Day 9


We seized the town.

The fighting was hard as hell.

The Skratti had occupied strong positions, and they were waiting for us. The road through town was the only way to the armory and the food stored nearby.

And we needed both.

Apparently, the Skratti knew it, too.

They took the high ground, putting down heavy fire that drove us to seek cover behind battered buildings and dead men.

While they kept us down, they brought in the orcs.

They were clad in armored plate and armed with cudgels, and they came out of the rubble swinging.

That was fine.

I came out swinging too.

Marius directed the snipers, pushing the Skratti back from the windows and rooftops. Mikkelsen and Pedersen had the younger men fix bayonets, and they followed me into the street.

The first orc came at me, laughing, skin grey and teeth green, tongue a disturbingly bright red. He called out to me in a language harsh and cruel and lifted his cudgel in both greeting and challenge.

I raised my hammer, and we stepped in close.

The orc could fight.

His comrades formed a half-circle around him, and my Danes a half-circle around me. A few rounds came in from the Skratti, but the shooters were quickly silenced.

When the orc spoke again, it was in a dialect of Norse I’d learned at my father’s knee.

“We could smell thee, Blood.”

“And how do I smell?”

“Like dinner.”

“Fair enough.”

Without any word or cry, we strode in and fought.

The bastard was good.

His first blow caught me in the left shoulder and knocked it out of the socket, sending me stuttering to the right and forcing me down to one knee. As he came in close, I shifted my weight away from his next blow and shattered his left knee, dropping him to the ground.

His orcs surged forward, but he waved them off with one hand while swinging at me.

I stepped up and away, slamming my hammer into my shoulder and putting it back in place.

The orc got to one foot, dragging his injured leg.

“If I die, they shalt murder all,” he hissed.

“If you die, we’ll kill them all.”

“A threat or a promise, Blood?” he asked.

“I don’t make threats.”

The hammer crushed his helmet and drove the iron into his skull.

I kept my promise.

#Denmark #supernatural #monsters #paranormal

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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