"This can't be real" he thought, as he gazed upon the plains, stained in a bloody crimson, the blood soaking the dirt beneath.
He saw hundreds, maybe thousands, of men. All swinging blades of various shapes and sizes. Swords, axes, sabers, and countless other weapons, and he knew them all. He was close enough to see their faces, as steel met body. Every crack of the bones, every squelch of steel meeting flesh, every rip of blade slicing through. He heard it all.
He watched a lone soldier, barefoot, and completely unharmed, charging through the field with a cry, his feet caked with blood, as he splashed through puddles of crimson, from friend and foe alike. He stared as the soldier was cut down, head sent flying, because he was too slow to stop the blade from slicing his head from his shoulders. The enemy soldier quickly took the headless warriors weapon, a greek kopis, and tossed it to one of his comrades, who caught it deftly before they were swarmed by more soldiers. The boys eyes looked on the scene, with morbid fascination, and the boy felt this was... "oddly familiar" the boy spoke, as innocent and young as ever, possibly no older than 16 years.
The boy also felt something...different, something...primal, and it scared the teen to no end.
YOU ARE READING
A Ballad of Blood and Bones
ParanormalNightmares are normal, except when they were real. What truly happens to those who die? P.S. Advice and constructive criticism helps, this IS a my first story, after all.
