Book 1: Chapter 24: Dusk and death II.

Book 1: Chapter 24: Dusk and death II.

A hunched, humanoid form with a too-skinny torso and bulky chest loomed from the darkness. It took one look at me, turned and scampered into the darkness as I charged. I refused to let it

escape. Another roar burst from my throat as I called Cloven Crash, and it froze mid-bound.

A sweep of my claymore rent it in half, and a bellow of triumph served to chase more of these beasts back into the woods.

These were not crude, vaguely intelligent monsters. The tools they carried were of decent make. I glimpsed a shortbow upon the ground as I stepped over the dying corpse. Felt arrows mere heartbeats later as silent shafts whistled from the trees. Shrugged them off as they barely pricked my hide and kept forward momentum.

I could see them all around as the pack streamed from the trees. Illuminated by the harsh moonlight, they loped forward on far-too-long forelegs, weapons clutched as they ran. I charged into the densest patch of them, and they sprang away.

More and more poured from the trees. I backhanded a leaping creature, felt its bones break beneath my hand. Flung its corpse aside and moved on. Howls mixed through the night, only drowned out by the bellows of fury I unleashed.

This was not combat. This was slaughter. And I was king.

It felt good. Too good. I charged after fleeing monsters, moving at speeds that should not be possible for a form this large.

One of the lanky creatures twisted in mid-air to escape my blade. It was torn asunder as the steel chased its movements.

Horses galloped past me, neighing in fright, creatures hot on their tails. A round sweep of the claymore missed one and gashed another open with just a nick. The blade hummed, every drop of blood a piece of kindling on the fires of hunger.

Out here in the darkness, furthest from the light, I was the true monster.

My eyes could see them running, tearing through the yard. A swarm of locusts, seeking to devour while fleeing my wrath.

Arrows dotted my hide, I found. I could not care less. Still, with a roar, I called Blood for Blood. A feeling of my wounds stretching outwards flashed through me for a second, then was gone. I could darkened forms crumpling among the trees as every wound I took was repaid in kind.

Dirt was ripped free beneath my hooves I stomped across the fields, moving towards wherever the pack was densest. They circled the herd of cows, arrows flying past their dancing forms. Trampled, broken forms lay across the earth, a reminder of those that got too close. Firebombs flew and fraily tried to set damp grass alight. I thanked whatever god took amusement from this for the recent rains and charged in to kill.

One, two, three died beneath my blade, and the rest scattered, off to find softer targets. A loud bang rang through the night, and my eyes were torn toward the crops. In the bright moonlight, I could make out a long, lanky form as it collapsed backward, its head obliterated.

They had found the bomb plants, and received hospitality in kind.

More explosions set off as other creatures bounded near, and a firebomb lobbed at the plant sent shrapnel in every direction. Explosive force cut a swathe through leaping bodies. Blood and bones alike were torn free, and the stink of blood permeated the air now.

Undetered by the losses in their ranks, the cackling horde continued. Frightened neighs of pain torn through the air as they pulled down a horse. My roars of fury as I approached did little to deter their malice. There was a sick feeling in my stomach as I watched blood run from the cuts across the animals neck.

Ishila! I roared, and the orc girl came running. Not fast enough. She took one look at Gol, turned and dashed for the house. Hands that trembled gently held my beasts head as I physically grabbed and held the largest wound closed.

There was so much blood.

I cared little for my own wounds.

The big, lazy, gluttonous mass of bear and badger-thing in front of me lay barely panting. My eyes couldnt leave the multitude of cuts, lacerations, and the insane amount of arrows that stuck out of it.

You could have just stayed lazy, gods above. I whispered. Hid somewhere. Kept your nose to yourself.

He whined in return, a pitiful little sound of hurt and tiredness.

Dont. I rumbled gruffly. Stay still.

I had one hand one his head, the other holding a massive gash closed. Lifted the former as Ishila dashed up, a trail ripped in her wake. The lass forced a flash into my hand and ripped the top off another.

Largest wounds first. She barked as I stared at the metal dumbly. What was I going to do with some water?

It took me a second to remember healing potions existed. Seconds too long. My hand still holding the bleeding gash closed, I shoved the contained into my mouth. Teeth ripped through the entire top and I dumped the thing onto Gols wounds.

Ration it. Ishila snapped. Its all I have here at the farm. I complied, instead dabbing it over his body. Gol growled in pain as Ishila pried out arrows and dumped fluid into the gaps.

Should wash out the wounds first. The orc girl growled. No time. Get as many wounds closed as you can.

We tried our best, I think. Spread out the precious fluid, prioritized the biggest wounds.

In the end, it was enough. Barely.

Gol lay, panting, groaning in pain as every breath reknit the flesh and muscle of his body. He was in agony, but he was alive. I knelt back on my heels, relieved.

I was exhausted. Covered in wounds. Bleeding. My farm was damaged. Buildings were destroyed, and shit was on fire. My crops had been torn through by packs of monsters. But I was alive. Those I cared about still lived.

And that was enough.

Farmer Level Six reached. Sleep to apply. Farmer Level Seven reached. Sleep to apply.

Gods Above, I had every intention of complying with that command. The roots of this story extend from novell bìn origin.