Queen Killer by M. H. Johnson

Author:M. H. Johnson [Johnson, M. H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-19T22:00:00+00:00

16

The night rang with the screams of the dying and John’s heightened senses were overwhelmed by the stench of ruptured corpses and Plague Queens both, the back of his throat thick with the coppery tang of blood. It was a torment that both enraged and sickened him.

He trod softly upon cobblestones slick with blood as he made his way towards the keep proper, carefully eyeing the entranceway for traps or ambush points. John hissed when he caught sight of a man resting upon a spear, though a single blink revealed instead the remains of a guardsman that had been so brutally savaged that only his face, locked forever in an expression of horror, and a portion of his chest remained. The dead flesh had been propped up on a spike like a gruesome sentinel, warning away any who would dare intrude.

He forced himself to go on, sickened by what he saw in the courtyard before the central keep.

It was a charnel house.

His eyes widened at the sight of a dozen decapitated heads put on casual display before the entrance. Some had been mutilated, others were in pristine condition save for the ragged stumps of their necks, and each and every face was a study in agony. The pain they had undergone… inconceivable, if the remains scattered about the courtyard were any indication. Limbs had been wrenched free of their sockets. Still steaming piles of entrails dotted the area as well.

But of torsos, John saw not a trace. Perhaps Lilith had devoured them all.

John shook with rage, charging for the keep entrance.

The gate was raised, almost as if his enemies were expecting him.

He could hear the final shrieks and wails of villagers dying inside.

Clenching his blade in a hot grip, he forced himself to hold, to resist charging into madness just long enough to pluck free a handful of spike-laden burrs from one of the many thorny vines dotting the courtyard before proceeding inside, as stealthily as his mounting fury would allow.

The entrance hall was a horrific display of futile struggle and darkest retaliation. He saw no trace of fallen revenant, only what were perhaps the remains of a desperate house guard, their bodies slammed against shattered furniture, finery, and tapestries so brutally that John saw numerous cracked bricks and tiles from where the guards’ bodies had struck. All that was left were savaged heaps of suppurating flesh atop piles of shattered kindling.

Multiple fires had been set ablaze, though they did not spread far. The air reeked of burnt hair and the pork-like scent of sizzling human flesh.

John struggled not to heave, and failed, the stained tiles soon flooded with a fresh stream of bile as he retched, a physical torment made all the worse by the psychological terror that he would be attacked in his one moment of unforgivable weakness.

But no foes approached.

Only desperate screams, echoing through the massive keep.

Endless seconds later, John lurched to his feet, washing out his mouth with the water flask at his hip before forcing himself onward.

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