Superbeing

Chapter 5 - Immortal

Earlier that day, the streets were bustling with activity, the markets busy with customers, and the streets full of people chatting with one another. Now, the streets were totally different. Rivers of blood ran down the sides of the streets, deep red blood decorating the stone walls. The once joyful chatter transformed into screams of agony and battle cries; the music of war. It was a horrific sight, as dead bodies littered the streets arrows pointing into them or spears poking through them. The stink of blood polluted the air. It was a disgusting scene of violence and death, as if death himself had come to visit, and left this scene in his wake.

The attackers were not soldiers from an army, but rather, men wearing hooded robes. They looked almost like normal people, had it not been for the fact that they were unusually tall. And then, as I looked, I noticed that each and every one of them was strong. Immense strength was evident in the way they lifted the village men, throwing them against walls like they were loaves of bread getting chucked into a bin. Others were picked up horizontally and smashed down on a knee, their spines cracking like twigs. It was a shocking sight.

 “Lee,” came a gruff voice from my left. Grandpa had a disgusted look on his face, his eyes burning with anger. “Let’s go,” he said, picking up on of the many sword that were lying on the floor. Without notice, he burst forwards into the fray, swinging his sword left and right, lunging forwards, blood splattering everywhere, bodies falling in his wake. His mastery of the sword was excellent. Attracting the attention of the other hooded attackers, he resorted to dodging after a large group came after him, swords and spears flying all about him, himself flipping over swords and stabbing his attackers. But there was too many, and he started getting hurt, much to the joy of his enemies.

 That’s when I joined in. Snapping out of my trance, I rushed forwards, grabbing my own weapon in the process. My first attacker came before I reached the group, thrusting his spear at my chest. I twisted myself sideways to dodge the spear, then lifted my arm and swung it, my sword running straight through my assailant’s neck, cutting his head off and it dropped to the floor. I left his body bleeding as I turned to face the next attacker. And he came, fast, charging at me, this time, with a sword, and raised his arms high above his head, aiming to chop it down on me. But I gave him no time to swing, as I lunged forwards and pushed my sword forwards through his belly, before pulling it out, twisting round and slicing downwards, cutting a vertical line in the next man’s chest. His sword flew up in the air, and I jumped over his lifeless body, caught it with my free left hand, and then stabbed both swords into the back of a guy trying to land a sneak attack on Grandpa. He wailed, his voice dying, and Grandpa looked back, a thankful smile on his face, before turning back once again to fight off the second wave of people. Flicking my wrists to fling of some of the blood that coated my swords, I charged forwards with Grandpa, and we sliced through the second wave, finishing them in no time.

 Then came the third wave. These men did not rush towards us, but calmly strolled towards us as if we were nothing but a few rabbits in a garden. Once they were about 20 feet away from us though, they charged, and they came fast. But they were not fast enough, and I sliced the first guy’s stomach with the first sword, whilst defending another attack with the second. I threw a sword into the air, its point glinting in the moonlight, spun around my opponent, caught the sword and stabbed him in the back in one swift motion. Crouching low, I ran through the crowd of attackers, emerging at the back. Now, they were sandwiched between myself and Grandpa, and we made short work of them, hacking and slashing down each one. It took time, but eventually there were no more opponents remaining, and we slumped against the wall, breathing hard.

 “Wow,” said Grandpa, struggling for breath, his chest heaving up and down. “That was crazy.” Since I was so out of breath, I couldn’t respond, so I just nodded my head. Silence descended onto the bloody scene, the only sound being the heavy breathing of the two of us leaning on the wall, and the remaining village men who were still alive. A loud crack broke the silence. I looked around, trying to figure out what made that sound. In the dark, I saw I hooded figure raise itself from the ground, cracking its bones in the process. It stood up to its full height, popped his neck, then laughed, a crazy laugh that sent chills down my spine. All of a sudden, maniacal laughter pierced the silence, coming from the heap of dead bodies littering the ground. “Oh no, no way,” said Grandpa, still grasping for breath. “Why did it have to be them?” Not understanding his words, I looked at the heap of bodies, which were now all slowly rising off the ground, cracking their bones into their correct positions. My eyes widened in disbelief as all the supposedly dead attackers looked at us, their insane laughter sounding through the air. They were immortal.

Then they charged. My heart skipped a beat. Grandpa pushed himself off the wall and faced the attackers. He stamped one foot on the floor, and a rumbling sound could be heard as a boulder shot up from the ground. Then he punched forwards, his muscles flexing, and boulder flew forwards, crashing into the crowd of zombies, or whatever they were. With a grunt, he raised his arms from his waist, palms facing upwards, and two walls of earth rose from the ground, and he brought his palms together, the walls following his actions, smashing into each other and the zombies in between. He made a fist with both hands, and the walls crumbled, the rocks falling into the crowd of zombies.

 Yet still they rose, an army of zombies wailing in the darkness, once again popping and cracking their bones into position. Then it came out of nowhere, a black blur, silhouetted against the moonlight. I managed to catch a glimpse of brown hair, tied back in a ponytail, before the black blur disappeared into the darkness. After a moment, death screams erupted from the crowd of zombies, each once clutching their throats as crimson liquid spurted from them, before dropping to the ground, and never getting up again. My eyes searched the night for the mysterious killer, and I finally found them. She stood on the pile of rock that came from the walls Grandpa made, her black outfit hugging her features. The moonlight reflected off of her eyes, glinting with a malevolence which accompanied her air of dominance. The zombies cowered in fear at the killer before them, her long hair swaying in the wind.

 “How –” Grandpa started, before being cut off by the woman in black. “You have to stop the blood flow to their brains, that way they won’t be able to get back up,” she said, her voice firm and commanding. Even though I had never heard her speak like this, from the sound of the voice I knew who it was. Michaela. “Quick, we have no time. The way you fight, swords won’t work; their heads are as thick as rocks. You’re strong, right? Use your hands,” she said to Grandpa, a quick smile showing on her face before disappearing with her into the enemies. She jumped high into the air, landing on the shoulders of one of the zombies and sticking the daggers into its throat, before jumping off backwards, spinning on one foot and slashing the throat of the next enemy in one swift move. She moved gracefully, landing lightly on the ground, hardly making a sound, and if she did, it would not be heard over the screams she left in her wake.   

 But, as I looked to Grandpa, it seemed as if my world had stopped. My heart sank to depths of my stomach. I couldn’t feel the wind, the howls of the zombies bypassed my ears, my eyes widening at what I could see. He was suspended from the ground, hanging from a zombie’s grip on his neck. His feet dangled in the air, his normally tall stature suddenly not living up to itself. His arms hang limply by his sides. He turned his head around slowly, and a smile formed on his lips, blood slowly pouring out of his mouth and dripping to the floor.  His shirt was ripped and a hand was lodged into it, almost up to the elbow. A satisfied grin sat on the face of the hand’s owner. He wrenched out his arm, surveyed the damage he had done, pulled his arm backwards before throwing it forwards, releasing his grip on Grandpa’s neck. Grandpa flew forwards, hitting his back against a wall.