He tore out, running, a swift silver glint in the night, charging the sea of monsters head long at an angle of attack, steeped with lust. Creatures scrambled through the darkness, rushing towards the town, Al met them in stride, hacking with a two-handed grip, wide slashing arcs, cutting through bodies as soft as butter. Ghouls moved in mass, steadily streaming past and around the crazed warrior, as he roared, sweat glistening on his midnight skin, a snow of exhaustion and exertion.
Piked blade ready, the young warrior broke the army, dashing out into an opening, as he looked up, face to face with the towering skin giant. A bellowing cry gutted its way from the beast's rotund belly, it perceived the warrior, as he stood, guard to cheek, poised. A massive hand reached, gray slothing skin stinking of swamp and ichor, slow but pushing a barrel of wind with sheer momentum fueled force.
Al dropped to a knee as the log like fingers grazed past his side, pistoning off one knee, he pushed off moving forwards and in, pulling the blade with his shoulders as it bit into the creature’s inner forearm flesh wall, chunking a massive scar of spewing maggot viscera from the opened squelching wound. A rain of bile showered the boy’s armor, running down, Albatross quick stepped back, sword in hand, as the creature roared a deafening cry. With quickness they had not seen or expected, Al was taken off guard, on the back foot literally, as the creature came round with a backhand from its uninjured arm. So swift, so unnatural, he was barely able to pull his blade up flat along the length of his body, vertical like a shield before the massive bulbous knuckles crashed into him, cannonball in nature.
Al rocketed to the right tumbling side long, cartwheeling, he gasped desperately trying to suck in air to no avail. A heavy lead weight sat on his chest, every attempt at life only sucking in deep shrapnel pain from his sides. He tumbled head over, feet touching skull, rag dolling before he slid and slammed, back first into a sturdy oak tree, slumping instantly. His spine slammed, deep freshened ruby coughing out from his fluid filled lungs, vision instantly blurring, darkness playing at the edges.
He struggled to breathe again, moist wet ragged draws of life-giving forest air. Al’s head was far too heavy, far too heavy, his eyes were an out of focus mess, and he could barely pull his thoughts together into a straight line. His head lolled to the side, where his right arm lay backwards in its socket, crumpled metal plugging deep wounds as his hand lay twisted round, palm backwards.
Oh, that’s not good, he thought to himself, his vision blanking to pitch darkness for a moment. At least Avva would have been proud of him, he thought, shuddering, hacking a deep red as his chest shuddered, heaving back and forth rapidly. Avva, the emotions filled him, the images of his sister’s ruined body laying limp among the bottom feeders of the forest bed, alone and cold. He tried to cry but his eyes did not comply. I can’t feel anything, he thought, maybe, maybe that thing will die now, and the villagers… the villagers will throw a party… my friends, his mental voice came disjointed, as the warriors vision faded to black once again.
Albatross awoke gasping for air, taking deep lungfuls of stale oxygen mixed with pollen and dew, his eyes turned in their sockets focusing, as blood rushed back to his face and his brain, heart pumping steadily once more. Arms splayed at sides, legs sat in front of him, Albatross painfully ached, slumped against the tree as waves of throbbing discomfort flushed his face and form. His body swelled, pushing out angrily against his taught armor, shaking, matted clumps of hair swung away from his eyes.
For a split-second Al thought he could hear the sweet songs of forest canary, until a small mob drew his attention back. A sparkling group of visages, Darton heading a procession of lightly clad knights, a spear head, illuminated by pale moon and burning light, shining from all sides, they ran across the battlefield, fighting towards his direction. One of the soldiers screamed out, a shadow distended, Al watched as a massive hand scooped up Alice, frantic cuts foaming from her cutting blade, before the creature squeezed, rippling the girl's body, as white, yellow and pink erupted in a geyser from its palm.
Eric ran after the rain that was now Alice, sopping and mushy, he cried, as a group of ghouls caught him. Removed from the pack, all Eric could do was mourn his love as the things pulled him limb from limb, playing games with his streaming intestines. The partial battalion moved like a snake as Al witnessed Darton split off from the group, heading straight for the massive beast. As he moved, the young captain threw shouts back, tossing one hand to his side, signaling his troops as they lagged behind.
Darton clashed with a massive amalgamation ghoul, standing guard in front of its bloated godlike ally, the captain, severing the ghoul’s limbs as its claws ricocheted off his blade. Knights in battle formation began their assault, pivoting around Darton, who dropped his blade and threw his hands up, too late. Massive thuds followed the behemoth of a creature, as it plowed forward suddenly, the captain was able to toss himself backwards at the very last second.
The knights drew up their blades in a defensive position but were quickly flattened to discs of steel and pink viscera. Waddling the monster sprinted and hobbled, taking out the entire knightly detachment with one charge, it roared again, almost like a laugh through wheezing undertones and off keys notes.
Darton ran, ran so fast, faster than he had ever before, he sprinted towards the flattened pile which consisted of his friend’s seconds prior. Eyes widened, as boots sloshed in what could have been his ally, he fell to his knees, the behemoth just a short ways off. Al watched, still slumped, stuck to the tree, warm trickling running the length of his body, down his chest, pooling at his hips.
He coughed, a warm thick ruby, coagulated globs held by strands at the corners of his lips, teeth stained a viscous crimson. Visages of the knights, the friends he had, now flattened to dirt, danced, and played within his mind. A steady smile drew itself wide across his crumpled head, and he pulled his cheeks taught in a grim mask, a subtle rumble climbing from the pit of his stomach, coming to rest in his chest. Al half wheezed, half choked, his eyes closed, before springing open with absolute crystal clarity.
A waking seeped into his chest, a pulled battle anxiety welling up like a cold spring, Albatross grunted, and then grunted some more. Willing his crumpled body to move, to move any way at all. His left arm crossed his body, shakily reaching out to grasp the handle of his sword in an iron grip, snaking the arm back he poised the weapon vertically. Blade flat against face, Albatross took a deep breath, a tearing cry lurching from his lungs as he pulled himself onto his sword with one good hand.
Resting the pommel against the lower reaches of his sternum, balancing on the clean edge as the blade sank into supple dirt. Shoulder forward, gripping the blade like his life depended on it, Al moved, hobbling, limping, crutching forward, using the sword as an extra limb to carry most of his weight forwards, his face a sapped disguise, wrought with pain and determination. Al shook shuffling with a swiftness towards the massive beast, his vision and thoughts faded again, but he brought himself back, refusing to look at the ruins of his right arm, streaming warm life into green grass.
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