Chapter 20
Gordack, Clutching Victory By the Throat
If the Darkest Gods bothered to peer into the narrow canyons these lightlings called streets, inhaled the aromas of fresh blood and gore congealing on the cobble, and drooled over the numerous corpses soon to be brought back to life –
Gordack chuckled.
How many more dead bloodied in the insides of the shuttered buildings. Too cramped together to provide necessary escape routes. No. They simply barred them inside. Penned them.
Whole families for slaughter.
Their crude pine furniture wasn't even worth chopping into firewood. Their ragged fabrics, the curtains and covering, so poor quality they weren't even worth gathering as loot. Forget the rotten fruit and vegetables they saved to throw in with barely edible meats long since spoiled.
The iron lampposts were now dark enough. No ordinary lightling could see their enemies coming for their lives. The dim and fading lights only help the few true lightling warriors.
Warriors that his darkling soldiers had long since massacred.
Except for the dark-skinned Champion still running through the streets. Hopefully hacking away at forces that would eventually overwhelm him. The endless maze of winding roads only served to aid ratlings corner and trap the few foolish lightlings left as they lost themselves in the darkness.
The full moon above sweetening the entire scene with its dim milky light.
Yet only his two remaining wolf lycan bodyguards here to celebrate the victory. Both too stupid to realize the war had been practically won tonight. They still crouched and sniffed the humid bloody air. Their wolf stink spiced with the raw fear from the unexpected sudden death of their tigress companion.
But Gordack would soon send those worthless mutts to their deaths.
A proper death due to their utter failure to protect him against Black Fang's obvious assassination attempt so long ago.
Gordack wouldn't dull his axe and sword with such worthless prey either.
Not even the current ridiculously short set hanging off his waist.
The redheaded girl moaned in his massive hand. As if her cries would stop him from crushing her slender frame. That he would stop before her struggle was barely felt from his furred pads.
His thick black armor already helped hide his giant nine feet of brawn and claws. His glare from powerful red eyes. Trim yellowed fangs grinning at her in inevitable victory. The thought of roasting her in blood gravy spiced with lead already making his mouth water.
Plus the golden ear rings in his knotted ears …
The little glint from the moonlight should give the lightling girl just enough hints to direct the fear that drenched her sweet stink bittersweet.
Yet she directed her gaze at his broad chest plate.
If he didn't know better, she was staring at the black maroon rune shaped like a fat backwards S and painted as a serpentine rat. A special crest endowed with magics best not spoken of for risk of enemies figuring out its true powers.
To risk even thinking of.
The huffy pout on her lips. Bulging those cheeks.
It made his tail arc higher.
Almost trigger the poisoned barb on his tail's steel claw.
“Who drew that atrocity?” she asked, “It looks familiar. The style. Had to be the same lousy artist bastard.”
His grin twisted into a growl.
“The best,” Gordack hissed. Then squeezing the human girl harder. “Any insult to it is an insult to the Soul Magus' judgment. For he called its creator among the greatest of his kind.”
“More like greatest manure pile of his kind,” she said, “But I'm sure where there's a will, there's delusion. Just ask Ash – ack!”
Gordack crush the girl in his massive hand. His claws ached to drive themselves deep into her unprotected flesh. Her flimsy cotton shirt and trousers worthless against any of his fangs or claws. Worthless against any of her own kind's dull weapons.
That cherry stink of hers finally grew a proper bitter tone of fear.
Her whimpers dying off. Roasting her unconscious would not be as satisfying.
His own magics could waken her and keep her awake when the time was right to punish her for her foolish words.
“Chop the oink-oink,” said the redheaded girl's voice.
But from slightly over a dozen feet ahead of him.
Not from the girl in his hand.
“And listen to my firing ram!” shouted the distant girl.
Gordack looked up.
Just in time to see a navy-blue sole smash his nose.
And its neon blue leather boot twin slam its heel into the side of his snout.
Before stars and pain engulfed his world in bloody copper red.
* * *
His world clear only a slow painful moment later.
But not until that howls of his lycan bodyguard warned Gordack of another enemy. The crack of stone, the lycan's dying screams from – both came from the wall of a nearby building. His nose too clogged with fresh blood to let him sniff out the danger.
But Gordack bared his fangs and sucked in the humid hot air. The fruity stink of the redheaded girl even stronger now. Well over the rich smells of gory conquest.
As if she was the one who kicked him.
But how?
The girl within his massive hand still resisted the clenching of his fingers. Her soft flesh and fragile bones bending and creaking.
Even as he regained his footing, Gordack blinked away the starry shock that blinded him for a moment.
But not before the girl in his hand suddenly vanished. As if she turned into thin air.
Then the crack of boots hitting cobble signaling the bitch was running away.
Enough to make Gordack roar.
Leap, turning to pursue.
But someone yanked his tail back.
Cutting Gordack's giant leap into a mere step.
When his vision fully cleared.
The redheaded girl ran quicker than any ordinary human. Far enough away that a pursuit would be worthless now. Dressed in what could only be called neon blue underwear with a skirt so short it could only be called unfinished – it revealed her figure was now even more slender and curvy than before.
That peachy unmarred skin … his tongue drooled over its crisp roasted taste sweetened properly by lead and a few drops of cyanide.
But meaty hands clamped down on his tail midsection.
Gordack swirled around.
Roaring.
Snatch his sword.
Swinging it at the enemy at the enemy who dared challenge him.
While triggering the poison dart on the tip of his tail. Then letting it hang loose.
The target – a huge human man. A small wall of dark brawn. Dressed in the outfit of a Paladin.
The Paladin champion.
His savory smell – of healthy muscle and skin at peak condition.
The sneer on his square face would soon grow dull from death.
Yet the Paladin crouched. Planting his boots more firmly on the cobble.
Whipped out a puny thin saber at Gordack's thick short sword.
A crack erupted.
Red sparks flying.
And Gordack's blade was stopped mere feet from the human's smirking head. Blocked by the flat of the Champion's blade. While the sharp tip pointed right at his heart.
And only a several feet away.
But rumor had it the blades of Paladins could pierce any armor less thick than the blade itself. Observations of Champions’ armor and weapons hacked through with a single slice, with strength unheard of, impossible for humans …
So Gordack snatched his axe.
Swipe an upper cut from the side. At the man's vulnerable gut.
The human should of jumped back. Retreat a safe distance.
But no.
The champion lunged at Gordack. Blade scrapping against blade.
His saber thrusting right toward a fatal heart stab.
Until Gordack flicked his tail's barb straight into the champion's back. Plunging deep.
Through cloth, flesh, and bone.
Injecting the fatal poison.
Yet the Paladin continued to charge. Too close too quick. Gordack's weapons couldn't counter this close.
Those leather boots cracked against cobble like a miniature troll. Saber tip mere feet –
Then inches from Gordack's own chest.
The man's eyes as dark as the night around him.
As determined as a bolt shot fired straight into a lava beast.
And for once in his existence, the ratling's blood ran cold. Like a river of frozen acid. Certain his black armor wouldn't stop this blade from ending his career.
When the life suddenly vanished from the man's eyes.
And the Paladin collapsed dead.
Gordack didn't know how long his heart then pounded in his hearts.
Or how long he chortled at his incredible luck.
But he did know that this vile corpse would soon prove to become his greatest undead creation yet.