The trampling of brush underfoot, the unevenly gasping breaths inhaled at their rapid shambling approach; it all spoke to me in ways it never quite had before. There was a clarity in darkness, a focus and tension created when crippled in such a way within death’s shadow.

“Lord, strengthen me for I am weak and because your children are oppressed before me.” There is none of the usual movement to accompany the prayer, I can neither afford to kneel or to clasp hands. “May my blade sever them from their earthly bondage for their life is no life at all.”

To parry a blade unseen, how would one do such a thing? Focus upon the brush they run through, are their weapons dragging through the dirt? Are they hitting branches? Yes, they are.

Which direction is it coming from? One’s weapon is being pulled through the dirt, the blade will be raised up from below. They weren’t acting in such a way before, why have they grown so clumsy? Predicting the vector of attack which an amateur will chose is even more difficult than discerning an expert’s course of action.

Yet, even knowing my death is all the more likely, faint joy still springs forth at the knowledge my enemy’s hold is very likely to be imperfect. When war is waged such unsightly warriors will fall like chaff.

As for me? There is only one answer to my predicament, I must slay them all before they can kill me. There will be no parrying or blocking, I’ll maintain distance just out of range and enter only to end the confrontation with the first strike.

With a sudden movement, I lunge and sprint just seconds before they reach me and invade the space of my target. Within my mind, I visualize its outline and strike at its throat, piercing my intended target and stomping upon whatever form of stave he happened to hold.

I twist and raise my still twitching opponent, wielding him as one would a shield and putting him within my foes’ paths. I twist and knock them aside, hoping to throw their clumsy steps off balance to great success. One, two, three; there are more still, where are they?

From below with soundless steps, their hands latch upon my legs. Two small mouths biting down upon the meat of my thigh and jabbing my abdomen from below with daggers. Once, I throw my adversary aside as my hand pulls one of the children off. Twice they stab me, the second is bashed by my hilt and goes still. Immediately, I know the stillness to be death's.

Primal rage screams its way out of my throat as my hands are defiled with the blood of a child.

Falling and twisting to reach the two adults with my blade. Resistance in the form of bone meeting me as I stab their rising forms over and over again until dead, the first child all-the-while held, his hand too restrained to truly stab but free enough to nick and scritch cut after cut into me. His mouth chewed upon my chest, like some wicked perversion of a woman breastfeeding her child, and I realized that I was being eaten alive. Meanwhile, his hands reach down below my navel and-

Tear, crunch, crush.

I scream, pulling the blade from his hand with my teeth, bloodying myself further in the process, and throwing the child to the side

I run after where he fell, bringing him into a more sure restraint as I hold him down, my sword left at the wayside.

More running, more enemies and do I have to kill this child? I quickly transition into a choke and render the child unconscious, cursing myself all the while for not having done so sooner.

“May God destroy you.” I say, twisting in their direction and unable to stand.

Immediately I am greeted by, what must have been, an axe with my face.

They wrap their finger around my neck as they pull and tear at me from all directions. Eating my face, devouring my muscle, and leaving my heart bitter as I in turn do the same. All throughout my thoughts were muddled and my strength was gone from me.

Savage and brutal, we fought as if we were animals.

No, even an animal had cunning and the lions had more caution than a warrior on crusade. This brutality was unique unto men gone mad.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

I will not speak of it, it is to unbecoming to so much as ponder.

...

“Wake up,” the voice is young, lyrical in the most beautiful way, and softer than the imaginings of any worldly comfort. Hypnotic and enchanting, it was like someone had cast a spell on me for my reason had nigh fled.

It caused the searing agony tormenting my flesh to be forgotten in that moment, for my heart to flutter and my attention to turn to behold her radiant beauty.

Her hair and skin shone with enchanting luster, golden hair as if woven from metal framed her carefully crafted face, symmetrical and perfect like a sculpture made flesh. She was tall, slender, and curvaceous all at once; all details displayed through her dress’ sharp outlining and transparent texture.

If not for costliness, all whores would dress this way as it was lewder than if one had never bothered to obscure anything at all.

“Is it you?” I ask in a wispy voice, quiet in a way that sounded strange to my own ears. “Could it be, that it was you who-“

She’s suddenly close, uncomfortably close. Closer than any woman had ever been since I was boy, before I had token my vow of chastity. Since the time I had last hugged my mother years ago.

“Yes, it was me that god had sent to save you.” Her breath burns hot against my cheek, her hand brushes past me and I am nearly driven to madness. “I have restored your sight but there is something you must do to be healed in full."

Oliver it had always been who’d possessed the patience of God, a virtue from which I had, to my greatest shame, always strayed. Rarely had I been constrained by its great wisdom without Oliver’s hand upon my shoulder. For this reason I am afflicted, for my unwillingness to wait for God and for my weakness in idleness.

“Pledge thyself to my cause, to ushering in a new era where death and suffering itself shall be slain. To wipe the tears from the weepers so they can, once more, see with happy eyes. To destroy out from the hearts of men all that causes suffering and grief, to replace it with never ending revelry!” Gesticulating and gesturing madly, her words come out in rapider succession. Each one more fiery and passionate than the last. Everything she says is truth to her own ears, I know this without a single doubt in my heart. “Death need not come, pain need not be suffered further, and life everlasting is within our grasp! All the enemies of humanity shall be felled and peace everlasting shall cause all to prosper across every land!"

Now, I am afflicted because I could not wait for my enemy to be pass me by. My impatience and unwillingness to hide is the cause for my downfall. This, my foolishness, should be a folly that leads to death yet I am also without regret. I cannot find it within myself to repent of my error and so, I suspect, that my curse shall follow me still.

I am so weak that, if I were to submit myself to endure her wiles patiently, it would be my undoing and I would be like David or, more likely, Solomon.

“Take my hand, I beg you! Together we shall be humanity’s salvation!” And she reaches out, proffering her palm before me. “For this reason I am come, for this reason I fight!"

Nay, I know it.

With a calming breath, I glance at my surroundings. A bloodied bed in a room clearly intended for guests, we’re upon the third story of a noble or merchant’s mansion. The window is just behind me, so that I might gaze upon the gardens once I awake.

I am grateful to the architect who’d designed such a place for surely God had guided their hand precisely for this day.

Reaching forth, I clasp her hand and elbow before twisting and hurling the demon out the window head first.

I turn my face away and shield my new eyes.

“Oh, motherfucker!” Like the beast the whore truly was, she roars amidst the sound of shattering. A thud soon follows and more screaming. The illusion is shattered, my sanity is restored and I am nearly brought to weeping because of my relief. This day, I had not failed my God. “Within my hand is your life to do with as I please! Do you have even have the faintest idea, the merest conception, of how hard I can fuck you? Or are you so damned stupid that you think your god will save you? Every orifice, a thousand thousand times with a thousand dicks until you're nothing more than a sack of flesh without even a resemblance to anything human! I'll make you immortal for it, I'll magnify ever single one of your senses a million times over, I'll make it so you'll screech ceaseless blasphemies every day for a hundred years so that you can taste the sweet relief of death! You think your god is-"

And with that, I twist and toss a pillow into her face.

“Ah, it would seem that God has set further trials before me.” The words leave me drooping for I had truly hoped that the fall would kill the witch. “Be silent lest my Lord’s wrath be magnified against you even further for the sake of your blasphemous tongue.”

“Hmm?” I glance at her again, against the unmoving form strewn across the lawn. “Was that truly her undoing? It would seem almost a joke-“

“If it were then you’d be the fool and recipient.” Another voice spoke, this was deep and commanding. “I apologize for my impropriety, that vessel is weaker to provocation. It's an unfortunate flaw that I've never quite been able to fix."

Turning, I see once more that same set of deathly gray eyes looking upon me with predatory intent. Not obscured or hidden but a plainer hunger.

“This once, provided you give heed to my words, I will forgive you because I am magnanimous.” He spoke, stepping forward. His voice is different from hers, it echoed out and, if it were any other man, he’d be made afraid. “Know this, however, that my wrath is a thing to be feared. Many have thought themselves impervious to me and all have been brought low, pleading with my mournfully for a singular wish. That wish was death, for hell itself is a thing that comes at my beckoning.”