"Two Monsters" by Ben C. Brannan

Two Monsters

A single man stood ankle deep in the blood of war. The deep red liquid slowly seethed, running gently down the hill where it collected into a small pool. Standing waist deep in the pool was a man fully clad in plate mail. A beautiful woman was slung across his shoulder. Through the slits of the helmet, the armored man grinned. They were alone. Not on the frontlines, but rather at the back. They had been on the frontlines and their survival proved their supreme skills.

“I see you survived again, Blade.” The voice traveled on the wind to the man on the hill.

Blade wore only a left shoulder pauldron, a giant piece of armor that extended down to his elbow. The weight would have been staggering, more so due to the massive sword strapped to the man’s back. It was at least 6 feet long and a further 3 inches wide.

“As have you, Grendel.”

The breeze ruffled Blade’s hair. Grendel lowered the woman; the only woman Blade had ever loved. With unspoken agreement and only the slightest nod, the men charged.

Blade unsheathed his massive sword with ease, something that should have been impossible to lift. Grendel took out his colossal double-headed battle-axe, intricate designs and skulls etched into its surface in the shape of screaming demons. Both men got their names from their weapons.

They met briefly; a shower of sparks the only vestige from contact. Blade swung and blocked an attack from Grendel, sliding his sword across the axe head and bringing it up for an overhead swing. Grendel mimicked the attack and the weapons met, edge on edge, in more sparks.

The ruthless attacks continued. Blade lapsed into memory, letting his instincts take over. He saw a younger version of Grendel, laughing and playing. They were playing together… In the blink of an eye, he was now a teenager and he could feel the tension between them. They were rivals. It had happened almost overnight. From the dark depths of consciousness came the memory of Grendel leaving him, Blade… and his return with thousands of armed men. He was the only one to escape the massacre of his town. The blood ran ankle deep then too.

With a full-hearted swing, he smashed his sword into Grendel’s own axe, Blade’s full weight behind it. They both slipped in the blood and slid down the hill, into the pool. Grendel’s axe slid away from him as he rolled. He surfaced from the blood and tried to scramble away. He stopped near the edge and… waited. Unarmed.

Blade erupted from the pool in a shower of blood. He raised his sword high and stared into the fearful eyes of Grendel. He was scared, but Blade’s eyes showed no mercy, no pity and no empathy. Within his eyes rested years of pent up hatred, anger that had seared across his soul like fire across the flesh. Everything seemed to hang on this one second, a second which seemed to last an eternity. But the hatred didn’t retreat. Hatred never retreats.

Blade brought the tip of the sword down in a final, accurate stab, through the plate mail, into flesh and bone and into the ground underneath.

He breathed deeply and looked around for the woman. After only a few seconds of searching he began to panic. He thrashed around in the blood, crying out to her, trying to do the impossible and avoid wondering what could have happened to her. She had to be there…

Realization dawned like cold ice spiraling down his spine. Numb with fear, he waded back to Grendel and pulled the sword from the corpse. He rolled Grendel away.

When he had stabbed Grendel, the sword had indeed pierced armor, flesh and bone. The blade had been thrust straight through Grendel’s body.

The woman had been hidden behind Grendel.

The war had claimed one more life. She was dead.