Blood.

Piss.

And shit.

An unholy trinity that seared the lungs and scorched the throat. Each breath of the vile human soup like sucking down a nasty plague— a stench so nauseating, so gut-wrenchingly putrid, yet maddeningly, not the worst I've endured.

I lay still, eyes half-lidded, breaths coming shallow and silent.

The corpses around me; cold, their skin clammy and bloated, oozing rancid sticky fluid that colored the mire a deep shade of crimson maroon. Newly hatched maggots wriggled in and out of gaping wounds, their tiny, fat white bodies squirming against my skin, leaving behind trails of viscous slime that burned like acid.

The ground beneath was slick with gore, a sticky, cloying pink film that clung to the skin, staining it a dirty almost brackish red.

Flies buzzed in thick swarms, drawn to the feast of rotting flesh and the fetid reek of emptied bowels. Their wings a constant, maddening drone that drilled into my skull.

They landed on my face, scuttling over my lips and eyes, their tiny cold little feet tickling and their fat round bodies smearing long trails of putrid grime.

I felt them crawl into my nose, my mouth–my stomach churning and bile rising up my throat as I fought the urge to retch. Every instinct screamed to swat them away, to claw at the wretched pests buzzing around without so much as a bit of care, but I moved not an inch. For to do so was to die or, worse...

"Well, lookie here," a man cooed, and my heart seized, an iron fist wrapping around it, squeezing, twisting, wrenching it down down and down into a bottomless pitless abyss where there was only the void.

"We've got a live one, boys." The same slimy voice slithered through the air, sending the feasting carrion birds into a frenzied flight, their wings beating like a thousand frantic drums.

I dared not move, scarcely breathing, as the shuffle of plate and the clinking of mail grew louder and louder and louder; each step like the strike of a hammer against an anvil on my eardrums… before drawing away…petering out.

"Please, no. Please! NO! NOOOO!" A man was yanked from beneath a pile of carcasses, much like the one I hid under.

His frenzied, pleading screams rose in a high-pitched wail, much like a pig dragged to slaughter, a desperate, blood-curdling bid for mercy that fell on deaf, uncaring ears.

"I'll do anything, please! PLEASE! LET ME GO!" he shrieked, his voice cracking.

They yanked him to his feet, his limbs thrashing and fumbling uselessly; eyes wide and leaking tears. He kicked and screamed, his gangly limbs flailing wildly, accomplishing nothing but earning a vicious shove that sent him sprawling to the ground.

He slammed into the slurry of guts and rancid shit, blood and entrails splattering every which way.

Gasping, he clawed at the warm, congealing muck, snot and tears dribbling down his face mingling with the rest of the filth that smeared it.

Pitiful sobs escaped him, each one more pathetic than the last, as he was dragged through a torrent of viscera and offal, slick and putrid. He convulsed, retching helplessly, his gagging blending with the squelch of filth around him. His eyes, wide and crazed, darting wildly for an escape that didn't exist.

Then came the laughter, always the damned laughter–shrill cackles, each a maddening, callous refrain that gnawed at the edges of ones bones, making the hairs on my arms prickle and rise from some primal tell.

image [https://i.imgur.com/0VrIGk2.jpg]

"Look at this sorry bastard," one of them sneered. "Barely worth the trouble."

The men gathered around their hapless prey, cackling like a pack of hyenas, their grating, mocking laughter churning the gut from the sheer sadistic glee that laced it.

They began to toy with him, starting with jeers, then escalating to punches, kicks, and then onto vicious bites of steel. Like a pack of starving wolves, they closed in, each one hungry for a pound of flesh to call their own.

"Think you can play dead, eh?" one of the men snarled.

Another blow landed, eliciting a choked gasp from their mewling prey, a sound that reminded me of a whimpering dog.

"Mercy, please! Have mercy!" he wailed, his voice breaking into fits of sobs.

A gauntleted fist rocketed into his jaw, pummeling his face and sending teeth flying in a spray of blood and thick drooling saliva. Blood streamed down his face, eyes now swollen shut. He tried to speak through the blood and broken teeth, his voice; absolutely pathetic in how it sounded.

"Pl... pleeshe... no mor," he cried. "I'll do anythin'. Anythin' you want! Jes' spare me, pleesh! I beg you!"

"Look at him squirm," one sneered, driving a steel-tipped boot into his ribs, the crack of bones drowned in the man's scream as his body jerked and spasmed.

"Pathetic! You and the rest of your fucking hounds," another spat, a thick wad of spit landing on the man's bloodied and broken face.

One of them grabbed his mud-caked hair, yanking his head back so he could look into those ugly fishlike eyes of his as he spoke. "You bunch of sorry piss pots thought you could take on the Bloody Hand, did ya? Well too bad. Castle Volkgard is ours, you worthless sacks of shit."

"Please… plesh… no more… I can't… jusht please, no more..." he begged, words slurred by shattered teeth, blood dribbling from his mouth.

"Begging already? We're just getting started here, aren't we, boys?" the man aired, which was met by a chorus of sadistic laughter.

"Hope you enjoyed your last meal, dog" laughed another, kicking him again.

"Gonna be shitting teeth for weeks from now on when we are done with you— that is if you even make it that long, heh, which you won't!"

One of the mercenaries then took a knee beside the man, a steel dagger flashing in his hands "Steel hounds, my ass. All bark, no bite from you sniveling lot." He grunted for all to hear.

"You mangy mutts need a lesson in proper discipline, I say." He added as he proceeded to grab the man's hand, yanking the fingers apart.

"Let's see you howl for one, dog!" he ordered barring his teeth, flashing the steel in his hands dangerously.

The pitiful man tried to comply, but only managed a pathetic whimper, which only further spurred on his tormentors.

"Howl, I said!" The soldier with the dagger snarled.

"Or are you too much of a sniveling little bitch to even do that?" With a flash, he sliced off several of his dirt caked fingers. Blood spraying in a long arc as the man shrieked, the sound so utterly raw, like flesh being picked from the bone.

"Louder!" The mercenary said as he stomped on the now severed fingers, grinding them into the mud beneath his heavy boots.

Seeing no effort from his prey to comply, he rammed the dagger into the man's palm and began twisting, turning and wrenching it like a rusty corkscrew. "Louder, I said!"

The man's screams ripped through the air, a raw, guttural howl that could have come straight from no other place but the burning pits of hell. A sound so brutal and shrill, it seemed to rip at the seams of the world and the very fabric of reality. His voice broke, buckling and splintering into incoherent wails and babbling as his mind finally shattered and unraveled under the torment.

"Useless dog," one of them sneered, kicking him hard in his broken ribs. "Can't even take a beating."

"See if this piss-stains got anything worth a copper on him before he croaks," another muttered, making the sign of the falcon with his palms spread out in a quick prayer.

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"Better luck that way than looting off the dead." He added, gesturing to the others to rifle through the man's pockets.

"Come now, you lot, shake 'im down!" barked another, crouching down next to the groaning man.

"Eh… worthless," spat one, flinging aside the man's meager belongings.

"Fool's got nothing. Absolutely nothing. Who sends a bum piece of shit like this to storm a castle?"

"The old dog's luck must've turned sour. Gambo… or some shit, I think his name's…" someone chimed; snickering.

"Must be scraping the bottom of the barrel with this lot. And what the fuck kind of stupid name is Gambo anyhow?" He jeered, yanking the man's muddy boots off with a rough twist.

"Bet his whore mother pulled that name straight out of her sore arse." He added making the others roar with laughter.

A towering potbellied man muscled his way forward, hefting a weighty mace like it was a battering ram, his ugly face filthier than the mud they all stood in wagging their tongues.

All a sudden the chortling stopped.

"Well, in any case..." He hoisted his mace with agonizing slowness, grinning like the devil showing off a row of piss-yellow teeth that looked like they'd been used to chew on rocks.

" 'Is all a bit dreary out here, wouldn't ya say." He said as he swung the mace in a lazy arc, the metal head whistling through the air. "How about you keep me and the boys entertained for a bit, dog?"

"Yer hound master teach you any tricks before he sent ya out here to die, dog?" He asked a manic smile on his lips.

With a sudden, vicious jerk, he smashed the mace down into the mud beside the man's head, splattering filth everywhere. "Come now, dog, let's see you dance!" He yanked the man up by his dirty brown hair, dragging him to his feet.

"Beg for your life while you are at it and make it worth our while. Who knows, yer might even get tah keep breathin,"

"Pleashe..." The broken man gasped, tears cutting tracks through the filth on his face. "I have... nunffing..."

The mercenary's grin widened. "Aye, that you do, dog. You've nothing and you are nothing. So why don't you get up and give us a dance, like the good little mutt you are?"

The man threw up his hands, a pathetic plea for mercy. Eyes, swollen and brimming with tears as he choked out garbled, desperate pleas, his voice breaking and cracking with each slurred word.

The mace slammed into his knee with a disgusting wet crunch. Shattering bone into powdered bits of dust with a sickening crack. A primal scream ripped its way into this world, a feral wail that slashed through the air, shredding the fringes of ones sanity.

"DIDN'T YOU FUCKING HEAR WHAT I SAID? I SAID DANCE!" He barked before hammering the mace down, again then again and…again. Each blow landed with a gut-churning crunch, blood exploding in wide arcs, bones snapping and popping like dry brittle twigs.

image [https://i.imgur.com/wu6eYXH.jpg]

His comrades stared, horrified, the man's hulking frame, painted red, panting heavily, gore dripping from his armor and mace.

He snarled, "The hell are you lot gawking at?"

Which had them quickly averting their eyes, terrified of setting off his volatile ire.

"B..best finish him off, Rog." One of the braver ones piped up–either that or one of the stupider ones, glancing to the man on the ground, miraculously still alive and breathing.

"Is not right. Leaving 'im like that." He made a quick shacky prayer before adding, his voice quivering, "Is not right leaving one of the Light, like that, Rog. He ain't no pagan."

"Nah, don't think so. Let his mutts friends find him if their sorry arses ever come charging again. Might make 'em think twice. Rog snarled, wiping the blood-slicked mace against his armor, smearing the gore further.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Don't give a toss about the Light or the Falcon, anyhow."

"Now, you idiots, get to it! Move, strip anything of value and drag it in! And see if there are any more dogs out here playing dead." He said shoving another out of his way, leaving the man on the ground to suffer; death too kind a mercy for the likes of us mercenary scum.

I watched on, silently, one eye open to the world only glad that it was not me in the unfortunate man's place, bones powdered to dust and leaking guts out onto the ground.

Rog kicked the man on the ground once more for good measure, sneering as he turned away. At his word the rest of the mercenaries got to work, rifling through the corpses, stabbing, prodding and kicking at them to see if there was any reaction.

"Bloody waste of time," one muttered, kicking a corpse aside.

"Nothing but rot and stink here," another spat.

The clinking of metal and the dull squelching of their boots against the mud begun to grow closer again. The sound of laughter and crude jokes filling the air, each taunt a dagger to my frayed nerves as I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to blend in with the rest of the lifeless bodies surrounding me.

A nearby thud made me flinch, my breath hitching.

"Look at this poor bastard," one of them said, nudging a body with his boot. "Bet he shit himself before he died."

"Probably," another laughed. "They always do that."

They were getting closer, their long shadows in the evening sun creeping over me. One of the Bloody Hand, a wiry, rat-faced man, jabbed his spear into a pile of corpses, drawing a sickening squelch from the rotting human meat.

He thrust his spear again, the tip tearing through the corpse above me and pressing against my ribs.

I clenched my teeth, holding back any sound as the pain stung at my eyes as the pressure behind it continued to mount.

Then he eased up, pulling it out with a slick, wet sound.

Rat-face's eyes narrowed, sensing something off, and he re-adjusted his grip, readying for another strike as I in turn prepared for the worst. When suddenly…

…the ground erupted with a savage force, tossing and turning the mercenaries off balance. A deafening explosion tore through the air, a bone rattling percussion; its shockwaves slamming into everyone like a battering ram.

Rat-face faltered, his spear frozen mid-thrust, eyes wide.

The ground shook violently beneath us, a thunderous eruption of splintering wood and shattering stone. The blast roared like a great beast unleashed, followed by a series of smaller, snapping explosions like cannon fire.

"What the hell was that?" Rat-face yelled as more of his fellows scattered, some stumbling, others knocked flat by the blast, frantic screams and the harsh clash of steel on steel emerging out of the sudden chaos.

"Shit, what now?" one of them growled, his voice on edge as his head snapped toward the direction of the explosions, eyes the size of saucers.

The mercenaries exchanged wary glances, ears straining to listen. "That… that's where the magazine is. THE FUCKING MAGAZINE!" another of the Bloody Hand shouted, his face drained of color.

"THEY HIT THE POWDER STORE!"

"But how? I thought the fuckers ran away! When did they come back?" yelled someone, his voice nearly drowned out by the din of the explosions and the ensuing chaos.

"Shit! Forget the bodies and get inside, you stupid cunts. MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! I SAID FUCKING MOVE!" their leader bellowed, his face all twisted in rage.

image [https://i.imgur.com/IUR4GZF.jpg]

The mercenaries stumbled and floundered over one another, their panic turning them into a chaotic mess of rabble. They tripped over each other, cursing and shoving in their haste, while I lay motionless among the rotting corpses, unnoticed.

Each second dragged on, every heartbeat beating like a sledgehammer in my skull and sweat stung at my eyes, but I laid utterly still.

The sounds of frantic footsteps, shouted orders, and the clashing of steel filled the distant air proving for a constant white noise that distracted me from the weight of the body that continued to weigh down on me making it difficult to breath.

Time crawled at a snail's pace, every second an eternal, endless stretch as I waited for the chaos to subside. Only when the noise dimmed, the footsteps fading and petering out into the back drop, did I risk moving, confident that they had all run off.

I shove the bloated corpse off me, sucking in air like a man drowning, the sweet sting of oxygen filling my lungs with a burning relief.

I glanced down at my chest, my rags nearly black with all the muck that stained it. The rags themselves were beyond saving—no amount of scrubbing would get out the blood and filth. Lucky for me, the dead had no need for their pants or tunics anymore.

But that could wait, seeing as how they weren't in any particular hurry to be elsewhere and I had more pressing issues to tend with, lest I risk a terrible infection spreading through me.

The filth caked rags made it all but impossible to see where Rat-face had tried to skewer me. Instead, I poked around with my fingers, half-expecting a gaping wound. Thankfully, it turned out to be only a minor bruise; the spear tip having failed to fully penetrate my erstwhile corpse shield and lucky charm.

I brought out the fetish from underneath the fabric, an ugly bauble; one of its misshapen eyes slowly peeling up to stare back at me—still as creepy as ever; I see.

image [https://i.imgur.com/iNVS4ph.jpg]

I let out a tired sigh as I sat, gathering strength in my limbs, stewing in my own thoughts.

Five whole silvers to any idiot dumb enough to charge the walls head-on—a pittance to be sure, but one that I needed and desperately at that.

I had borrowed a meager sum for my provisions on my march here to play soldier and accounting for the bloodsucking interest rates I was being charged I'd be lucky to scrape together three silvers by the end of it– for what good could a quarter of silver piece really afford me?

A miserable payout for risking my neck in this shitshow, sure—but at the very least, it was a start and one better than any other piss-poor option I had in hand.

And I couldn't risk nicking anything too valuable from the dead either, as that would see me quartered, gutted and thrown in a ditch. Perhaps a small trinket or two I could hide away. All loot gathered was supposed to go to the monkey-faced bastard in charge; one third would then go unto the crown, another third he'd keep for himself, and the final third was left for the rest of us to fight over.

Mustering the strength, I forced myself to stand. My head spun, and my starved, exhausted body threatened to collapse. My muscles screamed with each movement; the price of hours spent buried under corpses. I swayed, cursing my own stupidity for signing up for this crap sack of a task.

I rummaged through the corpses, searching for the least filthy hose that would fit me and a tunic to match, rifling through the pockets of my erstwhile companions while I was at it for any treasures small enough that I could comfortably hide away.

Blood and muck smeared my hands as I turned over corpse after corpse, my fingers numb from the cold and gore. The battle raged on in the distance, but I cared little—I'd done my part. Or maybe not, seeing as the ugly bastard running this circus probably didn't expect any of us poor sods to make it out alive, all our lives worth less than the steel in our hands.

A few moments into my grim thrift shopping spree, as I examined a particularly intact pair of leggings that I could trim to fit me snugly, I heard a wet, gurgling sound behind me.

I almost ignored it, too focused on my new pair of death couture, but then I thought better of it.

After all, what would it cost me? Absolutely nothing was the answer.

With a resigned sigh, I reached for my trusty bit of steel, hanging by a strip of leather around my waist in place of a belt.

The pants could wait, at least for a little longer.

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And a very special thank you to both my patrons, Gremlin Jack and Aaron, for their continued input and support. I will be having an extra packet of Miso ramen this month in their honour.😭 image [https://i.imgur.com/E5Rd84e.jpg]

For art; x.com