Albatross shot up, a shrill cry running its way through his skull, reverberating him from his waking dream. Bed screeched, the young man bolted upright, muscles rippling against cold steel, the purple outside air, bathing him in a sullen glinting glow. A back hand came to his blurry eyes, hastily removing the groggy film. Panic reached its way between the young man’s ribs, gripping spine with vice-like determination.
Clanking followed Al’s lust for his blade, quickly cinched at the waist, booming over to the front door. Subtle drafts of rich wood smoke wafted in from every corner, burnt twigs and leaves, Al opened the front door with quick willed but shaky hands. Barrier flung, the boy was washed with sights and sounds, a pyre of roaring flame burst up about half a mile off, and then another, accompanied by a chorus of shrill throat tearing screams. Villager’s ran past, in all different states of disarray, injury, or panic, screaming all the while.
From the distance, the clash of steel against steel, or steel against something hard could be heard, obnoxious battle cries, and the clanking of armor, emanating southwest, towards the early morning barricade. Albatross jumped out into the street, splashing off colored mud into the wind, just as a pale thing ran by, and then another. Grotesque, sickly green, the elongated nude humanoid jumped onto a running seamstress, digging its pitted gravestone teeth into the woman’s supple neck flesh. It tore and tore, blackened, frayed, nails holding its meal, another ran past, jumping a log cutter, carrying a makeshift gurney.
Creatures ran using thin wiry strength fueled by slothing green skin and dark cutting veins, all to pull the muscular man down, tearing into throat and nape. Awful burdens writhed under the monster’s flesh, taking Al aback for a split second, just as a shock of milk dragged its way into his peripheral. A rotten mess, ribs out, moist slickened entrails trailing behind, it ran at Al, who through conditioning alone, was able to will his muscles into action. With one swift motion, the young man drew his blade, drafting it from scabbard with a slithering hiss, it sang through the air, a canary in flight, lopping off the things head. Ground splattered with blackened blood, and wriggling worms, or maggots of different sizes.
Al steeled his gaze and his heart, fueled by determination, conditioning, and more importantly… Guilt. Cries followed the slain, Al jogged towards the barricade in the distance, a trio of disturbed things running towards him. Ducking Al narrowly dodged two swipes from plague ridden palms, driving his blade up with the power of the divine. Boot poised, the boy kicked, ripping steel free from rotted bone, as he spun the edge once again, top, catching two grotesque heads in the process, as he knelt, showered in blackened blood.
Knees locked, Al stampeded again, the markings on his face, keeping curse fluid from seeping too far into his vision. Head down the boy offered a single prayer, following glowing areas of burning orange, illuminating in place of the leeching purple sky. Clouds passed deep kaleidoscopes of cool hues, trees were illuminated by stark yellows and deepened treachery.“They’re thinning!” Darton yelled sidelong over his shoulder, a creature’s head cleaved in front of him, Al ran up next to the captain of the guard, stabbing a monster in its squishy guts.
“Any news about the gathering party?” Al asked through gritted teeth.
Darton looked down, then back up as his blade bit into rotted bone “sorry Al” he said in a lower shout, “what was left of the scouting party… found the alchemist, and herbalists… bodies.”
As Darton expressed those words, Al cried out, hacking in an ark, carving massive gashes across the chests of a halfmoon of forsaken. Low light of evening gone, barely made the tears visible, they clung to Al’s markings like glittering jewels. He shook his blade with white knuckles as the monsters began coming in smaller and smaller groups. Till only a few managed to shamble their way from the darkened woods at a breakneck pace. Al heaved, stabbing his blade into the mud, using it as a crutch, Darton doing the same.
“What are these damn things?” he asked the captain through gritted teeth. Darton heaved gulping lungfuls of air “ruins… something in the… ruins… scout came back… it's dark magic of some sort” the captain choked out. “Two…Two days ago, there was a mage who passed through, they said they sensed something brewing in the woods, but… but I didn’t think… But they never could have predicted… This, this is some foul work, some foul work indeed… I have no idea where all these reanimated bodies are coming from… I can only imagine where they got this much… flesh.”
Just as that sentence pulled its way from the young captain’s dry cracked lips, a roar of monumental proportions, drummed its way, rolling and grating through the trees. A stampede shaking the earth and boiling the sky, the sound of an animal's cry, and the screams of a thousand damned souls. All able-bodied heads turned towards the forest, even Albatross’ pulled sullen face.
A steady booming rubble shuddered the ground beneath them, sending the weary off balance. Tremoring, rhythmic, a battle chant to the gods, getting louder, drawing closer. Snapping, squawking followed the rebounded of fallen trees, as they were plowed through by some unseen force. Flocks of birds silhouetted the evening sky as they swarmed into the night. Al, Darton, and a few of the other soldiers who had run up to join them, Emery, Fans, Eric, Alice, all white knuckled their blades, blood streaming from gapped armor.
“Am I late to the party?” a gruff voice sounded behind them, Al turned slightly to see Dalles, the older warrior, wheeling up with a trio of massive horse pulled ballista. “Right on time” Darton whispered under his breath.
That breath caught, as a volley of trees burst, from the shaded darkness of the woods boomed a massive thing. It stepped out on trunk like legs, blubbering in its grotesque obesity. A pang of disgust filled all those who beheld the monstrosity, taller than the trees themselves, the large rotund goliath of pulsing flesh and grasping arms, stomped its way slowly forwards. Watching them from a nipple of fat that could have been a face or just another sickly green cancerous lump. Ripples, waves of flesh, flapped and undulated as the thing moved, large house sized arms swung to carry its immense momentum, loose stretched skin hanging down in the bucketful.
A roar sounded off again, causing everyone nearby to clap their ears in desperation, shackling their hands to their heads to staunch the shrill flow of ferocity. A milk laden tide rushed past the creature, shining in the moon their sweaty meaty bodies flowing out from the darkness once more.
Dalles’ archer group readied their bows, pulling back thin oaken draws as they aimed high. TWANG, a ballista loosed its payload, a tree sized javelin, sailing forwards, sinking deep into the massive creatures flesh, just as the archers released their volley, peppering the crowd of undeath with unholy steel. Immense gargantuan fat padded and absorbed the ballista blow, much to everyone's dismay, the tide of ghouls rushed forth, arrows sticking every which way, unfazed by biting iron. Al stomped his feet, tapping his toes incessantly, as he waited at the forward lines with all his comrades. A young man shaking, whipping sweat and tears from his eyes, as the tip of his blade shook towards his enemy. Not out of fear or desperation, not out of anxiety, but out of anger, and hate.
A crease formed across his brow, as he eyed his comrades, then the ground itself, soaked with his own salty rain. Al’s heart pumped something fierce, hammering away in his chest, a rhythmic song to his tranced state. A drumming, a running, his feet moved on their own, soles filled with conviction. Darton yelled something after him, but Al did not care.
Comments (0)
See all