This story may depict graphic or violent scenes. Reader discretion is advised.
Quitethearmyamassesoutside of thewoodenshrine. Allthegrey men stare at theentrance in anger. However, they do notdare set footinside it. Theywait without motion.
Even thegiant stands in wait as thegrey man alert himto stand guard.
The shackles have been broken. There is no going back towhatyouoncewere. You are now a monster of thisworld. And as thatyoushall act.
A surge of power flowsthroughhim as he feelsthepain in his body disappear. Every cell in his body is feltandunder his control.
Feeling grows back in his left arm. It recovers without a conscious effort or thought.
He walks menacingly toward the doorway, as hundreds of grey men have gathered on the open plain in front of him.
“I feel invincible,” he exclaims.
“How is that possible?”
As he looks down, his entire forearm arm has returned with no sign of even a scratch. His skin has a faint green and blue complexion, revealed by the light that enters the doorway.
“My hands, they are webbed between the fingers.” He notices.
The silhouettes of hundreds of grey men and the towering Giant become apparent as he comes closer to the doorway.
Their cold expressionless faces seath with anger. There is no end to the number of grey men. It is remarkable how many of them were holed up within these mountains. Perhaps the Giant was only a part of their defensive prowess.
Stride leaves the wooden shrine, no longer a man. His cold gaze matches that of the grey men. His blood burns with anger, a yearning for vengeance.
He meets eyes with the scarred Grey man. Both do not utter a word, as a vicious silence between enemies takes place.
Until…
“Killthefrayling, rip himinto pieces, burn his body totheground, I want him dead!” The scarredgrey man shoutsenraged.
“I can hear them.”
I can hear them?! Stride repeats in his head.
thegrey men storm him, frothing at themouth, armedwithnothing but rocksandtheir bare hands. A mere ‘frayling’ is no match forthisamount of manpower no matter theirweaponry.
A hatredwells up inside of him as he knows of their vile deeds. Men, women and children who have already been scarred by the horrors of this land are lured in by false promises of hope. Tobetray, rob andtorturethem after all they have been through.
Onlyonethought enters his mind: “I want revenge!”
He counters their assault.
In one swift motion, he leaps of his feetandflies in the air, palming his fist. Tens of grey men opposehim as his fist is aboutto make contact with his first victim.
His fistfliesthroughhis first victim, like cutting through butter with a hot knife. There is no resistance to his fist and in his momentum his punch continues.
His singular punch lands on another, and then another, and then at least ten more. Within a single strike, he explodesthrough a dozen of grey men.
The looks of fear spreads throughthe camp as theyrealisewhat kind of monster they are facing. His onslaughtcontinues as he mowsthroughthenowhelplessgrey men, remindinghimself of theirlaughter, theirinsidioustrickery.
They are helpless in thepresence of my power. They should have left me to die when they had the chance.
His onslaught continues as he mows through their ranks.
Panicked, they try and disperse. Yet he is fast, way too fast. His newfound strength allows him to catch the fleeing grey men without issue. He feels no mercy or compassion, his sense of empathy is diluted in his frenzy for revenge.
As most of the initial grey men that stormed him cower away, he feels the blood on his body start to move. streams of bloodgetabsorbed in his body throughthe holes where his earsusedtobe.
“What is this feeling?” He asks.
His strength and vitalityincreases as more bloodpoursinto his body. It is anaddictiveinsatiable power that rewards him for the carnage he inflicts.
“Banished Giant, it is your dutytoprotectus! Killthefrayling!” The scarredgrey man saysfuriously.
“SHIIIIINNNG!”
The sound of a bladerings past him, narrowlydodgingthegiants attack. The giant is incredibly agile foritssize. Yet, Stridedodged his blow reflexively.
“Is that… me?”
In thereflection of itsblade, he nowseeshimself as the monster that he has become. He seesthe rage thatfills his eyes, the pure hatred of his new nature.
His reflectiondisappears as thegiantliftstheblade, preparing to strike a second time. He is agitated due to the screams of the grey men commanding him.
Stride jumps out of the way as a horizontal swing slices throughmany of the unsuspecting grey men.
“You imbecile!”, “We should banish you as well!”, “Can you not protect us you stupid oaf?!”
The shouts and anger of the remaining grey men focus on the giant.
Frustrated, thegiantraises his blade high and strikes at himagainwithall his might.
He pierces his sword in theground as a shock wave of sandand wind erupt.
The onlooking grey men are blown away by the impact of the blade. However, there is one that braces himself enough to endure the storm. One that must know the outcome of this final blow.
Covering his eye, he stands in disbelief as the absolute dread of his opponent overwhelms him. The scarred grey man sees the unfortunate outcome of the assault.
Stride stands atop of the Giants’ blade. His eyes are fixated on the beast.
“My turn,” he whispers.
He sets of on his left leg.
He flies toward the Giant palming his fist to punch its stomach.
Innards fly over his body as his fist tears through the giant’s stomach. The force of the blow rips through the giant.
As he lands on his feet, a sea of red decorates the open plain. Followed by the guts and remains of his large foe.