All The Toxic Waste From My Heart by Kevin Strange

Author:Kevin Strange [Strange, Kevin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kevin The Strange Fiction
Published: 2016-09-16T18:30:00+00:00

***

The barbarian woke screaming. His blood boiled. Sweat drenched his body. It took several moments to gather his bearings.

He was still in the canyon. Taking ragged breaths, he felt across his midsection, finding it intact. He breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a dream. A fever dream.

His memories flooded his mind.

The lich. Yes. She was real. She had attacked his mercenaries as they marched home in victory after vanquishing the cruel wizard Haramond for his atrocities against the bird people of Dorchhun. Their king had paid a hefty ransom for the head of Haramond, and Korek's warriors meant to spend every last coin of it.

Still drunk on mead and wench from the night before, the pack of barbarians fell victim to the lich woman as they sang songs and washed cock at the river Rickendale. The images of his men being struck down in an instant by the powerful witch swam across Korek's fever-pickled mind.

He still heard their screaming as the redheaded demoness single-handedly broke them one by one, maiming them where they stood while Korek watched helplessly from the middle of the river; one moment he dunked his head beneath the waves to wash his hair, the next, before he could even wipe the water from his eyes, half his men already lay in bloodied heaps at the river bank.

By the time he drew the Moonblade from its sheath upon his back and waded to shore, the others had been similarly incapacitated. Not killed. No, they each lay with broken back, shattered knee, twisted neck or other such malady that rendered them helpless but very much alive.

Korek pointed the Moonblade at the lich as he climbed out of the river. “I'll have your head for this, wench. And all three of your tits.”

That was the end of his memories. A yawning blackness lay between that moment and this, revealing none of its secrets.

The barbarian tried to get up but felt an enormous weight tug against him. The arm the lich had stolen in his fever dream. Panicking again, he reached out tentatively, fearing what he might or might not find. His finger tips rested on cold metal.

Korek looked down. Even in the dark, cold valley night, the moonlight reflected off the steel, giving it a blue glow.

The Moonblade.

But how could that be? The shape that dug into his body, that penetrated his skin at various jagged, tendril-like points was gigantic. Thick as a barrel, Korek looked on astonished and sick to his stomach as he traced the hulking piece of twisted metal with his eyes. There must have been ten feet of steel grafted to his shoulder where his right arm should have been.

He tried again to stand, but that only caused the heavy metal to dig deeper into his flesh. Trapped like a rabid Relk, he groped around on the ground with his free hand, finding a thick stone. Without another thought, he bashed it against the point of connection between flesh and steel, sending excruciating

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