Rags' Last Hunt
The air was acrid, with smoke lingering in the twilight. Bodies were scattered athwart along a winding, jagged road. “Something or someone had undoubtedly been here not long ago,” Rags thought.
Rags, a skilled hunter, who had slain beasts, in the name of the White Church, had seen wounds like the ones on the path before him. But, he failed to recall them from memory, even with the details fresh in his mind. The victims' blood had not even begun to coagulate and was flowing like a visceral river.
Rags began to question, “Who or what could have caused such mortal wounds. This vexes me.” Good and innocent people died here, and for what... So some fanatic, can perform experiments, in the guise of blood ministration. This madness must come to an end. There has to be something I am missing. Rags screams, “Why can't I remem...”
Except, the final word, never escaped his lips, as he felt a sharp twinge of pain. Right as the assailant's weapon, burst through his chest. Eviscerating his entrails, causing him to fall on to his knees.
For a brief moment, before Rags falls face forward on to the cobble stone. The last thing he ever hears, “...another cancer wrenched from the host's bosom. Excellent kill, brother!”
Originally written: June 17th, 2018 By: AvnSgt