Chapter 6: Bathed in Blood
This story may depict graphic or violent scenes. Reader discretion is advised.
Quite the army amasses outside of the wooden shrine. All the grey men stare at the entrance in anger. However, they do not dare set foot inside. Instead they await motionless.
Even the Giant stands guard close by.
The shackles have been broken. There is no going back to what you once were. You are now a monster of this world. And as that you shall act.
A surge of power flows through him as he feels the pain in his body disappear. He senses every cell in his body, every particle is under his control.
Feeling returns to 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 seethe 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 defense.
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. Although neither utters a word, their silence is almost palpable.
“Kill the frayling, rip him into pieces, burn his body to the ground, I want him dead!” The scarred grey man shouts enraged.
“I can hear them.”
I can hear them?! Stride repeats in his head.
The grey men storm towards him, frothing at the mouth, armed with nothing but rocks and their bare hands. A mere ‘frayling‘ is no match for this amount of manpower no matter their weaponry.
A hatred wells 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. To betray, rob and torture them after all they have been through.
Only one thought enters his mind: “I want revenge!”
He counters their assault.
In one swift motion, he leaps of his feet and flies in the air, palming his fist. Tens of grey men oppose him as his fist is about to make contact with his first victim.
His fist flies through his 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 explodes through a dozen of grey men.
The looks of fear spread through the camp as they realise what kind of monster they are facing. His onslaught continues as he mows through the now helpless grey men, reminding himself of their laughter, their insidious trickery.
They are helpless in the presence 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 attempt to flee. 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 has been replaced by his frenzied lust 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 blood get absorbed in his body through the holes where his ears used to be.
“What is this feeling?” He asks.
His strength and vitality increase as more blood pours into his body. It is an addictive insatiable power that rewards him for the carnage he inflicts.
“Banished Giant, it is your duty to protect us! Kill the frayling!” The scarred grey man screeches furiously.
“SHIIIIINNNG!”
The sound of a blade rings past him, narrowly dodging the giants attack. The giant is incredibly agile for its size. Yet, Stride dodged his blow reflexively.
“Is that… me?”
In the reflection of its blade, he now sees himself as the monster that he has become. He sees the rage that fills his eyes, the pure hatred of his new nature.
His reflection disappears as the giant lifts the blade, preparing to strike a second time. He is agitated by the screams of the grey men commanding him.
Stride jumps out of the way as a horizontal swing slices through many 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, the giant raises his blade high and strikes at him again with all his might.
He pierces his sword in the ground causing a shock wave of windblasted sand.
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, fist clenched to punch its massive paunch.
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 gory remains of his large foe.
Nothing stands in his way.
End of chapter 6.