At midnight

This story contains themes or references to physical violence, blood, or abuse.  

The air is warm and dense. It clings to me like a blanket fresh from the river, placed over the fire until it is warm,  then draped over my shoulders. It weighs me down, panting in my chest. But none of the villagers can see him. None of them must ever see this. 

The villagers must never know how my hands are shaking right now. They must never hear the pounding of my heart that makes my ribs tremble or the ringing in my ears. They must never know the terror that fills me as I stand, waiting for  death to fly away with torn wings. 

No, what they need to see is that I am waiting to save you. I shall see the gleam of broken and battered armor in the sun, the gleam of a freshly sharpened sword. Power the statue of a knight who came to save them from the horror of darkness. Never mind that I was the only fool, foolish enough to accept the coin in exchange for my life, under the false pretense that more of my brothers in arms  stand with me at the gates of hell. The villagers  only have to see my strength, whether it is fictitious or not. 

 Even now I can see the edges of the portal from where I stand alone on the bridge above its  white trails, the  reds and oranges of the vortex turning in an irregular arc just above the trees. I can only marvel at the number of animals that managed to get through. How many of them will rush towards the inhabitants of this small river town? How many of them will venture further into the wilderness, only to find an unconscious traveler in the dark? 

 I can't help  travelers or  adventurers who one day find themselves at the end of their rope. 

I can only help the villagers behind me now.  Behind me, those unfortunates who were born, live and work only a few kilometers from the open portal of hell, are trying to collect everything they have. Some villagers have already escaped, turning  and running at the first sign of danger. They are the smartest. Others, who rely heavily on the fact that unstable magical portals cannot stay open for  long and  collapse soon after they appear, are now too obsessed with their possessions to run for their lives. 

As sad as it sounds, I can't hate them for it. Their lives are worth more than the hearts that beat in their chests and the blood that flows in their veins. 

They are almost finished, I know, almost ready to leave, but as the rotating side of the portal begins to weaken and crumble, a part of me knows that the tide is coming. The portal to hell  has been open for days. Whenever the mayor of this small native house had time  to warn the lord and lady and send a message to the knights of the kingdom. So much so that the knights themselves, all but me, refuse to help.  I should have refused the offer with  my other brothers. I should have told them to run as far as they could or face the wrath of hell. 

But I couldn't. 

I never could. 

 I love them so much.  A crying mother. A scared child. A man willing to fight beside me with nothing but a stick. I, the only trained  and noble soldier, ready to protect them  a hundred miles from the hordes of monsters that come to maim, kill, rape and plunder, so, I hope. No, he could never  deny them. Many of my brothers in arms see them as  cattle, but I can see the men, women and children that they are.  They don't fall until I do. 

I will give it time.  

Time to escape. 

 Time to live. 

 And I will pay  with my blood and my  life.  A telltale purple light shimmers in the air like an oil slick on the surface of the water, the last burst of magic from the collapsed portal. Part of me feels relief, knowing that the portal to hell  is finally closed and whatever passes is all there will be. But the other part of me, the one whose hands tremble with terror, knows that before the portal is opened, the beasts will surely come out in search of warmth and life. With their connection to the underworld, the denizens of the deep come for blood. 

 I add the sword, lift it  from the ground and put it into action. The only blood they will taste will be theirs or mine. 

 No one falls as long as I live. 

A strange silence falls over the world. The wind fails to whisper through the trees. The waves lap softly against the river rocks despite the river's current, too frightened to notice the coming attack. I can only hear my breath in the earpiece and… 

"QUICK! The shout over my shoulder: 'You have to go now!'" 

A cacophony of creaking wood behind me tells me that the villagers, who had been silent to the rest of the world, have recovered. I look over my shoulder and see that they are  about to finish loading the carts. They  only need fifteen minutes ahead. 

Fifteen minutes. When a given battle lasts no more than a minute or two.  Easy. 

 A clash in the trees ahead  challenges that  thought. It seems as if this single word silence, inviting the wrath of the gods, draws the animals to us. I can see from where I stand on the bridge, the branches snapped and the trees bowing to a force beyond. Absently, it occurs to me that the creatures should just use the road, and I can’t help but laugh. If they were  civilized like the rest of us,  I don't think they would be employed to die by their hands. 

A moment later, emerging from the tree line, I see the first of the monstrosities. She leaps forward, plucks a sapling from the ground, lands on two legs like a man before falling to all fours like the beast she is. His flesh is stained red,  with large purple spots that remind me of the liver spots on the old king's head before his death. His body is big and muscular, like that of a man, if he were eight feet  and weighed two hundred kilos. Each muscular arm and leg is adorned with tiny, stubby claws, each easily  a foot long. Twenty swords to  one, I marvel; I think it will be a fair fight in the end, I think so. Its mouth, long and bulbous like a wolf's, resembles the beast in every way, except for the length of its teeth, each the length of my dagger and protruding from its jaws at strange, crazy angles. 

 The monster tilts its head, looking at me,  alone on the bridge, before heading towards the village beyond. Its mouth splits into a horrible mixture of smiles and I know  this is my last moment of rest. The creature's head tilts towards the sky and,  like the wolf that this thing seems to have stolen its mouth from, it lets out a terrifying howl towards the sky. The shrill howl has nothing to do with the elegant and plaintive howl of a wolf, but  a howling soul trapped in the bowels of a roaring monster. 

Which I think is the case. 

Once again I adjust my stance, readying my sword for the next attack  as four more  beasts, each unique in their terrifying faces, some smaller and some larger, but all terrifying to behold at first, join the first monsters. Behind me, I hear the scream of one of the villagers, a woman who noticed the thing in the tree line and that's when the attack begins. The first beast stopped ahead, leaping from the tree line onto the solid stone of the bridge, followed by two more, a beast that looked like a hideous bipedal pig and another that reminded me of a featherless chicken. The wolf monster reaches me first, its terrifying claws extending faster than any knight I have dueled. My steel jingles as I catch them behind my blade. Another shot, this time deflected by my shield, sends sparks flying into the river below. 

 The creature is fast, yes, and terrifyingly strong, but it clearly counts on those points as well. I rely on my brute strength and power to prevail over me.  

At least I'm not the only idiot on this deck anymore.  

A third attack from the horrible creature, and I let my shield get knocked into a corner by the thing's claws. Lifting one leg, I prepare to spin and with the force of the other attack, I push myself into place, bringing my sword against the beast's neck. 

 I don't even have to make an effort to shake it off. That beast  cut off his head  as I used the force of his attack on him. 

The monster's black blood splatters onto the cobblestones and the wolf's head rolls wetly from his shoulders, leaping off the  low walls of the bridge and  into the raging river below. The two creatures that follow him soon notice the death of his friend, instead of trying to use the confusion to pass me. To reach the country beyond.  

It seems there  are really only fools on this deck. Still reeling from the initial attack, I raise my sword  to catch the pigman on the shoulder and with my shield raised, I slam the piece of steel and wood into the  chicken demon's twisted beak. Every cry is a cry of pain, its plan to defeat me destroyed in a single move. It allows me to stop in my tracks, reaching out to grab the chicken beast in the ribs as I draw my sword  and begin to slash at the pigman. The cuts I make are messy and bad enough that my instructors in years past would have made me run the length of a field in my full armor for hours as punishment, but for these equally untrained monstrosities, the opening it leaves doesn't matter. . . 

It's meat, and I'm the butcher. I move away from the  pile of broken, blood-blackened pig to attack my next assailant. The shield and  kick were enough to unbalance the beast, but I was too careless. Very lazy. It is already ready to attack, and the beast rushes towards me, cutting me with half a  dozen blades. I managed to catch two of them with my sword and they crashed into my steel armor, cutting  like a blade through the fabric. Hot red blood flowed from the torn armor. Part of me is surprised that the impact didn't separate my member from my body, but I don't have  time to wonder. I leaned back against the four claws gripping my blade, twisting violently and allowing the mass of the beast to throw me off balance. She falls a little. It's not much, but enough. My blade rises, slashing at his throat, before tearing the shard of steel into a pool of black blood, spinning it around and  back into the stained nape. 

A second head joins the first in the river. 

 With a shaky breath, I looked up, trying not to focus on the burning pain in my arm, to see the tree line and the end of the crowded bridge. Hundreds of beasts of various shapes and sizes, each terrifying and hellish to behold, stared at me. Part of me wonders what they are waiting for and why they haven't helped their countrymen, but another part knows exactly why. The middle beast, a hideous pig-like creature, grunts and cackles. She raises her hand, barks something with a guttural tongue, and the real attack begins. 

God help me. 

 One of them comes quickly, and I kill him with a clean shot. Another takes my shield, but I cut off his legs. Something hits me in the head, ringing  like a bell before I knock it out. My sword finds the throat of another lunging monster, its teeth bared and aimed at my now exposed skull. peak I am blocked. I objected. I cut I avoid. i move i move I objected. To block. To move. Oscillation. Parry. Oscillation. My world consists of growing bodies, sharp claws, deadly fangs and red and black blood. I feel every animal blade piercing my armor, slice through my members and  face and piercing my body. But I don't fall. I felt their bodies give way under the force of my skill and my sword. And no one saves me, a dozen of them try. But no one does. 

But soon it doesn't matter anymore. 

My  wounds, though not fatal at the time, piled up. I'm pushed back, my steel threads running along the springs of monstrous ichor. I can't stand in front of them. For every hundred people I kill, a thousand run ahead, trying their best to cross my bridge. They can't cross the river because no demon can enter the white water, but it doesn't matter soon. 

I see behind me a look, perhaps the last I have of the country and its villagers before the disaster. I can see them moving. The carts turn around and start to leave. I just have to hold on. 

I'm just going to hold it here. 

"Lord, give me the strength to save them. Just one more minute," I begged softly. The sound is harsh and broken. My chest is boiling. From inside my punctured lungs. "Just one more minute." Please." 

A shout to my left tells me an attack is approaching. I've lost my shield somewhere in the fight and my sword is still lodged in the neck of another beast. I do the first thing that comes to mind, I shake my open fist. The gloved fist connects with the force of a battering ram, stopping the approaching monster in its tracks and crushing its face into its neck with a sickening crunch. It dies before it  hits the ground, which honestly takes a while due to the waves of bodies that keep trying to  reach me.  

The blade I hold is hot, and I cringe against it, but it’s no worse than the dozens of wounds piercing my body through my shattered armor. I squeeze it tighter and twist. The beast's head spins and  black blood sprays onto the burning gauntlet. Steam hissed from the blade and I realized that the heat was not a figment of my imagination. The blood, however cold and dirty, seems to cool the burning blade and, inspired, I look for a new way to cool it. With a powerful blow I tore off three of the monsters and  their vile ichor jet exploded in steam and gave me the relief I needed to get a better grip on my blade. 

Just need  better control. The blade is  too hot. 

 I punch repeatedly, desperately trying to keep the panic from taking over my skills and training. The blade cuts cleanly through the beasts before me as if they weren’t even there. Their blood pours over me, causing steam to erupt in all directions as the wild ichor finds no outlet. Mist begins to fill the air around us, tinged with the stinch of the underworld, as the rest of the blood flows in rivers  to the white water below. But with each shot, progress.  

With each blow they take a step back. 

Try as they might, the horde cannot defeat me. No matter how many wounds they inflict, they cannot kill me. As much as he tried to reach these villagers, so that they swore to protect him, even if they moved in carts  pulled slowly by very old oxen. The beasts of hell will never reach them.  

The villagers must never see me tremble. They must never see me feel terror. And they must never see me fall. For if I fall, hope falls with me. And hope springs eternal.  I am too. 

I like to imagine what  the last angry men and women saw, but I will never know; as I pushed the invading hordes back to the tree line on the other side of the bridge. I heard whispers of what it was. They say the knight in battered armor has begun to shine. And then it grows. That struck steel turned into gold, that  man  into a mountain, and that  knight  into a god. 

I will never know the truth. 

Yet I know that as the last beast fell before me, where it still stood, bewildered and bewildered, at the foot of the place where the gate of hell once stood, I turned my blade toward the earth , as I did when I did. I was waiting. I bent my knee, closed my eyes and slept forever, knowing that just a few kilometers away, the cries of the defenseless were being answered.

By Omnipoten

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