Sword Saint

The soldier brought the last of the bodies to the pyre, adding her to the pile. The Wife of John Mercy herself, albeit almost unrecognizable under the scars left behind from her questioning. Missing several fingers on the hand that she still had, her face was a criss cross of bloody lines, with only a single intact eye, its blue contrasting with the bloody sclera around it. “Third bloody village this month… all because of a birthday. The fuck is wrong with this place.” He muttered to himself. Quietly. He wouldn’t want his heresy to be known to the Imperium, especially not the Inquisitor brought with them. He looked up, seeing a single, lone boy looking back at him.

The boys hands were rough, callused as if he labored all his life, something exceedingly strange around here. There was no need for children to seriously labor. His body was muscled, and his face covered in sweat and dirt. For a second, the soldier jumped, thinking that it was a wandering specter, come to haunt him for his misdeeds. He wore a mix of leather and… “By God's boy, is that a direwolf pelt? Where’d you get that?” the boy stared vacantly ahead, not even acknowledging the soldier’s presence. The soldier followed his gaze, swallowing hard when he saw the direction the boy was looking. Into the eyes of the woman he dropped onto the pile. I can help him escape. The soldier turned back to the boy. Suddenly, he felt a burning pain erupt at his waist. He saw the boys expressionless face finally look back at his. Hollow, sunken eyes, that showed no emotion. I looked to his hand, a wooden toy, shaped like a sword, dripped with blood. I grabbed at my waist, looking down.

His world spun. Suddenly it was if the earth had been thrown away, as he rose away from it, spinning, before falling back down to earth. Some five feet from him, he saw his body fall to the wet mud.

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They were good people, living humble, isolated lives. My knuckles turned white around the wooden sword dangling in my belt. I stared back into Ben’s gaze, frozen, disregarding my surroundings. I recognized several faces I knew from my few years in this life. I watched him drop another body onto the pile. My mother's eye stared back at me, empty and lifeless. It gleamed. Blood pooled off of her, forming a pile on the ground that filled the air with a sickly metallic scent. For a long moment, I stared into her eyes. I didn’t even recognize that the soldier had approached me, or that he was talking. Reflexively, automatically, I drew the wooden sword. I activated the skill. I watched the soldiers guts pour out of his side. I watched his panic as he tried to hold them in. I activated the skill again. I seperated his head from his shoulders, watching it spin away from the ground. His body collapsed to its knees, and I freed his sword from its sheath. It was meant to be a short sword, but easily was as long as I was tall.

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I stared at the glint of sunshine, reflecting off of the beautiful, polished metal of the blade. I spun the blade in my hand, feeling the weight. It had been so long since I had even seen a proper sword. It brought back scattered memories, which sucked me in like pits of mud. I lost the feeling of the sun on my face, finding instead the feeling of falling. The scent of ash hung heavy in the air, and the brightness of the sky was replaced with the brightness of a raging inferno. Then I heard it. All around me, distant shouting, cries for help. My head snapped up, eyes locking onto the enemy. Blood dripped from the demons claws, arm extended to his side. I felt my veins bulge in anger, watching it drip to the ground below him. The earth was ripped apart behind me, and the sword in my hand tore through his flesh like paper. Slash.

A fountain of red sprayed in front of me, and the screaming round me intensified. I grabbed the second sword falling through the air, laying into the monstrosity in front of me.

One slash.

Two slashes.

Eight slashes.

Thirty two slashes.

Diced flesh fell to the ground around me, monster flesh torn to scraps. Still, this place wasn’t safe. I scoured the horizon. More. The demons pillaged and burned the capital. More. I had to find them all. I saw two more, but one of their forms was shifting, bending and distorting under the flames red light. Ashes fell from the sky like snow. Finally, as the red light seemed to reach its crescendo around the dancing shape, it solidified. The scene around me shifted. I felt my eyes ache as my blood pressure rose.

The orc shaman raised his staff towards me, but it was too late. I fell upon him in a flash, my first swing blocked by his staff. Gnarled wood stopped my blade short, but my second sword stabbed into its neck. The disgusting mage grabbed at his neck with gnarled, green hands. I spun, beheading it. Without hesitating, my swords ripped into the orc soldier at its side, both piercing the soldier before cutting outwards, ripping him to pieces. More.

I staggered, panting as I lifted the blades again. More. There must be more. My eyes searched the Orc stronghold wildly as I dashed between the bone houses. Disgusting. Disgusting Orcs. I looked at the torch burning in a lantern outside of one of the homes. Slash. The torch fell, setting one of the huts ablaze. It took quickly, the leather blaze over the bone. The village was soon awash in flames, as I continued my search. One at a time, I hunted the remaining Orcs through the blazing village.