The Great Massacre: Part Two

"Horned one."

The furred beast stands before me.

My knees threaten to give out, but I hold firm, spear clutched in my hands.

"Ever since I stepped out of that box," he growls, "I've smelled something—something vile. And even after all my fun, it still hasn't left my nose. It's you, horned one."

"A smell?"

I manage to say, unsure what he means. Why me?

"You reek like a corpse. Worse than the fresh ones I made. It's like you've been rotting for weeks. I came to rid myself of that putridity."

His tongue slides over the blood caught between his teeth.

"And it's not just the stench… It's something else. Something in my soul telling me you need to die."

"What kind of reasoning is that?! You'd kill me over a feeling?"

I snap back, voice sharper than I expected.

"I'd have killed you anyway if you crossed my path."

He raises his axe slightly. "You're weak."

In a swift motion, he swings his blood-stained weapon at me. Strong, decisive, and wild.

I dodge instinctively, stumbling backward into another person. A man with the head of a bull. Before I can move again, the wolf's next swing cleaves through the bull-man's skull horizontally, splitting it open like a melon. Brain matter explodes outward, spattering my fur-covered legs in gore, staining my face with blood.

Is this where I die?

I raise my spear in retaliation, just as the werewolf charges again. But I strike first, lunging forward to seize the offensive.

He parries it with ease, like a joke. A scoff escapes his blood-soaked snout.

"You'll have to do better than that if you want to live."

He grins. Menacing, unhinged.

"I don't know what kind of man I was before this…"

He swings — I parry.

"…but I love this."

He swings again — harder. I barely hold my stance.

"I love —"

Another strike.

"— THIS!"

"IF I — WAS MEANT — FOR ANYTHING — IT WOULD BE — THIS!"

Each word lands with a blow. I stagger. Parry. Survive. My arms burn. My lungs scream. But I endure.

The storm of attacks halts for a heartbeat.

I gasp for air, chest heaving, spear shaking in my hands. Giving me a chance to breathe.

A sudden wave of bodies crashes into us, a stampede. I'm squeezed between flesh and fur, and in the chaos, the werewolf and I are torn apart. In a matter of seconds, the clearing where we fought is gone — swallowed by the flood of souls.

Over the throng, I catch his eyes. We lock glares across the shifting sea of bodies.

He grins again, wild and cruel.

Then he shouts, voice like thunder across the field:

"I CAN HUNT THAT STENCH WHEREVER YOU GO!

BE READY! I'M GOING TO HUNT YOU DOWN AS MY PREY, HORNED ONE!"

His words stick inside me like barbs, and though I try not to show it, my body reacts. My legs drag. My hands tremble.

I can't let him find me

The current of the crowd carries me, and I sway with it. I'm helpless, like driftwood in the tide.

But I don't let it take me completely.

I push myself upward, pressing on shoulders, backs, anything I can. To rise above the mass.

And for the first time, I truly see where I am.

The land stretches for miles.

To the west: a colossal forest. Trees so thick and tall they look like living towers. A grove of Hyperions, vast and ancient.

To the east: mountains. Jagged, towering, beautiful.

Above me: twin suns blazing down, casting long shadows across the earth.

And ahead, to the north…

An endless crowd.

A sea of beings.

Those one eyed giants stand out like landmarks…but there are millions of people.

A plain teeming with life, confused, violent, and monstrous.

Holy shit…

My mind won't stop racing. Everything I've been through…everything that's going to happen. That poor hollow, and that evil, evil werewolf.

He said I smell rotten.

What does that mean?

Can others smell it too?

Will all werewolves want to kill me?

Or is it just him?

Or… is it me that's special?

I don't know. And I don't have time to think about it.

I have to survive this.

Right now, I'm riding the shoulders of the ones below me, same as a few others who've managed to climb up to see.

All around me, the crowd moves like a current, and underneath us there are bodies.

We're walking over piles of corpses.

Some parts of the ground rise higher than others. Stacked with the dead.

It's horrible.

The creatures near me look exhausted. Scared. Bloodied. Wounded.

Is this really what everyone has to go through when they die?

How long does this trial last?

I force myself to stop thinking.

No more questions.

Not right now.

I need all my focus. All of my strength.

I want to live.

But that's easier said than done…

After a few minutes of riding on shoulders, I've somehow avoided being attacked or shoved off. So far, at least. And I've somehow kept my spear with me. But whatever's happening now isn't lucky.

The ground starts to shake violently, like it's angry. People around me topple like dominos, and I'm thrown from the top of the herd, slamming down to my knees.

I try to stand, but it's hard. As if the earth itself is rejecting me.

The shaking gets worse with every passing second.

There's a sound beneath the shaking growing louder by the second. A clicking… no, multiple clickings. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Even..more than that. Closer, closer, and closer.

And then I see it.

An unbelievable sight coming from the mountains.

A swarm of insect-like monsters, blood-hungry, chittering, pours down from the mountaintop.