Chapter 10: Faith
Blood spilled. Bones cracked. Venom drooled.
The Thing-That-Was-Not-Jon roared out in pain as new appendages erupted out of its back and chest. Great crimson sythes like an insects' scraped the wooden floor of the farmhouse and acidic venom fizzled and foamed over the two dead horse corpses. Akaranoth unsheathed his sword of adamant, its white light dimly glowing in the dark building.
The Thing’s body twitched and jerked like a rabid animal and looked at Akaranoth with bloodlust in its eyes. It’s clear that whoever this thing was in its past life was long gone and whatever remained is nothing more than a hunk. A demon deserving of death.
The Thing lunged forward with muscular arms and bloodstained claws, its jaw splitting in two to reveal an amalgamation of teeth. Akaranoth felt a jolt of electricity run through his arm and in an instant, his sword was covered in blue lightning. If the Thing had noticed his weapon, it did not seem to care.
Akaranoth swung his sword at the Thing’s neck and slit it, dark, thick blood flecking onto his iron helm. The Thing cried out in violent pain as it reached for its neck. At the same time, Akaranoth chopped off the red sythes growing out of its stomach and stabbed upwards directly through the bottom of its head, killing it.
The battle in total lasted a mere 10 seconds.
The Thing fell limp upon Akaranoth’s blade and he roughly pulled it out from below. The Thing’s body landed with a thud on the wooden floor. Akaranoth looked at the corpse with slight sorrow in his eyes before the lightning on his sword died out.
He kneeled down at the body and gave it a rosary of glass and wooden beads. In it were the craved images of the Prophets Yulentor, Eaven, and Carim praying to the Black Tree Daaljulmir, asking for safe passage for the many dead who fought for them. Akaranoth then left the wooden farmhouse, now starting to sink of rot.
Outside, there was an entire village waiting for him along with Karavis and Dilir on horseback. The first to approach him was a woman in a typical peasant farmer’s outfit, who ran at him with utmost urgency. When she slowed down, Akaranoth could see the tears in her eyes.
“Is..is he-is he safe? Is Jon safe?” she said shakingly.
Akarnoth looked at her with a blank expression that was hidden behind an even blanker helmet before answering, “Your husband was long gone. The Scourge destroyed him and paraded his hollow, soulless body around as a demon.”
The woman raised a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes, tears now properly flooding down her face. She opened her eyes again to look at him, awaiting further information that maybe, just maybe, her husband was really fine. Akaranoth always hated lying.
“The demon is dead…and your husband with it.”
She was quick to fall to her knees in a fit of sobbing.
Akaranoth left the scene to rejoin Karavis and Dilir. Mounting his horse, he returned to the inhabitants awaiting an explanation at the farmhouse, some consoling the crying widow.
The Thing-That-Was-Not-Jon roared out in pain as new appendages erupted out of its back and chest. Great crimson sythes like an insects' scraped the wooden floor of the farmhouse and acidic venom fizzled and foamed over the two dead horse corpses. Akaranoth unsheathed his sword of adamant, its white light dimly glowing in the dark building.
The Thing’s body twitched and jerked like a rabid animal and looked at Akaranoth with bloodlust in its eyes. It’s clear that whoever this thing was in its past life was long gone and whatever remained is nothing more than a hunk. A demon deserving of death.
The Thing lunged forward with muscular arms and bloodstained claws, its jaw splitting in two to reveal an amalgamation of teeth. Akaranoth felt a jolt of electricity run through his arm and in an instant, his sword was covered in blue lightning. If the Thing had noticed his weapon, it did not seem to care.
Akaranoth swung his sword at the Thing’s neck and slit it, dark, thick blood flecking onto his iron helm. The Thing cried out in violent pain as it reached for its neck. At the same time, Akaranoth chopped off the red sythes growing out of its stomach and stabbed upwards directly through the bottom of its head, killing it.
The battle in total lasted a mere 10 seconds.
The Thing fell limp upon Akaranoth’s blade and he roughly pulled it out from below. The Thing’s body landed with a thud on the wooden floor. Akaranoth looked at the corpse with slight sorrow in his eyes before the lightning on his sword died out.
He kneeled down at the body and gave it a rosary of glass and wooden beads. In it were the craved images of the Prophets Yulentor, Eaven, and Carim praying to the Black Tree Daaljulmir, asking for safe passage for the many dead who fought for them. Akaranoth then left the wooden farmhouse, now starting to sink of rot.
Outside, there was an entire village waiting for him along with Karavis and Dilir on horseback. The first to approach him was a woman in a typical peasant farmer’s outfit, who ran at him with utmost urgency. When she slowed down, Akaranoth could see the tears in her eyes.
“Is..is he-is he safe? Is Jon safe?” she said shakingly.
Akarnoth looked at her with a blank expression that was hidden behind an even blanker helmet before answering, “Your husband was long gone. The Scourge destroyed him and paraded his hollow, soulless body around as a demon.”
The woman raised a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes, tears now properly flooding down her face. She opened her eyes again to look at him, awaiting further information that maybe, just maybe, her husband was really fine. Akaranoth always hated lying.
“The demon is dead…and your husband with it.”
She was quick to fall to her knees in a fit of sobbing.
Akaranoth left the scene to rejoin Karavis and Dilir. Mounting his horse, he returned to the inhabitants awaiting an explanation at the farmhouse, some consoling the crying widow.
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