Chapter 92: Chapter 91 – A Taste for Blood

What a profoundly silly sight lay before me. The street in front of the compound was extremely narrow, it wasn’t wide enough for three people to stand side by side. The enemy guards and soldiers were crammed from wall to wall, building to building – none of them with enough space to properly swing their weapons or attack me at the same time. There must have been a hundred of them at least.

Stigma screeched with delirium, “That’s it, kill them all!”

I discarded my logic then and there. It was all or nothing, kill or be killed. There was nowhere left for me to run, not that I needed to. Consuming the Captain had bumped my swordsmanship by multiple levels – I didn’t have the chance to check the exact number, but I could feel it. The ground crumbled under my feet as I dashed forward to the first people in line. I could see the expressions on their faces. The way their mouths and eyes twisted inwards with the sourness of anxiety.

They tried to hold up their weapons, to present some kind of defence against me, but it was all for naught. The first blade I contacted was immediately shattered into pieces, the tip of Stigma clipping the front of his neck and cutting him open. The man next to him fared no better – it continued to travel through his comrade and embedded itself into his skull with a heavy thunk. I kicked his body back into the waiting crowd, who stumbled and fell as the man in front tried to avoid touching the dead body.

The third man was lucky enough to throw an attack my way. It was easily deflected as I raised my left arm, which I then used to punch his teeth out and send him tumbling onto the front steps of the nearest house. If he thought that it was a sign of mercy, he was mistaken. I hopped over and impaled him through the chest before consuming his soul. It only took a second for his energy to be stolen by me.

I pulled back and swung outwards, catching another soldier as he tried to sneak up on me, throwing his body aside like a wet rag. Those who were brave enough to remain clamoured, pushed and shoved to try and get to the front of the queue. My face was sprayed with blood. I didn’t know where I hit him, nor did I care. I had hit him hard enough to crack his ribs, even if the blade hadn’t penetrated his chainmail armour.

I was a whirlwind. An angry maw filled with a thousand crooked teeth. Five, six, seven, I continued to slay all who came to challenge me – consuming their essence in the short windows of rest I received. They tried to reorganise themselves to no avail. The territory had minimised their numbers advantage. I was picking them off in sets of two and three.

They were no challenge to me. My hands worked with a deftness and skill that defied my small amount of training. The sword became an extension of my body. I danced in blood filled puddles. There was a grim joy to be had. The feeling of control that I experienced was new and novel. This was the full weight of the law coming to try and stop me – yet they couldn’t. No matter how many people they sent I would not die.

I sliced the neck of another and turned back to the living wall. The three men who had been pushed to the front did not want to fight, they pressed their backs against their allies in an attempt to sink back into the mass. I stared at them and smiled, if only to dis-nerve them even further. I hoisted Stigma up into the air and brought her back down like a scythe cutting wheat. Their cowardice prevented their friends from stopping my flurry of attacks.

It was not graceful. I hacked and chopped at whoever got in my way. Hands and limbs flew from bodies, swords and wooden shields cracked under the weight of her blade. I nearly fell over as I tried to navigate through the increasingly dense pile of bodies that lay underfoot. The cobbled street was filled with red ichor. Stigma cackled maliciously as they cowered away from me. By the time my frenzy was done – twenty men had been slain. They lay, bleeding, battered and bruised on either side of the narrow walkway. Each step I took meant another step backwards for them. The comradery had given way to a survivalist instinct. Those behind the men at the front pushed and shoved, trying to satiate my wrath with the lives of their friends.

“If you want to run, now is the time!” I roared.

One soldier charged at me with his blade held close to his chest. I deflected it upwards and came back down on top of him, bisecting him diagonally from shoulder to hip. As I kicked him out of the way his body folded inwards on itself, split clean in half - into a putrid pile of organs and entrails.

My entire body was soaked in gore. It ran through my clothes and armour and down onto my skin. I could barely see through my eyes, my fringe hung low and obstructed them even further. I must have looked a great and terrible sight. I stabbed the half-man and consumed his soul too, as I had with dozens of the others.

“That’s it, that’s the spirit! Tear their souls from their mortal bodies, let them know the real meaning of fear!”

Another. He tripped over the body and fell to one knee in front of me. I brought the bottom of Stigma’s hilt down against his skull and cracked it open. He suffered a violent fit, frothing at the mouth and twitching madly – before falling to the ground and continuing to spasm. I put him out of his misery with equal fervour.

Two guardsmen stepped up to the plate. They poked at me from afar with poorly made spears of wood and iron. I didn’t even try to block them. Both dull points bounced off my Stormsteel plate and left them open for counterattack. I brought Stigma upward into his armpit and separated his left arm. At the apex I took her into both hands and stepped to the left, slicing the top of the other man’s head clean off and revealing the still pulsating brain residing inside.

The disarmed man screamed and wailed in agony, before being silenced for good with another brutal slice through his head. The men at the back of the group were panicking, and many had already fled. There was a sudden shift in strategy, some forty people who remained behind tried to crowd me all at once. As I dealt with an attack from the front, the men of my flanks poured around either edge of me and got on my back.

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I braced Stigma against my arm and spun, forcing all of them to back away lest they be caught by the tip. The unlucky man on my left was the first person I saw. I thrusted forth and kebabbed him flank to flank, pinning him against the wooden door behind him. Finally, some of their attempts found purchase. I grunted as I felt a small dagger push into my skin through a gap in my armour. That momentary success instilled them with a strong sense of false confidence. Some of them cheered as I snapped up in pain.

I growled and threw back my elbow, battering the man holding the knife with a trio of blows. Each time his face came out looking different, until his broken nose and orbital bone were too much for him to handle. Two of his compatriots hurried forth and retrieved his unconscious body. I pulled the knife from my back and threw it at the first person I could find. Anyone would do. The difference in attack power was clear as the blade nearly bent and snapped as it entered the nearest available head.

“What the hell is wrong with this guy?”

“Fucking kill him already!”

I ignored the pain and continued my endeavour. One, two, three, all of them cut down within a moment where they believed the tides were turning. There was no fatigue, no disgust, nor any desire to stop. The slaughter would only cease when no men were left standing between me and victory.

My mind turned off. The violence and brutality of the fight had deadened my awareness. I was on autopilot. I continued to punch, kick, slice and stab. I covered myself in their essence, drained their souls, and continued doing so without regard for my own body. It was just another resource to be expended. My injuries were trades made for the sake of spreading death and destruction. I heard their words. They called me a demon and a monster – a moniker I was happy to play into for the purpose of scaring them away.

But then I came to a stop. Something had changed. There were no more left before me to face my anger. The rest had fled.

At the end of that street, I finally came to a stop and inhaled. I turned back and bore witness to the damage I had unleashed. Dozens of dead soldiers covered every part of the avenue. They clung to walls with bloodied hands, faces contorted into agony. Limbs and heads littered the place, and blood was splattered against every window, door and stairway. It was as if a gruesome battlefield had been transposed from the Bend to the middle of the city, and I was the one responsible for it.

I’d done it. I had thrown away my humanity and killed en masse. Whatever I saw in trying to keep myself hidden and unknown was no longer for me to claim. My face and name would be on posters and the lips of people all around the Kingdom. After all, only one man could have done such an absurd feat of wanton death dealing.

I came, I saw, I killed.

I killed with such a brutal efficiency that I had claimed enough souls to refund my wasted magic and then some. Soldiers of all levels and experiences had thrown themselves at me, jumped into the open mouth of a meat grinder and been given a fitting end for their stupidity. I had killed all of them. Cut them down like weeds. I reached up and wiped the blood from my eyes – though my hands were also caked with other men’s blood.

The taste of iron on my lips. It was impossible for me to assess the true nature of my own injuries. They were hidden beneath a thick blanket of crimson. Regardless, I was still standing. The only thing I had to fear was the bleeding. I laughed again. My throat was dry and coarse. I couldn’t help it. I was a thief. Just a thief. I repeated it in my head. Just a thief. I was just a thief and I had done something like this.

The strength left my body. The injuries and fatigue had caught up to me.

“Shit.”

I fell down to my knees and tried to hold on, but my consciousness was slipping fast. I couldn’t go down here, not after making so much of an effort to escape. Regardless of my feelings, reality was a cruel mistress. I blinked – but my eyes did not want to open again. Before I knew it, I passed out there at the end of a long and bloody trail.

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