My head pounds and my leg spasms as the grove I slept in the night before draws me once again. And with only the light from the stars up above, I stumble down into the hollow, into the bosom of the earth, the king''s steed following behind.


    A cold nips at my face and I''m quick to start a fire, the walls of the sunken earth soon illuminated by dancing flames, the silhouetted trees aloft looking like an army of the antlered giants of yore.


    With force, I toss on a fallen wet branch, it eventually hissing and popping, before bemoaning my missed opportunity. And not the chance of accepting the offer or begging for the survival of my people, the reason why I was sent to the siege line, but the opportunity to kill King Jabora.


    I fill my lungs with air and release it with a booming yell.


    I was alone with him. Though fucked my leg, I would have carved him many more chins before his wails of agony attracted any of his soldiers. At least something good would have come from this waste of time.


    Why didn''t I do it? Why?


    He said he doesn''t have spies within the city. Of course that ogre does. This is war. And him not colluding with Sir Blouf? What lies. I can feel it. I know it to be true. It''s the only explanation. I saw Sir Blouf and the emissary talking alone at the palace. What other reason could there be? If their talking wasn''t nefarious, they''d have spoken more openly, not when the king and everyone else was in the ballroom.


    Rage burning inside of me, I tear open my satchel and rummage around, tossing items out haphazardly. And I find what I''m craving. The firewater Seamil gave me. It''s the only release I have. It''s the only thing I have.


    With my teeth, I rip out the cork and gulp the liquid down until half the bottle has gone.


    If I go blind, so be it. I don''t want to see more of my city getting destroyed or more mutilated women anyhow.


    I yell again as this time the searing milky liquid funnels down my innards.


    Shit, that burns. It feels like I''m being fed a hot poker.


    And the effects are swift, the pain in my head evaporating and my leg''s tremors easing until I feel nothing. I don''t even feel the cold air or the heat from the fire.


    But then, as if by magic, as if a deep wound has made me feverish, something I have witnessed and personally suffered many times, the king''s steed and the fire morph into one another, becoming Gnisqua, the mythical mare of my childhood fables, stories my mother used to tell me before bed.


    ''What in the names of the gods is this?'' I try to scream, but all my ears hear is, ''Fucking swines. I''ll kill you all.'' And it''s in a voice I don''t recognize.


    What is this madness that Seamil has gifted me?


    I look down and gasp, not hearing that either but a wicked grunt instead. And where a bottle should be gripped in my hand, I see a pumping heart in its place, it oozing with blood.


    With haste, I lift my gaze and see Gnisqua, the flaming beast, galloping around the hollow, her speed gaining with every pass. Dust kicks up until she vanishes behind it.


    The air is so thick it looks like I''m back in the western deserts, marching with my fellow soldiers and shoulder to shoulder with Seamil to claim the rights of the kingdom, eddies of sand whipping all around.


    Suddenly, a swirl forms and grows before me, sending out tentacles that drift like weeds in the sea. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    This must be a nightmare. It surely must.


    Raising the pumping heart, it soon crumbles to dust and joins the growing arms, which start to thrash and warp.


    And before I know it, I see a nose, then a chin, then flowing hair.


    Fey.


    Looking at the beautiful face of my only love, I reach out but she''s too far away. I try to move but my legs won''t shift.


    I''m so sorry, dear. My anger got the best of me as always. Please forgive me.


    I reach out for Fey again but another figure joins her, swirls of dust cascading down to form his cloak.


    My elixirman.


    The two stare at each other as if lovers before resting their eyes on me, an aura of pity and guilt washing over them. But their features soon turn sinister as if I''ve set my sights on the Night Cleaver himself. They open their mouths and burst forth the most heinous, spine-tingling of laughs. A laugh that ruffles the now existent antlered giants above.


    In a flash, the two disappear in an eruption, yet the particles soon conjugate once again to form another.


    It''s a young woman. I don''t recognize her face, her blue eyes seemingly resting on her high rosy cheeks, yet I recognize the clothes she''s wearing. A yellow flowery dress but there are no tears or cuts in it and it''s not drenched in blood.


    I remember her name. It was Collette. She was the second victim of the Night Cleaver.


    The young woman distorts, her dress transforming into a ruby gown with puffed sleeves before her features recast into someone older, the third victim of the Night Cleaver. With greying hair billowing from her wrinkling powdered mask, it''s the first time seeing her face too.


    Without realizing, all the victims of the Night Cleaver start to churn before me, the last being the woman from the park.


    ''I''m sorry,'' I yell. And again, it''s not my voice and it screams instead, ''I''ll gut you all.''


    But then the dust in the hollow falls back to the ground in a crash, as if someone had just cut its string. Gnisqua still gallops but quickly turns back into the king''s steed, the flames rushing to the fire.


    Is this nightmare over?


    Yet ease doesn''t come.


    The king''s steed stops before me, snorts madly and begins to stomp her front hooves.


    She''s frightened. But of what?


    Another sound rings in my ears. A sound I know all too well. It''s the clanking of armour plating.


    It''s right there that I see several boots appear on the tops of the walls of the hollow from the darkness above. And the boots stretch into legs that contort into dragon scales.


    Bandors. Many of them.


    I''m surrounded again.


    ''To disrespect His Greatness,'' says one of them, his greasy dark hair shimmering like black pearl, ''is to die a painful death. His Greatness wants your head as decoration and we will retrieve it.''


    ''I dare you to try,'' I bellow back. And in a blur, I leap to my feet and brandish my sword. ''I''ll gut you all, swines.''


    A howling bandor meets my rage. Our weapons clash, sparks flying with contact. I dip. I swerve. I dodge. I pivot.


    I feel alive. I feel immortal. I feel at peace.


    I play with him for a while before spinning around, evading his lunge, and planting my blade into his back. And I don''t rip it out cleanly but thrust it through his upper body and head.


    Blood spurts.


    Flanking me, two more bandors come to dance. But with a slash, I decapitate one swiftly before targeting the arms of the other. I swing and swing again, his limbs floundering to the ground. He screeches in agony but he fights on, though feeble it is.


    Admirable, I must say, but his weak kicks quickly bore me. I hit him with my hilt and he crumbles to his knees. I finish him off by impaling his eye, the squelch it renders giving me utmost satisfaction.


    Now the rest charge.


    A worthy challenge.


    With speed, I sweep at three, severing their legs at the knees before the others rain down on me with their weapons. And again, I shirk and evade, deciding to have some more amusement.


    I plunge my weapon into the ground before clawing wildly, like some rabid creature. I grab a face, gouge my fingers into the jaw and rip. The head splits apart, the cracking of the skull echoing inside my mind. And brains fall, fouling my hands.


    Another head is next. And I squeeze and squeeze, it caving in with a mighty crush. Then I swing my arms, wrap them around a neck and constrict like a snake until it parts. And as the beheaded body thumps to the ground, my eyes descend on the two remaining lunging towards me.


    I grab my sword, take aim and slash, my blade sending a weapon flying. I then kick, dropping its owner to the ground before finishing off with a heel to the crown. One more kick pounds crotch and I too send its owner to the afterlife with a thrust to the heart.


    I roar in delight, my body yearning to spill more blood. But as I scan for more enemies, I see none, all the bandors dead and lying mutilated at my feet. Though still craving, euphoria suddenly takes hold, making me cackle until my breath is taken away.


    I fall to the ground dizzy and the world goes blank.