Grubs felt the fire. He felt the heat as if it was more than a physical thing.
It swarmed his mind and entered his body. It scorched his thoughts. Everything was a haze and he only had one purpose.

His entire life had peaked at finding Aldren.
For his family. For his friends. Aldren was key.

Grubs was so focused that he did not feel the steel.
It entered his back, pushing past the little armor he wore, and into yielding flesh.

But. Grubs continued on. The sensation simply combined with the fire. The pain was felt and deemed unnecessary and inconsequential. It did not serve a purpose. The second and third stabs were ignored as well. They didn’t matter. But, the fourth and fifth did.

Grubs body, toned and strong from use and discipline, failed. First, he sunk to one knee and then another. A foot pressed into his back to pull out the sword. Grubs could feel the wielder lift it up to deliver the final blow. But, Grubs continued to look forward. He kept his head raised in out of the blood-created muck and saw his goal.

Aldren had stepped out of his tent.
A silver glow was about him. It permeated his clothes, hair, and skin.

To Grubs, it proved that he was right.
His struggle to get to Aldren was true for Aldren was truly blessed.
His life was not in vain.

And, then, the sword fell.
Through the skin, flesh, and bone, Grubs’ head was cleaved from his shoulders.
His blood added to the muck. His eyes never closed. Aldren, his forced (?) savior, is the last image burned on his dying mind.


————-

Aldren recognized the man who had fallen at his feet.
There was something about his wide brown eyes. His lips pressed together as he briefly struggled with a name before surrendering. If the man served a purpose and was important, he would know his name.

Aldren nudged the man’s head with his boot, grimacing a little at how the color of his eyes matched the muck in the fire’s glow.
No. He must not have been that important.

His attention turned to the scene around him.
At this point, most of his men were dead or had somehow made it out of the camp. Fire had mostly consumed the tents. There were a few cries and wails from those soon to be dead. Smokey flesh scented air hung heavy. It reminded Aldren of the village that they had passed… the one with the child.

The monsters created from men’s shadows ignored Aldren. They feasted on the dead. Some laughed and danced in the destruction. Others seemed a bit bored since the attack was all but complete. They seemed, to Aldren, half-heartedly look for survivors. Their job was done.

Aldren shouldered his pack and started for the road. He walked unopposed and unnoticed through the sludge. The quiet cries did not shake his resolve. The shadows did not shake him.

Aldren simply walked away.