The closer he got to the village, the more his gut twisted.
An odd flutter in his stomach — not quite fear, not quite excitement.
Something darker.
"Smells like blood," he muttered, licking the dry air.
"Too much… and soaked in hatred."
A smile tugged at the corner of his cracked lips.
"Uhh... I'm almost feeling alive."
Now he stood at the village gate.
At this hour, they should've been asleep — all of them.
But the entire village was awake, gathered in the center like moths to a funeral flame,
shouting that cursed name in ragged voices:
"Go0oD! Go0dDd save us!"
The moment he heard it, his skin crawled.
Goosebumps.
His blades — curved and strange, strapped to his back like hungry beasts —
rattled against their bindings.
Like thirsty dogs, they twitched, begging to be unsheathed,
to tear those syllables out of the villagers' mouths.
His breath grew heavy.
Foam clung to the corners of his lips.
His face — shifting.
Not quite human anymore.
And with every step he took toward the crowd, the torchlight stretched his shadow longer,
twisting it, shaping it.
Not a man.
A monster.