Damien met the multitudes of piercing gazes focused on him. Their abhorrent appearance unsettled him slightly the closer they approached him. His arms tensed—he was ready.
One of the undead that swayed towards him was the first to meet his fist that whipped towards the side of its face.
BAM!
His strike caused it to stumble back, and puss-like fluid from underneath its rotting flesh leaked out from under it. His fist then flashed out once again to another that replaced the undead.
With a large twist of his upper body, his gauntlet shot out like a cannonball—a rusty cannonball.
BAM! CRACK!
His fist slammed into its skull, cracking it and shattering it under the force of his blow—causing it to explode. Such was the result of organic matter weakening over the passage of time.
[You have slain a stained creature, Undead.]
Whatever brain matter there was inside it splashed upon his face; if he was capable of gagging, it would soon lead to vomiting. He was glad about his inability to smell this repugnant substance.
Using the back of his hand, he wiped his face. He felt disgusted about the feeling of it smearing against his face.
He took a short glance at the pop-up before ignoring it entirely; more important matters were at hand than a mysterious floating screen. He scanned the army of undead, their weak and frail body strengthened by their numbers—he could only see two ways this could end.
'A. I will be delusional and think I can win against an army of two hundred. Or B. Be plan ahead...'
He pumped his arms like pistons before raising them into a stance, ready to engage in yet another brawl. Even though he knew his chances were slim to none with his current battle power, he was willing to make an effort to increase it.
A skeleton from the mass strolled forward, its arms by its side, dangling like a pendulum. It raised its head towards its target. The feeling of its face being tightly gripped then suddenly appeared.
Damien dashed forward and grabbed onto the undead by its head before chucking it towards those behind it, clearing through like a bowling ball crashing into pins.
The undead's body rag-dolled in the air, crashing heavily into those queueing up behind it to get a crack at bringing Damien down. Its weak joints hold it together, detach and explode like some sort of shrapnel.
[You have slain a stained creature, Undead]
The undead around it, fortunate enough not to be the victim of being bowling pins, synchronically stared at it before looking back to the one who caused the mess.
A deep red light permeated into the surroundings from the eyes of the causer, repelling against the dark forest green that resides in every single undead apart from it in the room.
Under the darkness of the room and the mysterious painting of the angel on the ceiling that stared down at them, there were only two colours that seemed to exist in this world of violence that would continue to get exponentially more brutal.
Damien stared with discontent. Subtle red streaks stretched out from within the two small orbs acting as his eyes. "What're you waiting for?" He asked with contempt.
He then glanced towards Howrah, who continued to watch them with an amused look on his face—clearly entertained. For him, what he was watching was equivalent to a child imagining the scenes while playing with his toys.
"Your master commands you to fight. Stop standing around."
Like a dam had been broken with the power of his words, they all rushed towards him in large waves. Those with weapons brandished them against him, those with armour used their body as shields for others, and those without none threw themselves at him like cannon fodder.
Damien did whatever he could to hold out against the seemingly never-ending horde...
[You have slain a stained creature, Undead]
[You have slain a stained creature, Undead]
[You have slain a stained creature, Undead]
[You have slain a stained creature...]
...But was ultimately unsuccessful, for despite his arms flying towards them like a hurricane, slamming and smashing against their brittle bones and soft and sticky bodies, the power behind numbers was too much for him.
Damien leaned away from the horde before suddenly witnessing a wall of arms reaching towards him. He took a half step back before feeling something stopping him.
He took a glance back before widening his eyes. His eyes glowed with rage as the one preventing his dodge was an archer he had come to trust.
PAT! PAT! PAT!
The archer patted his bad, almost like it was comforting him, before bringing back its arm and slamming its fist into the side of his jaw. His head snapped to the side, his body being knocked back towards the horde.
The wall of arms that flailed and crawled towards him painted an image of a creature of some kind of abyss. A creature with a hundred arms and eery eyes to go with it.
A nightmare, he would call it.
As the wall of arms got a hold of his body, they began to pull against him and tear him apart.
He held in the painful yelp that threatened to escape his gritting jaws. The feeling of the gaps between his joints slowly enlarging caused him to fall into a great panic as he thrashed about like a child having a tantrum.
The pain felt like someone sticking a knife into your joint and wiggling it around, lodging the knife further in while also separating the connection.
With a stronghold by the many, they cuffed his arms behind his back with their hands and pushed him against the ground. Their bony and chilling fingers gripping his armour—pulling it off his body.
The very thing that he could truly call a trusted ally was now being torn away from him, the light in his eyes burning furiously before calming down, 'All part of the plan...' He reassured himself before having to endure a session of them trying to detach his limbs from his body.