Before he could react, it bit his arm and swung its head back and forth, tearing his muscle apart. He switched sword hands and pierced its throat, spraying blood all over the walls, just as another one managed to push aside the corpses and get in.

It charged at the man in black, hitting him like a battling ram. The preacher pierced the monster’s ribs, but it still grabbed him and ran him through the wall, sending both of them flying out into the darkness outside. The hit took the breath out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for air. It was a pure miracle that he still managed to hold the blade.

His back screamed in pain. The beast opened its mouth to bite down at him, but the man in black thrust the sword into its gaping maw. It growled in agony, and hot blood covered the priest’s face, but the monster still clawed at him, smashing him beneath his hulking body. He moved the blade up and down, cutting the beast’s head from the inside like a tree branch. After a few thrusts, its head hung down.

He couldn’t push it off, so he slid from under it, holding it up with the sword still stuck in its lifeless head. Pain washed over him, he had at least a couple of broken ribs, and blood loss made him weak. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness, so he’d have to rely on their scent even more. He felt anger coming from the right and ducked just in time to hear a set of jaws closing where his head was a moment ago.

He moved aside from the claws, parried the other paw, and caught the beast in the neck with a sharp sweep of the sword. He would live as long as he didn’t take more damage. He’d have to be smart. He ran, facing the horde of beasts running toward him. He tried to change sword hands again to let his left one rest, but the other was destroyed by the wolf bite. He couldn’t even grip the hilt.

The man in black ran, dragging the blade behind him. If he hesitated, they would swarm him. His feet hurt, his lungs were starving for air, and the wounds burned with searing pain.

Still, he fought on. Running in the narrow space between the houses, parrying and striking. Turning the growling into squeals, silencing the beasts one by one. Each move and breath hurt him. His body yelled for him to stop, but his spirit kept fighting despite the warning.

Each time he swung or dodged, the wounds flashed with pain as they opened and closed. The man in black evaded the attacks he could. He had to let them close to become aggressive and blind so he could catch them with the blade. Sometimes to take, you need to give.

His mind was unbreakable, but the human body has its limits. He barely ducked under a werewolf’s claws and slashed at its body, feeling the blade bite, followed by a scream of pain. No time to finish him off. The next one was already on him.

His lungs were ready to burst, and his shoulders hurt so much he held the sword down any given chance to give them some rest. Roars and howls turned into cries of pain as he left a trail of bodies, drowning the village in complete silence. Only when his muffled breathing remained the only sound around him he sensed fear coming from one of the houses.

The scent of rage was gone. He could feel clearly now. So he stepped slowly towards it without making any unnecessary moves. Gasping for air, soaked in blood, dragging the sword with a loose grip. Still, his face showed no agony. Fearless when he had to face the old gods themselves. Remorseless when he had to kill.

He entered the house to find a group of children - crying, hugging their knees in despair, having just heard the death cries of their parents. An old man cuddled them. They were silent, but yet again, he didn’t need to hear them to find them.