Knut
412 Words
Knut
A snarl broke from my chest as my woman ran straight into the enemy’s clutches. The draugr hissed in triumph, grey fingers latching onto her lovely arms with a bruising grip, dragging her back, away from me.
She cried out and my vision went red.
I caught up my axe and I charged.
The creatures gave me a blank look of surprise, right before I lopped off their heads. The horrible hissing noise stopped as the blade cleaved their necks, as easily as snapping dead blooms from a flower. Fluid burst from their necks as they fell. I staggered back at the stench.
The woman screamed again, now covered in gore, and fought away from the dead men’s grip. The headless bodies still clutched at her, until I slammed them with my shield and followed it with a kick to get them to release my woman.
Bony fingers caught my arms, pulling me back, and I roared, throwing the draugr off me. The corpse beings had skin clammy to the touch and smelled even worse when their bodies split open. Their rotten flesh wouldn’t tempt a starving wolf.
Corpses piled at my feet, I howled in triumph. This would be a battle for the bards to sing my praises.
“Look out,” the woman shrieked. I whirled just in time to duck a sword. The rusty blade swooped over my head. I charged. The sword swiped at me again and this time I caught it in my bare hand, and wrenched it out of the draugr’s grip before wading in for the kill. I’d lost my shield, but my axe made short work of chopping the draugr into a greyish pile of limbs.
A small gasp made me turn.
The woman stood staring at me, holding the piece of wood to her chest like a babe. She’d shouted to save me. She didn’t know that Berserkers felt nothing in the heat of battle—not pain, not fear.
More Grey Men were closing in as I grabbed her wrist, tugging her forward. “Come on. We must run.”
She looked at my hand in horror. Blood dripped from my palm, but the wound had already started to close—Berserker healing at work. But that wasn’t why she was distressed.
My arm had sprouted fur, and my fingers ended in sharp claws—the start of the Change into the beast.
I pulled her to me and she fought, kicking, until I tossed her over my shoulders.
Steadying her with one hand, I gripped my axe with the other and ran.
- Writer
