Way of The Pride

22| The Allies

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Ilani Village
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The impact from the collision sent a number of the beasts crashing to the ground like the fall of a great iroko tree. Enraged growls belied their anger as they slowly struggled to retain balance. Too slow. They were vulnerable and open for attack.

"Attack!"

War cries erupted in response to Amuobi's command. Taunting. Declaring. Like a hawk flying down to grab its meal they swooped in and pounced on their enemies. He felt a morbid sense of retribution as he slashed the throat of a Mystic reaching for his neck.

The air behind him stilled, the soles of his feet picking up vibrations that felt unnatural.

Behind him.

Quickly, he reached for the dagger around his waist, swinging just in time to plunge it into its forehead. A gurgle of black blood erupted from its decaying mouth as it fell down with one last dying moan.

Another lunged at him from the side. On instinct he blocked the reaching hands by cutting off its wrists. Blinded from the pain, it let out an agonizing scream and charged after him. A spear laid uselessly at his feet. He picked up the spear at aimed it straight at its chest. It fell to its knees, arms stretched futilely, then collapsed. Death by impalement.

He shuddered at the pool of black blood dripping from the hole in its chest. Now armed with both daggers, the muscles in his arms trembled, surging with a familiar rush of excitement. It had been a long time since his heart pounded so hard. The smell of the enemy's blood had awoken a beast in him whose hunger can only be satiated by the spilling of blood.

His surroundings ceased to exist. All the blood rushed to his head in a deafening roar emptying all thoughts. Only the cry of his daggers managed to pierce through the thick fog of his mind with a single chant. Blood. It wanted more blood and by the goddess it shall have it to its fill. He dived straight into the heart of the fray and began the dance of rampage.

The air, rife with the smell of death and gore, filled with the grunts of men engaged in battle. Sounds of swords plunging into flesh and the wailing moans of Mystics succumbing to their deaths was the fire that inflamed his fighting spirit.

His unwavering resolve stemmed from a bottomless well of hatred reserved for the enemy. That burning desire to kill strengthened his attacks. Every monstrosity he hunted down met the deadly swings of his blade, an instant death that left their faces permanently etched in terror.

War cries echoed around him, of man and beast. Their strength was formidable but his men were experienced in taking down formidable foes. The willpower of the warriors of Isimir was unmatched against the bloodlust of the Mystics and yet,

Yet..

For every enemy he felled ten more rose in its place. An endless cycle of war with no end in sight. No matter how experienced his men are, when faced with such overwhelming force, they will end up dying out like a flame.

As the fierce battle raged on, his men began to fall prey to the savagery of the monsters. Shouts of victory soon turned into screams and groans, the ground soiling dark with blood.

One by one his men were slowly devoured by swarms of monsters brutally ripping their bodies apart. Surrounded by an army of bloodthirsty beasts clamouring for his blood, all he could do was listen to the dying screams of his men.

After desperately fighting his way through the horde he looked back. Sometime during the battle the fog dissipated as if it was hesitant to witness the carnage.

Now all was visible. His men were now down to half their number and the rest of them had fallen prey to the hands of Mystics. Something cold and unforgiving settled into his chest, his eyes roving around over the battleground with listless eyes.