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Chapter 2 - Cold and Hungry
Just where was everybody?
Goreblaster looked around at the lunar-lit ruins of what was once probably a pretty lively cathedral. Big Hungry was still there, his bloated corpse now leaking out rivers of unnatural bodily fluids and filling the gaps in the cracked paving stones of the long-lost building. Percy was remarkably absent, and so too was Fernando.
He felt… odd. The slain ghast was now not the only one who was big hungry, as the heavy-feeling stomach within the muscled body of the barbarian started to complain. No sense in waiting for his manager/assistant, he decided, as the relentless mule would no doubt bring the two together at an opportune time. What Goreblaster needed was food. For some reason, he felt an internal draw to the North West.
Pureheart felt heavy too, as he hefted the magic blade from the floor - and in inspecting it, it had changed in an unexpected manner - the edges were now blunt and thick, and for some reason, it almost reminded him of a tall gravestone, just made of sheet metal. In trying to give it the signature blue glow, he found that it did not react. As a cold wave of panic passed over the chiselled form of the hero, he realised there was something else that had changed.
He was pretty sure he had gotten taller.
Neat! With a spring in his step, he lumbered awkwardly in the direction his brain told him would lead him to either food or answers. That poison must have really done a number on him - as his footsteps were heavy with the weird numb lethargy that coursed through his veins. Or rather, didn’t.
The travel seemed to take no time at all yet stretched on forever, his mind only retaining some semblance of sanity over the passage of time by keeping his peepers on the moon. The singular pale body orbiting the planet seemed just as slow as he, yet also just as inevitable, as eventually his brain screamed out that something pretty important was close by.
Goreblaster hopped behind some bushes and peered through, not usually one to make use of subtlety but the gnawing feeling of something being off coincided with the gnawing feeling in his empty belly. If it was a wild animal then he’d rather not scare it off, lest he miss out on the chance to eat its brains - oh, the meat would probably be better. He shook his head and focused.
A group of figures stood amongst a copse of trees, meandering shadows that were moving with slow focus to the left (of the barbarian). He followed the train of their path, and in the far distance, the small lights of a village twinkled like tasty stars down the way. These were zombies! Yes, indeed, their lethargic gait and strange wherewithal to their surroundings clued them out. Goreblaster felt remarkably calm, even for a seasoned and experienced battler of monsters and evil in all forms; the prospect of a battle would usually set the heart racing - but his confidence must have reached an even greater apex.
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“Begone foul undead!” he cheered as he leapt from his hiding bush, although it didn’t come out like that. It just sounded like bleaaargh! Which is potentially intimidating still; it would sure make me jump if some meat-clad wildman wielding a chunk of metal came galavanting out of the undergrowth - he could probably say anything at that point. The zombies, however, were much less deterred by the groan, and barely even turned to face the incoming lout.
Running was definitely faster than this, Goreblaster thought; Percy really needs to hurry back with some anti-venom. Thankfully, zombies were some of the weakest and slowest foes in his villain-scape. He was pretty sure he had chewed through, no, gnawed through- no, fought through hordes at least five times the size of this one, with nary a worry in previous years. He had trouble thinking of the names of the exact battles though, which is something he was usually really astute with.
The first undead walker in the group of maybe two dozen didn’t even get a chance to face the barbarian before the thicker blade slammed down through its head, cleaving it clean off the body; which collapsed to the floor with a thud. With his slower limbs, Goreblaster struggled to weave his attacks as proficiently as he was usually able to, but thankfully he still outmatched the lumbering corpses with no issue.
Another body fell, and then a third as the now Inpureheart bluntly crushed through weakened bone and unliving flesh; limbs were torn asunder and landed wetly on the grassland. Goreblaster spun, like a clothesline in a tepid breeze, and lopped off a couple of heads from the distracted undead.
He grunted to himself in a brief pause, but not in a zombie way, just in a typical barbarian way. These rotten shamblers seemed much more intent on reaching the picnic basket of sleeping village folk rather than fighting the fresh meatloaf right under their decrepit noses. Usually, he would be a magnet for these kinds of slavering hordes, but now he was as invisible as… well, as Percy.
His thoughts briefly turned to his small and docile manager, and where he could be. It just wasn’t the same without the sarcastic barbs or helpful information the chonkster would usually deliver whilst the barbarian slew all the big bads that Percy had on his gross little sheets of paper - filled with words, of all things.
With a punch he decapitated a further zombie, the head rolling off into a bush as the rest of the body dropped to the floor, inert. Perhaps it was now, with his companion's absence, that he had lost his last remaining fan and admirer? Maybe that was why he felt so cold and empty and hungry for fresh brains- I mean fresh accolades.
As a shifting undead came up beside him, paying him little heed, he grabbed at the arm of the creature and pulled it off - half accidentally. A twisted, half-rotten head turned towards him, empty eyes aglow with malcontent.
“Hey, that’s not very nice,” the zombie chastised.