Chapter 12: The Butcher

Kaius all but flew backwards out of the lodge, desperate to avoid a scenario where the giant undead could box him in and bring its obvious strength to bear. Dread shot through him as he took in the size of the undead. It made him look small, and he had no doubt that its monstrous cleaver would make short work of any sort of defence he could field against it.

His only chance was to rely on mobility and positioning to see him through the fight. If he even could. He blanched at the thought of the casual contempt on its face as it rose from its throne. The damned thing had moved with decidedly more grace than the other undead he had fought.

As his feet touched down on the dusty rock that made up the cave floor, Kaius heard great rattling thumps echo through and out of the hunting lodge. Seeming to almost shake the foundation of the building itself, each thundering reverberation reaching into his chest to set a cold grip on his heart.

The Bloodsong was still there, keeping his blood roaring hot. But it was muted. Tempered by primal feelings that screamed out, urging retreat to a long forgotten canopy in the face of something long of teeth and strong of claw.

Reaching the centre of the compound, Kaius took a long and slow breath, pushing the lances of ice that crept up his extremities to the back of his mind. Focusing on the battle ahead. There would be no room for mistakes. Not against a true monstrosity like this.

He settled into his stance, legs slightly bent and his grip on his spear firm but loose.

Great, grey fingers gripped the top of the lodge’s door frame, aged wood splintering as the sausage sized digits clenched. Kaius’s stomach dropped as the Champion stooped, bowing its head to fit through the building’s entrance. Its cleaver dragging along the floor with a terrible screech of tortured stone.

It crossed the veranda, tanning wracks shattering like kindling in the passage of its inexorable bulk.

Standing at the threshold, it stared at him again. Cold malevolence glimmering in its eyes as a rictus grin split its diseased face. Kaius took a sharp breath, stoking the forge of battle-lust that had been growing within him over every brush with death he’d had since getting trapped in the Depths.

“Meat.” It spoke. The words rumbled across the intervening space, a timbre of tortured metal rattling deep in Kaius’s chest.

The champion lifted its oversized cleaver with a slow grace, slapping the sharpened slab of iron into its opposing palm with a great thwack.

A wooden stair splintered as it kicked off the veranda, the Champion charging him with the unhindered momentum of a raging bull. Kaius kept his eyes locked on the undead, ready to react.

Its great strides ate up the distance between them quickly. It was fast.

Raising its cleaver high, the Champion chopped. Kaius danced to the side. The slab of iron bit deep into the cave floor, stone shards leaving stinging bites as chipped stone showered his face.

He counterattacked instantly, lancing the undead in the arm with his boar-spear. Kaius tried to follow it up with a second stab to its exposed face, but was forced to dodge when the Butcher sliced at him with casual ease.

He didn’t even try to parry the blow. With its obvious strength, his spear might as well have been a toothpick.

The Champion lashed out again, air whistling as its cleaver blurred towards him. Dipping back, Kaius repositioned, trying to harry the undead with a flurry of quick strikes. It managed to ward off some with sweeping parries, but for all its strength and increased coordination nothing could make such a weighty weapon as deft as his spear.

Small cuts and shallow stabs marred the chest and arms of the undead, small rivulets of thick running blood leaking from the wounds. Kaius watched the injuries intensely, relief washing through him when he saw that they didn’t heal. Thank the gods for that, it would be challenging enough to whittle down the creature without having to burn through a pool of restorative energy.

Lunging, the Champion snatched toward him with a plate sized hand, trying to grab him with a fatal grip.

A sharp slide back just barely brought Kaius out of its range. He quickly retaliated with a warding stab that ground against the bones in its palm.

Roaring in frustration it slammed its cleaver into the stone floor at an angle, showering Kaius with stone shards and dust. His eyes welled up, forcing him to blink rapidly in an attempt to clear the sudden irritants.

He threw himself backwards, a water stained impression the only warning he had of the giant’s follow up slash. Landing on his side, he rolled with his momentum, rising to his feet in a single fluid movement. The Champion was already charging towards him.

He took the momentary reprieve to clear his eyes, dodging another cleaver strike and retaliating with a slash that carved a line of weeping black through its pustule-ridden shoulder.

All distractions were forgotten now. Blood running hot, his senses hyper focused on the target in front of him. Kaius fell deeper into the Bloodsong with gusto, feeling the rushing need to fight.

The Butcher growled in fury, venting its malevolent aggression with a slash at his torso. Kaius slipped to the side, the blow whistling past him. Before he could retaliate, it moved with the momentum of its swing, bringing its cleaver around again.

And again.

And again.

Continuously Kaius gave ground to the Depths-spawn’s fast flow of heaving strength and cutting iron. They moved around the natural stone courtyard, the Champion unable to corner him. Failing to force him into a position where he would be unable to dodge. Yet Kaius was equally as unable to penetrate the whirling offence to punish the assault.

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Suddenly the blows stopped, the Champion’s face twisting into an expression of hatred that chilled the blood.

Its chest heaved as it opened its rotten mouth wide, shoulders pushing back as it inhaled. A great howl left its throat, a sound of ravenous consumption. The air shimmered as the sound hit Kaius like a physical wall. Something sank its way into his ears, pushing into his mind.

He could feel it. Stoking a primal fear. Encouraging his heart to race, his stomach to shrivel, suffusing his mind and body with a sickly, rotten terror. Calling to mind the final paralysing moment when the beast tears into your entrails, and you know there is nothing, nothing, you can do to fight or run. So you lie still, terror drenched, and die.

A sob caught in his throat, pupils dilating.