One-Armed Beasthunter by Hardy E.M. & Freaks LitRPG

Author:Hardy, E.M. & Freaks, LitRPG
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: One-Armed Beasthunter
Published: 2022-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Fer’s luck ran out when he snuck around to circle the camp, trying for an angle that would let him see the main grouping of tents. He was hoping to find how many of the men were infected, and how the others were dealing with it. If the throbbing in his arm was anything to go by, their sickness should only be growing worse by the moment.

He was so intent on discovering a good angle while avoiding the remaining stragglers from patrol that he almost stepped on one of the guards who had dropped to his hands and knees to cast up his accounts in the bushes nearby.

In his scramble not to put his foot on the man’s hand, Fer tripped and sent them both sprawling. It gave him an up-close look of the throbbing, green-tingled pustules that covered one side of the man’s face, the smell of acid sweet vomit and putrid flesh enough to make him gag. It also gave the man a good look at Fer, and he managed one hoarse cry of warning before [Slashing Claws] tore through the front of his throat and covered Fer in a wash of scalding hot blood.

The trouble was, Hanna hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that one man couldn’t fight two dozen men on his own, and hope to survive. So, while the group that descended as Fer heaved the dead guard off of him and scrambled to his feet were all covered in throbbing, oozing pustules, they were also armored, well trained, and furious.

Fer did his best, lashing out with his [Pike Form], or his [Slashing Claws] when they got in too close with their swords. And as it turned out, the [Razor Scales] he acquired from the horrific bird Beast worked well to deflect a blade, he still felt every blow through his arm and up into his shoulder.

In moments, Fer was sweating through his clothing, scrambling madly not to be surrounded and completely overwhelmed. A painfully deep cut burned across his ribs and painted his side in scarlet. His heart pounded in his head, in his throat. He could taste blood in his mouth, heavy and metallic.

They were working together, working to tire him, whittling him down by inches. Fer’s breath burned in his chest. There was a stitch lodged up under his ribs, searing like a spear tip. Sand caked the side of his face, dry and itchy, and Fer knew that one wrong move, one too long hesitation, and they’d put him on the ground permanently.

The pulsing in his arm grew stronger, distracting. Fer missed one swing, claws clanking off of a hardened leather breastplate instead of sinking into the soft flesh of the man’s throat as muscles twitched in time together. It felt like a warning, like the arm was counting down the few heartbeats he had remaining.

Sweat slid down his face, salt burning his eyes as Fer’s back slammed up against rock, and he realized they’d herded him up against the mountain where he wouldn’t be able to duck or dodge.

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