Predator If It Bleeds 38

Jarl had formed a vague idea of what the giants looked like from the blood-splashed monster stabbing men not twenty paces away, but he still felt his eyes widen. These newcomers wore dark metal masks, shining and smooth and ominous;
black beaded braids hung to either side. Each wore a thin gray covering that outlined their bulging physiques, muscles hewn and chiseled like the strongest man's. No armor. No weapons. Jarl glanced at the giant dressed in blood just as it fell to its knees, an axe in its guts. One down, and two to take its place.

"Giants at the gate!" Stelgar shouted, and the men tightened what was left of their defense.

Stelgar's cry seemed to redirect the mad attackers. At the sight of the giants, the men of the Keep seemed driven to new heights of fury. They screamed and ran toward the two massive creatures, howling like animals, slashing each other in their frenzy to reach the new enemy.

One giant dropped into a crouch, opening its arms wide; the other, taller, stepped directly into the oncoming attackers, smashing faces and pounding heads. Bone snapped. Men went flying through the snow, broken and bleeding. The tall monster made its way to where Thoralf and Ult fought, back to back, and both men turned to face it. Thoralf rushed in low to slash at its massive legs. Ult spun away, coming around to thrust at the striding giant with his heavy sword. Ult's blade pierced the giant's side, the cut deep. Glowing green poured from the wound. The monster swung around and grabbed Ult by his head, twisting and pulling-and tore it from Ult's body. Blood gouted into the air, Ult's headless corpse crumpling to the snow. The giant threw Ult's head at one of the Keep's raging soldiers, knocking him off his feet. Thoralf slashed at the monster's thighs and danced back, drawing more green blood. The shorter, crouching giant tore at the half-dozen armed men who'd crashed into it, ripping arms from sockets, tossing
them like sticks, but as more piled on and brutally hacked at the creature, it faltered. Bjarke rushed in and swung axe, the curved blade opening a thick line of green on the crouching monster's back. It turned and slapped him hard enough to break his neck, dropping him. Therin loosed an
his arrow at the creature and more shining green blood poured from where it lodged in the thing's massive chest.

The giants were stumbling. The red snow at their feet was spattered with heavy splashes of green. When the taller one turned its back, Jarl ran forward, his sword high, barely keeping his balance on the slippery bodies of dead and dying men. He reached the bleeding giant and brought his blade down and across, howling with joy. His sword sank deep into the side of the monster's neck. Green sprayed across his face, hot and bitter, and the giant turned, and punched its fist into Jarl's chest. Jarl felt his sternum shatter like ice, and pain like heat shot through him a terrible, crushing pressure squeezed his heart-but the
giant was slain, the spurt of its terrible blood already slowing. Jarl grinned, and died. The battle seemed to die with Jarl the Sword's Son.-pg.201-202-203 chpt.7