Ok, I warned you.
Hiding behind the trees, he eyed the town. So close, yet so far. The opposing force currently occupying the town had cleared the area of the surrounding forest, to prevent ambushes like the one that he was to try. In addition, 40 feet of stone quarantined the town off from the rest of the world. After all, the soldiers had announced that anyone leaving would be executed instantaneously. Checking his gear, he reached deep within, calling the power that plagued him. Sometimes, he thought even a curse can be a blessing. Something shifted in his demeanor, and as he glanced up at the silent gates surrounded by torch light, it seemed that in the glow, that his eyes had a reddish tint in them. He ripped his weapons out, the light catching on the two blades. He charged at the gates. As he left the shadows of the night and the cover of the forest, one of the guards spotted him. The guard shouted something, probably halt, but no one shall ever know, his cry died away in a gurgle as a knife appeared in his throat. It seemed like it belonged, or had always been there, so quickly did it appear. With a spray of pink mist, the soldier fell to the ground, eyes bugging out as he drowned in his own blood.
With a howl, the man shot toward the gate. The Rage was in control now. Reduced to a monster within a human shell, his crave for violence knew no bounds.
At the howl, more guards were alerted to his presence, quickly rushing to the aid of the gate. The iron bound wood creaked and squealed in protest as the soldiers poured like water to confront the attack on their prize of a town. Seeing the hunched figure leaping through the air at them, the raised their assorted weapons in defense. Slashing anything that moved, he pushed the defenders back as his continued strikes reduced their defense to splinters and scrap metal. They had no hope to stand up to the swords that the man had in his possession. They had stood the test of time, made by the finest smiths money could buy, never losing their sheen, or their edge, even after all the years that they had existed.
As the weapons were destroyed, his blades were greeted by flesh and bone. As he hewed his way through, hacking off limbs, he didn’t notice until the spewing blood covered his face. Turning, he raised his hand, slicing off his opponent’s hand in the process. Smashing his hand down, he was rewarded a warmth, drenching him in a rain of blood. Moving like the wind, he flitted between guards slicing, ripping through wood and metal, cloth and mail, flesh and bone. It seemed the world was reduced in motion, so fast was he. Snapping his wrist, he brought his blade spinning into a near body, watching intently as blood shot out of the wound he had created, splattering across the ground, turning the dust into a hellish type of mud. From another point of view, it seemed a sphere of solid air, with streaks of silver spinning ‘round. As more men fell the whirling blades, the streaks of silver slowly turned crimson. Amid the cracking bones and spraying blood, the man was like the eye of the storm. In the center, fury raged, but on the surface, all one could tell was the chaotic smile. Around his body, chaos reigned. Men fell, disemboweled, dismembered, beheaded. And among it all, the smile, fixed in place. Genuine, but tainted with the glee his killing spree endowed him with. His destruction left onlookers speechless, that is, until his blades found them as well.
And suddenly, silence. The man stood, the only one left, amid the carnage that he had created. As nothing was moving, the demon had been satisfied, and slowly retreated into the depths of the man’s soul, awaiting the point when it would be called again.
As light returned to the man’s eyes, he glimpsed the slaughter that he stood in. Realization came over him, and as he saw, his legs failed him. Falling to the ground, the man wept, tears of horror leaked down his face. The intense joy was no longer there, and he felt empty. No, not empty, he felt hatred, hatred for what he had done.
