Chapter Fourty-Nine: The Monster

Jonrah cried out in villainous glee as he felt the warm splatter of blood against his face, cutting down the first man of what he hoped would be many to fall to his sword.

Another, who had been stood nearby, swung at him with a sword bigger than himself, but the man had no skill, and Jonrah easily parried the blow, letting his opponent lose his grip on the sword and send it flying to the side. Nothing could stifle his screams as Jonrah hacked unprofessionally at the man's neck. All sense of reason was abandoned, and Jonrah could not help but hope that more would swarm him, allowing him to freely swing his sword, connecting with the enemy with every blow.

His wish was answered by six men who appeared from around the corner of a small building, attracted by their brother's screams. Two of them had their weapons drawn and darted straight into the melee, but they were no different to many of The Eden, and could not handle themselves in combat. Their blows were messy, and the only hit that Jonrah took was from the flat of a sword, which simply bounced off his armour, barely moving him. The men were felled within seconds, making way for the next wave. The remaining four men lurched forwards uncertainly, not eager to share the fate of those they had just witnessed being torn apart by a single man of the West.

Ducking a blow to the shoulders, Jonrah swung out at the legs of the nearest assailant, hacking cleanly through one, and sending the now one-legged man to the ground, crying out in agony. Jonrah ignored him, and as he corrected his stance, he parried a forceful blow from what might turn out to be a real challenge of an enemy.

The man took a step back as he let his two remaining companions get their taste for blood, both of which were young, but appeared older than the cripple boy he had recently slaughtered. It seemed fairly minimal now. The guilt did not weigh on Jonrah's mind as it should have been. He was too overwhelmed by the lust for violence he was only now rediscovering. He was not even distracted by the thoughts of his son, trapped in the city, scared for his life, being forced to work whilst his father enjoyed a killing spree...

Was this what he had been reduced to? The very attitude Jonrah was fighting against was now mirrored in himself. He watched his hands, now seperate from his mind, wielding his sword, slashing and swinging into the enemy, but not out of self-defense, as he had been taught by the Guard, not when absolutely necessary, as he had insisted Lorda understand when he had been training him, but now, simply out of hate. Out of corruption.

Jonrah fought with himself as he tried to regain control of his body, which had destroyed the life of another innocent, quickly to be replaced by several more. Dozens swarmed around him now, few of which were armed, but those who were were eagerly anticipating the idea of being the one that took him down. Jonrah's arms and hands worked independent from his body, their own seperate life-force powering them, killing all who intended to destroy him. Jonrah's reason desperately fought to rein in the madness, control the slaughter, do the only logical thing in such a situation - run.

He felt his arms slowing as he watched the men close in around him. He did not want to die here, but he also could not stand to become such a monster. If he was destined to perish here, in this frozen hell-hole of the enemy, he would not die a villain...

His arms slowed more and more, the more he repeated the words to himself.

Monster ... villain.

His arms were controlled by his body and mind once more, the external life force which had possessed them had passed, and now they were his again, as they should have been.

As Jonrah slowly came to terms with his surroundings, with the predicament that he was in, he raised his sword once more, but in the defensive stance, ready to parry any blows that aimed to fell him, but not to return said blows.

It was still for several seconds, but they seemed to last for an eternity. Jonrah did not understand why the men and women around him were not taking the opportunity to cut him down whilst he was unprepared, and singled out. Were they scared? Could none of them bare to do it, to imitate the monster that they had witnessed in front of them? How could a group of people so evil, willing to sear the land with their towers, and intent on destroying entire civilisations, how could they not be willing to kill a single man that stood before them?

Jonrah felt a sudden sharp pain on the back of his head, but before he could even acknowledge it, the world went black. He had been surrounded on all sided, he knew that. He had been surprised from behind. It was over.

I will not die a monster.

The End

56 comments about this story Feed