 
His blade killed just as many men that Haddock had taken from him. He locked his weapon against a young rebel, gritting his teeth with the effort. He slipped past him, turning quickly and stabbing the man through the back. The man let out a horse gasp as he sunk to his knees. Orskaf stared down at him, heaving a sigh, and then placed a foot on the back of his blade. He shoved his foot down, slicing the blade down through the rebels tailbone. He gave the man’s head a gentle push, letting the corpse fall into the snow. 
“Fight them back….” he growled.
“Just stay close!” The commander called from above him. “We can secure your flanks with arrows while you fight!”
A towering lessor judge nodded in response to this command, and then turned to the assailant, who stood to watch the fight idly. “Join him…” He growled under his helmet. 
The sharp nosed man glanced at him, and then casually slipped a long, straight kife out from his belt. “The back rooms were so much better.” He said softly in a low voice, even though he knew the reference would go over the lessor judges head. With that he slid down like a snake from the platform, and fought beside the head Judge. 
Orskaf yelled and grunted and he slashed his blade against another influx of rebels that had broken into their central hold. “Have your orders on point commander!” He bellowed over his shoulders. “I don’t want them taking this spot!”
“Aye sir!” The response called over the roar of the fight.
Orskaf parried another attack, cutting a rebel across the torso and sending her sprawling into the snow. He panted a few breathes, and then his air caught in his chest. Down aways from him, just past the defensive line of Valhallan soldiers, was an isolated cluster of his men who had been surrounded by a greater number of the rebels. His heart beat in his chest as his mouth slowly fell open. Some of the youngest members of his regiment were there, some of the very children he had looked in the eye and spoken to the day they had all prepared for this war…
He felt himself lean forward, his weight shifted...
And then he was running.
He shouldered past his men, fighting past the rebels that intercepted him. The assailant lept and ran along behind him, occasionally entangling himself with a rebels and rapidly stabbing them to death in quick succession with his knife. The numbers of the surrounding group was dwindling. His men were being cut down, mere boys were being cut down. 
Isn’t it a little senseless to care now? 
The image of the dozens of children he had struck and slapped over the years flashed in Orskaf’s mind. The beatings against his grandson. The shovel to Stonegit’s head. The dead Central child.
I’ve done worse…
Orskaf glanced back at the assailant, who had ripped the underside of a rebels wrist open lengthways with his knife, soaking his front in blood. The rape against the bodyguard he ordered swelled to the forfront of his memeory. 
And worse…
The sword stroke of a rebel began to swing around towards a wounded teenaged sodier who had fallen to his knees. 
So why care n-?
But he didn’t have time to discover or find the truth within his own mind, and he crashed into the group of rebels. His sword came up and down in a volley of vertical strikes that bashed down the rebels defenses and split their heads. His pivoted as he swung the blade around his head, carving it into the group to drive them away. He dropped one, two, three of the rebels. Another shoved into him and hauled up an edged mace. In a moment of ill thought, Orskaf brought up his blade to block the heavy weapon directly. The mace slammed his sword out of the way with a distinct crack, and Orskaf knew the blade had been damaged. 
Orskaf staggered back, his reflexive blade work kicking in as he swished his blade around to cut the rebels hand, and then slice him across the forehead. The fifth and final rebel withdrew, only to be tackled by the assailant who, after a brief struggle, repeatedly stabbed the downed rebel in the face.  
Orskaf turned away from him. Exhaling a gasp he sunk to his knees to prop the young Valhallan soldier up and check on him, He stopped, and then felt for a pulse, detecting none. He frowned in confusion. “I thought…” he murmured under his breath. “I thought I had interviewed in time though…” 
He touched the boy’s throat, seeing that it had been cut cleanly. He clenched his jaw and then his face contorted. “No!” He growled, shaking the body. “No! Stupid child! Why were you away in such a small group? The solid line was right there!” Orskaf laid him down and pressed his hands to his chest, beginning to push. “Breathe! Breathe!”
He slapped the body hard across the face. “Are you ignoring me?! I’m giving you an order!” He slapped him again. “I order you to breathe! Damn you!” 
Orskaf continued to struggle with the corpse, lost in his own mind until he heard the sounds of footsteps and dripping off to his side. The Judge muttered and growled for a second, and then paused as he turned his head. The assailant looked down at him, holding the head of the rebel he had killed by his hair. “What are you doing?” he asked, and dared to sound…
Humored?!
Orskaf exploded to his feet, facing the man. Red hot anger and embarrassment flooded his cheeks from behind his helm. What had he been doing? He couldn’t even justify in his own mind what that had been or even why he had done. Orskaf clenched his fists “You think your ideas and your help will protect you from the repugnant personality I see writhing under your skin like maggots?!”
The assailant watched him with the same expression he always had. A mixture of blank, godlessness with a perpetual glint that shimmered in his otherwise soulless eyes. He gave the barest shakes of his head. “No…” He said, letting the word trail a little as if he were going to add something to his response, but elected not to.
Orsakf’s lips peeled back away from his teeth in a snarl and he reached over to rip the head away from him, tossing it to the side. “Give me that! Disgusting!” His shoulders heaved as he continued to face the man down.
The assailant continued to watch him, and then gently extended one hand back towards the platform. “Shall we?” He asked. 
Orskaf grabbed his fingers fiercely, causing the man’s lips to twitch at the sudden pain. He leaned in. “You’ve sickened me the moment I selected your services. You smell like blood and your armor is ill fitting. I picked you for a job but that doesn’t mean I appreciate you, and soon I will not even allow myself to tolerate you.” He tossed aside his hand. “Die in this battle. Or I’ll cut you down myself at your next careless expression!.” He looked back at the call commanders location. 
The assailant rubbed his fingers and then gently raised them up to suck on them once. “Until then…?”
Orskaf pressed his lips together. “I’m going over there...and beyond...and to wherever I’m destined to be in this battle. To join me or not...is entirely up to you.”
The Judge stormed off and the assailant leaned back casually to watch him, before smoothly setting his stride to follow. His lips murmured quietly. “Well then...maybe we can go find pretty boy…”