"Crap"
He bit his tongue realising that his armour is covered in scratches everywhere and now about thirty more were coming to his location.
'What should I do? I can't run because she would be exposed, and although my back was clear, it seems five are approaching and they would lunge at her, wasting my efforts, and now that I know that I can't kill them my previous escapade would have been useless too, but since she asked so nicely, save her, that I will.'
Chopping of another one to slow them down, dodging while whipping his sword on the grass, to make sure that the vile thing does not get to him too, he felt that some were thicker and tougher to cut down, some faster to get to him, it wasn't all too bad, he still had the energy he conserved, but with her on his back he was using up more and more. While they were increasing in number, ferocity, and while he is still faster now, for how much longer? How long until you can no longer server their retched flesh imitation?
'I have twenty minutes left until everything goes south, I guess coach was right, you can tell a lot about how much longer you can last when you listen to your breathing. I can't make it far if I run, I also risk her premature death, I won't survive until morning, I also can't cut through the horde and find a place to hide, burying her until morning? She might suffocate and there might be more underground. What to do… what to do? Killing her so that she doesn't die by their hands is also an option but the thought of them parading parts of me around doesn't suit me either, due to her legs my friend here can't run. The nearest settlement might be far but there is an abandoned military well- empty but useful'
Glancing north, he smelt it the round casing on the floor, left from the times when they used to think they can take back the night- the rust is the kind he recognised, after salvaging for components for his girlfriend, the basic kind with no locks but requires a ton of effort to lift, considering that these abominations do not know how to, at least as far as his senses could tell is that none of these move with a semblance of true purpose.
Weighing his options, he started by slicing the five approaching from his hind, exhausting more effort to allow him to turn around fast enough for those that would lunge at Lerva, with the contraction of his muscles and a sudden lunge of legs he ran, avoiding them, they still posed a problem, he was safe, but the girl was fodder, and to avoid her being gouged of flesh from all direction except his back was why he swung recklessly, allowing the sludge that has been landing on the alloy up until now, to make it very close to his suit, being porous as it is it seeped in, albeit at a slow slower pace than if it was on barren skin. With a grimace, he held in the pained wail from escaping his lips, and realised why she screamed, when it touches your skin (after going through the layers of his inner suit) it feels so unnatural and sickening that your body rejects it with its all, sending the nervous system into overdrive. 'Neurotoxin' a more amplified and intense version seeping into his skin, trying to destroy the nervous system and hopefully replace it, but shortly after your body's protective system, the rationale, shuts the pain receptors off to avoid madness – a kind of relief that brings with it a dire urgent desire to do something, frighteningly so, 'maybe that's why she couldn't speak straight.'
Even with the paralysing effect of the source of the creature trying to debilitate its target, 'me'. He used more energy than planned - to make it to the well faster to have enough time to be able to lift the lid. 'Wait? How is she gonna make it out once morning comes and what about the direction to travel?' he quickly scribbled an arrow head pointing in the right direction and started pushing, once open which took longer, fifty seem to be honing in on them, more than expected and way more time than he'd calculated, not really, the time was probably fine, it just took him longer, but why? It's not like the poisonous aberration made him that weak, maybe the thing is heavier than I thought, a hundred, no, two hundred and fifty- I guess he's right my form was terrible, and he'd probably say that these circumstances were still not an excuse'
He tied her off and pushed her inside and threw his sword inside, "use this as a lever when you think it's safe"
"What about you?"
"Oh! Me? Sorry to tell you this but I am not lost I came here to kill as many as I can"
"But they can't die…"
'She was conscious enough to realise, how old is she really? With her size I assumed very young and her tears didn't help, but now that I know she was not crying for her mother but from the pain I'm not so sure anymore, why bother asking? It matters not now'
"I still have to lead them away, without you slowing me down, I can probably survive until morning, don't …"
There was a thud and then she fell further as he hurriedly closed. Throwing the first one off and crawled through the other three, lacking coordination it was easy to escape the pile. Now that most of his worries were addressed, he felt it, more than half his body was numb and moving through the instincts he had accumulated. Bolstered by the deep urge due to the toxins in him, driving him to fight, adrenalin paled to the liquid so the fact that half his body was mostly green was terrifying. He was still moving through all that and even more remarkable, was that even with the deep gouges, his armour still held.
'Five years spent well I guess, or maybe bae doesn't want to see me dead'
Even with his amusement the situation was far from humorous. With the numbers steadily climbing, approaching a hundred, all twisted in their own unique way, he clutched his hands into a fist and began his assault, pummelling them as they abandoned their flesh bags to seep into him. He was drowning in their putrid liquid, about fifteen had completely abandoned their bodies. It seems he didn't even pose a danger to them not even as desperate prey, he struggled but it was futile, the only thing that seemed to even help is that while on his body they seemed more focused on my body and not theirs, so he used the bodies of those on the floor as shields and their claw like protrusions as blades, it seems like it worked, the wounds dealt by the claws he held were taking longer to repair, meaning these blobs are probably not one creature, this explained why he was not immediately overwhelmed and why the more that crept up on his body, the longer they would take to consume.
He laughed and thought, 'They don't want to share.'
This changed nothing though, it just meant he would die slower, 'works for me.'
He began to pummel more and more as his strength dwindled, but the more that crept onto his body the slower the decay, surprisingly, he had been fighting for three hours when his right leg femur shattered, completely splintered, the rot had gotten to the bones, while he was using it to deliver a heavy blow to the one in front of him. His right shoulder was not broken but too many muscle fibres had snapped, certainly not enough to lift his arm. His whole body was green, purely, it was a deep, eerie kind not that he could see. His armour housed many cracks, but his smithing did not disappoint, as such it still held, in death he was going to look like a turtle encased in dark armour that somehow shone like pristine snow, a unique and glorifying look. His shell looked like it was a pristine slab of lime stone, but dark fissures of pure darkness, accented by inner body suit almost looking like nothing was inside – his pristine masterpiece was in sharp contrast to the vile rotting state in which his body was in barely recognisable, he was barely distinguishable from the disturbing bodies he was submerged in, only the contrast between the dark green and red-pink flesh the abominations wore. He lost count of how many were struggling for control, the fact that he was still alive, meant that number was probably frightening.
Calling him alive was a stretch, he could not even form thoughts as his mind was devoured, body destroyed, and his soul defiled. He was no less intelligent that these things, in his state he probably fell far below them.
Low and behold, even with his death approaching, he did really make it to near morning, dawn itself was probably not due for another hour, but he felt the darkness receding, not that he could think about his vow to make it until morning or sense the darkness recede. He was empty, utterly so, docile and dead in every way that counts, the only thing that could label him as living was the fact they were feuding on his body – 'greedy vermin.' Was the last thought that would ever form.
***
Maybe it was because he was undistinguishable from the one he was before, or because he was really dead, maybe the sludges occupying his body made it hard to recognise his existence, or that no madman had ever been out from dusk till dawn, but the night, or whatever the darkness could be identified as, that brought about the terrors from within, whether it can even be called sentient and be named, whatever it is, identified him as one of the horrors that dwell from within and thus as day came he vanished, the trace of their existence erased, to come back at dusk for another night.
Nothing was left, no blood, no putrid liquid, no rancid flesh piles – their husks were gone, even the armour and him buried in it – all gone as if nothing happened, and his disfigured existence was too horrifying for those of day to be allowed to gaze at it, why punish them with the sight. Now that night was gone, the sunlight purified the valley along with every square inch that was defiled, cleansing the world a new, still it would be a while until the first few left the confines of their shelters, fewer who would visit the pastures of the hellish battle, if it could even be called that, and none who would remember the one who vanished from these very fields, no body, no nothing, maybe three might, coach, Lerva, and a distant figure who was long forgotten. Usually those foolish, or those unlucky enough, to wonder at night, even during the age-old calamitous war, were found dead and mangled, but bodies confirmed, this one however was raptured along with the darkness too.
From the depths of an even darker void, one without even the brilliance of the stars, a voice resounded, an inhumane and gruesome voice, one lacking proper form but enough to make out the meaning of its words, one seeking immediate attention but possessing such eerie vocals, one felt that they would die if they listened, even more strange it demanded your soul to feel dread for its existence, a form of reverence for allowing you to hear it? Or the natural feeling of hearing something forbidden, if ever allowed to form root of its meaning within your head.
Residence of the deep Darkness, status acquired – Dweller acquisition status confirmed – Title bestowed upon soul has been engraved into the fibre of existence [Dreaded soul has been acquired]
Title: [VILE KNIGHT]