He was like a whirlwind of death. His ax cleaved through the villagers one at a time, spreading pink intestines from the tavern on one end of Bestle, to the weapon shop on the other side.
Asla stands behind the last remaining villagers, bow in hand, and an empty quiver on her back. None of Asla’s shots came even close to injuring the beast in front of her, they glanced off it’s skin and he smiled like he didn’t even feel them.
An eight foot half man half bull held a resplendent ax loosely in one hand while slowly approaching the villagers. A single blade made it exceptional at chopping, reminiscent of an executioners ax, an exceptionally lavish one with the image of fat children eating one another while in turn being eaten.
Crimson blood slicked off the weapon, giving the illusion of a red glow and highlighting the children’s faces as they ripped into one another.
His skin was criss crossed with scars, on every conceivable surface of his skin, some visciously vibrant, from what must have been terrible wounds.
Each step he took caused the ground to shudder. Boom! Crack! Boom! Crack! The ground lay broken beneath his hooves as he moved forward. Holding out the ax he pointed at Asla. “You may leave. Or you may die. The choice is yours.”
Asla’s knees were quivering in fear, as she looked at the villagers. One woman with long blonde hair and an apron shakes her head. “Please don’t Asla! He’ll kill us all!” She hesitates for a moment but ultimately steps forward, head down in shame.
“Please spare me. I… I don’t want to die!” The minotaur smiles cruelly, gesturing behind him.
“Go. But I can’t gurantee you’ll live, the monsters surrounding the area are of a much higher caliber than usual. However your odds of survival are better than staying here, which is zero.”
Asla fled to the terrible music of the screams of innocents. She couldn’t look back as they were literally ripped limb from limb.
“Oh my god. That’s…” I stop. I’m at a loss for words. I take a deep breathe and calm myself. “I think you’re right that he was a human. But why, why would he do that?”
She shakes her head, tears welling up. “I just… I don’t know!”
She hugs me, shaking like a leaf. “There has to be survivors! Maybe the children who took shelter in the church… We should hurry, maybe we can do something together.” I finish breaking down the fort and wake Castellum up.
We rush toward Bestle, Castellum in the lead. We didn’t stop for any monsters, either Castellum’s teeth stole the lives of the wolves, or my fire balls burnt the ant lions to a crisp.
Once we finally break free of the tree line we see something that once again leaves me speechless. In the centre of town a tall crude tree made of iron has been erected. And hanging from it’s branches are the people of Bestle hung from it’s branches, like a macabre and grisly fruit.