The General

The stench of rot clung to him. His blade bit through cold, rotting flesh. Valerius was back on the mountains. The screams of his men as they were ambushed by the enemy echoed off of the frozen peaks. 

No matter how hard he swung, those cursed men just rose again. 

Angrier. Fiercer. 

Spewing black blood onto the snow. Their bent and broken fingers clwed wildly through the air. Their eyes a blaring red. Blackened tears weeped down their faces, dripping down their chins and into the soiled snow. Feather-like tendrils writhed and wriggled from their gapping maws, slipping between jagged and bloodied teeth. 

One by one his men fell, torn apart by the mass of teeth and fury. All of them joining the ranks of the blighted soldiers. Leaving Valerius to stand alone against the relentless horde. But even he was overwhlemed. 

One- a young soldier, lunged for him, arms outstreatched and clawing at the air. Valerius only had moment to react, letting him latch firmly onto the thick leather of his gauntlet. 

The soldier gripped onto his leather armor, dragging him farther into the fray. Valerius wanted to sceam, but each time he opened his mouth, the young soldier would thrash against him wildly, trying to bury his teeth into the meat of his arm. 

Valerius lashed out, desprate to shake the offending enemy away from him, but nothing seemed to rend the soldier away from him. 

Through the chaos that swirled all around him, a high-pitched squeal seemed to emanate from the soldier's chest, roiling up his throat until his jaw cracked open and a frantic voice spilled from his bloodied lips.

"Please General Valerius! Wake up! Wake up!"

The General flew from his make-shift hay bed. Shoving away the young soldier that had shaken awake him from his nightmare. His heart was still in his throat, beads of sweat mach the itchy tunic stick to his back. His eyes adjusted to the low candle light that flickered from the candle the young soldier held tightly in his hand. 

The young soldier's eyes were wide and haunted, his voice shook, barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry! Gen-General Valerius- Sir! It's- they told me to come get you!" 

Irritated simmered through Valerius, "What is it Brayen?" 

Brayen shuffled backwards a little, his eyes still wide, "Its Sir De Claire," Valerius sat up straighter at the mention of his friend, his heart making a slow decent to his stomach. "He... he's gone mad! He began attacking the healers!"

Valerius surged from his make-shift bedding, "Where is he now?" he followed the young soldier through the stable. 

"He attacked some of the healers! So some of the other soldiers had to restrain him!" Brayen said quickly. "Through there!" he said, his voice quivering as he pointed towards the back doors of the stables. 

He could heard struggling and shouting as he moved in the direction Brayen had shown him. In a small alcove, a group of healers were huddled around an older man as he lay crying on a pile of hay. His hand clenched tightly aginast his face; a crimson strip of flesh hung limp and dripping from between his fingers. 

Heart pounding in his ears, he hurried to push open the doors. Out in the snow, the remaining members of his battalion struggled to hold his Second-In-Command. 

Jacques thrashed wild in thier grasp. His mouth was cracked open, spewing congealed blobs of blood onto the snow. His eyes, a once-warm blue were now hazed over, the whites of them a blazing red as black veins spiderwebbed out onto his cheeks.

"General Strand!" one of his men called to him desprately. "He just went mad!" 

"Get him to the ground! Brayen, grab a rope! We'll tie his arms behind his back!" he commanded. 

As the young man hurried to retrieve a rope, Valerius and his men dragged the thrashing man to the ground. He continued to howl into the night, spitting blackened blood onto the ground. At one point, Jacques reeled back and vomited out a blackened mass of writhing tendrils and blood into the snow. 

What the fuck? Valerius thought, horrified as he watched it wriggle and dig into the hard-packed snow. 

"Here!" Brayen cried, passing a long length of hemp rope to another one of the soldiers and together they began to bind the raging commander. 

Once he was sure that Jacques was firmly bound and secured, did he and his men let the raging man go. 

Valerius and his men watched in revulsion as their fellow brother-in -arms convulse on the ground, screaming and spewing black bile. 

"What is going on, Sir?" asked one his men- Frier as he turned to face him, his face gaunt and ashen and his eyes wide with dismay.

Valerius was at a loss for words. All he could focus on was the black tendrils protuding from his friend's mouth as they wormed their way in the snow.