That Night...?

[Okor]

Gudrun grinned as he hefted his massive axe upon his skin-heaped shoulder; flayed man-hide shifting into bloodied, black furs as the light of the full moon was filtered through the dead branches overhead. He could feel his skull shifting beneath where the prime’s blow struck, cancerous growths of bone reinforcing his temple. His band of merry men fell in beside him, a series of serrated blades and twisted tools of their trade clutched in necrotic hands.The prime’s blade shifted, its hilt expanding into the shaft of a spear as she raised her shield, sandals squelching in the mud as she sought to steady herself in the mire of the moors. A chill wind blew from the west, the breath of the black gate seeking to steal life from the living for its infernal masters.

The Prime was ill-suited for the Pale Moors, clad in clothing that was more suited for an evening beneath the sun of the Vasty Deeps, rather than the entropic embrace of this ruined realm. Lips split, revealing a maw jammed full of fangs torn from their rightful, animalistic owners.

“Little, little Godling,” he chuckled, pus-filled lungs gurgling as he advanced, fearless of the fire-haired warrior. “Were-beasts cower in their masks of men where we walk.” The hunter to his side unhooked a cruel chain from his belt, its barbed end whistling through the air as the gangrenous gang started to circle, wary eyes watching the prime as she adjusted her grip on her spear.

The chain flew through the air, and all hell broke loose.

The shieldbearer sprung up into the air, the chain sinking into the soft earth beneath her now-airborne feet, the shambling hunters surging forward, eager to send her sprawling into the primordial soup seeking to suck them all down into its embrace. She threw her shield as she tumbled through the fog-filled atmosphere, the ballistic barrier rebounding off the fur-cloaked skull of Svipnir, and crashing into the face of Bjaarn, shards of broken bone and blood flying from the impact as his nose splintered beneath the blow.

The prime catapulted herself from the flying shield, its momentum reversing as it flew back, adhering to her wrist as she landed behind the huddled masses of humanity. Her spear twirled through the air as she adopted a combat stance, her golden hoplon and shining spear a stark contrast to the rotten rags and rusted cleavers hefted by her foes. Her emerald eyes narrowed as she made her stand.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

A gurgling chuckle echoed around the clearing as the gang advanced, maddened eyes staring into her from beneath bandages stained by blood and pus. Their leader, resplendent in rotting hides, spoke as he hefted his axe, turning it so that its bladeless end slapped into his scarred palm.

“This is good. None should be afraid within His embrace.”

At his words, Gavsson tossed his net, its rotten hemp strands weighed down with rusted orbs and cracked, yellowed skulls. The prime’s spear shifted into a xiphos, the exotic blade tearing through the netting as the hunters closed in, an iron-tipped cudgel careening towards her skull as she struck out against the snare. It clattered off of her shield as a chain wrapped around her ankle, yanking her into the muck lying beneath the combatants, eliciting a grunt as she impacted against the mud.

A rag-wrapped fist slammed into the earth next to her face as she began to move, spinning on her shield as her foot cracked against the ankle of a hunter, sending him sprawling to the ground as she pushed herself up, sailing over their leader’s skull as she slammed the hilt of her blade down on his temple. Undeterred, the slayers of beasts turned, rising once more from the muck as gangrenous grins greeted her. Cracked ribs and bashed skulls proved no hindrance to the cursed cultists, nets, chains, and brutal clubs making it all too clear that they intended to drag her back to whatever fate they had in store for her while she yet drew breath.

The huntress’ breath was ragged: She was on unfamiliar ground, against unfamiliar foes, ones with the savagery of Grimm and the cunning of men. Her spear folded in on itself, her sword gleaming beneath the dim light of a distant sun. None here wanted death, but her bestial attackers had made their sinister intentions clear. With a cry, she charged forward, already dodging a wild swing as she rammed her Hoplon under the armpit of her attacker, dislocating his shoulder as she swung her xiphos.

Unfortunately, her foe had neither the aegis of the aura nor the living death sentence that was an existence as a bestial grimm.. With a look of horror dawning on her face, she turned to look upon the surely dead man, an apology starting to blossom on her lips.

A gloved hand slammed down on her throat. Their fur-clad leader, what little skin bared covered in tri-lobed pustules, slowly raised her above his head, a long gash in his side seeping white blood. Spines of bone started to sprout from the ragged flesh, stitching the wound together before her eyes.

She forced a sentence past her strangulation.

”W-what are you?”

A smile stained with his own venomous vitae answered her.

“Chosen.”