SmallVentures3
There was blood everwhere.
He stared down at his hands. At the floor… at his axe.
There was a bloody axe in his hands.
Pieces o flesh are frozen on the ground… the eight bodies partially broken apart.
Cut apart.
The screeches they made.
All of them.
The Drowners and the hag.
There was a hag.
A bloody hag. A cursed nymph.
A hag!
No wonder more people disappeared. No wonder the drowners got that bold. No wonder everything got out of hand.
Henoch stared at the body. Deformed and mangled, just like the stories said, warped spine, hunched back… face contorted by strange magic.
And now the creature was… dead.
The bomb that could be made from the strange things the trader gave him… it stuck.It worked. It got her to freeze. It got the creature to freeze up and got stuck. Throwing balls of mud, but stuck. Bleeding.
The other bomb’s did much of a part as well. The drowners fell. Spikes of silver stuck in their bodies. Blood everywhere.
Only the last strike needed to be done with his axe. When the hag still moved. When one last screech came from a Drowner.
But now it was done.
Red everywhere.
A terrible stench in the air.
But he’d done it.
The village was safe. Finally.
His hands were shaking.
But he lived. He was alive.
They were safe.
All were safe.
And he could go home.
It was not… glorified.
He did not get a hero’s welcome.
They were suspicious, actually.
Seeing him covered in blood.
But he got home.
Now he had blood on his hands and a strange feeling in his gut… but he got home.
After meeting monsters.