A True Knight

Beast New and Old

FUCK IT, WE BALL
FUCK IT, WE BALL
FUCK IT, WE BALL
FUCK IT, WE BALL
_____________________________

Crixus woke to the stench of blood and the sounds of screams. He stood on the massacre field, surrounded by blood and bodies of those who resisted. Shattered shields laid about like broken teeth, and burning rubble turned the scene to hell while black smoke choked the sky.

Scattered across the field like rocks were bodies of the dead. Men, women. It was hard to tell what had happened to them. It was as if they had stood before the teeth of a ravenous beast and it tore them to shreds.

Crixus took it in, as the mist left his mind and he became himself. As the fog of bloodshed departed, though, the pain it hid returned. The pain of his curse was just a dull ache for now, but he knew the pain would return.

"All goes as planned." A heavy voice said behind him. Crixus half turned; the beast made his way from the tree line clothed in different furs and metals. It had never been beautiful, but the normally shining metal had darkened and begun to rust.

"Does it?" Crixus asked, his throat was raw and it hurt to speak. He was sure he had been screaming, as he always does when the order was given and he was turned loose with the others. It was difficult to form words in the haze of his mind, but he did so anyways.

Atreus stopped his advanced and turned to gaze upon Crixus. He looked him up and down; and when he next spoke, his voice was wary. "The dog speaks. Come Crixus, the town is ours. All that remains is to claim it. You can add more prizes to the poultry one you carry."

Crixus fought the urge to fall in line behind his cousin. To let the roar of madness envelop him so that he may return to the bloody dream. The dream that would make the pain go away for a little while longer. But what Atreus said spoke something in Crixus's memory.

Neurons, which had laid dormant in his craze, fired. His gaze fell to his left hand. A head still laid in it, he didn't remember taking it. Beneath the smears of blood he could still see the engraving of a rampant hound on his armored hands.

For a moment, Crixus fell through time. Bellowing giants and twisted beast, whose blood flowed black and oily around him. He fought against them, his armored stained with proof. He had taken no trophies that day. There was no need. He didn't fight for that.

He stood in line with his brothers before their general. Listening as he bellowed about freedom and breaking of chains, and how the weak would be culled. Then he demanded they be bound like how he had. They had been so blind, so desperate to keep a general. He had put a leash on the War-hounds and called them his berserkers. Then there was blood. Tithes of it, that carried them further and further from what they had been.

Then the bloody fields and piles of bodies which seemed to rise for miles. Where the first bout of his madness had struck. The blacked ground around the walls where they once stood. The memories came in fragments like rain as Crixus stared down at the hound. It was old. Splattered with blood. But it was there, for one who knew how to see it.

Crixus raised his head and really looked at the city directly. It was a crumbling mess. The walls were eroding and the defensive fortifications were present, but time worn and ragged. It seemed far too large for the people that lived in it. It was a small, sad village in a forgotten area. A guttering candle that will be snuffed out for no reason other than being caught in the path of Atreus's greed.

The scars along Crixus arms began to prick. The ache in his muscles from strained ligaments began coming back as the adrenaline drained. A vice gripped his temples, and every beat of his heart was like a fist knocking against the base of his skull. His breath rushed in past his teeth and he tasted blood in his mouth.