by Brent Rusinoski
According to myth and legend, a story forged in the cauldron of gore and sacrifice has been passed down from generation to generation within Polish folklore until the end of time. Only a tattered portion of an ancient scroll written in blood survives to tell this heroic tale today……
At the base of an active volcano, several miles from an abandoned village, in modern day Poland sits a desolate field, home to an unmarked ancient burial ground. This immense landscape held witness to a pivotal battle between man and an inconceivable horde of foul beasts and demons exclusively crafted to defile, pillage, and burn the realm of mortals. Every spring during the first heavy rainfall, a mysterious cloud, comprised of an unfathomable sum of restless souls, manifests and engulfs the summit of the volcano to reenact a battle of epic proportions. Both armies have been entombed in a cloud of perpetual conflict and will be until the end of time.
After a short period of time the swirling cloud gathers enough power and discharges its wrath upon the mountain side, impersonating the movements of an avalanche, as though, unshackling an inescapable plague. As the cloud roams for earthly souls to consume, faint war drums start to echo deep within its murky womb. By now a river of torches pours out of the volcanoes conniving mouth as if lava was flowing from it, generating a wake of demise and obliteration, illuminating the horrors into the unforgiving night sky. In other words, scores of innocent inhabitants are unavoidably devoured by the prowling fog of premeditated brutality. Feverish cries for help shower the surrounding landscape, invading ears far and wide. All the while, smoldering black smoke, reeking of flesh, assaulted the air, portraying as a beckon of unimaginable suffering.
Appearing from the tree line are the remaining survivors of the gruesome attack. Helpless villagers hear a familiar cadence of horns and chanting. A welcoming sight of a few hundred lightly armored battle-hardened militants march towards the horrifying screams. Sanctioned to preserve humanity’s survival, these daring warriors take it upon themselves to toe the line, to be that small rock holding back a great wave.
The ground trembles and roars with fear as the forest begins to buckle, crack, and sway by the sheer force of whatever heinous creature’s creeps and crawls closer. One hundred yards from the tree line the band of brave warriors waits patiently to stare evil directly in the face. By this time, heavy rain overwhelms the impending field of carnage into a swirling sludge pit. Glistening with determination these able-bodied death dealers decide to stimulate themselves with a powdered herb before battle to fight as a man possessed by the gods. To deepen the mystery of these warriors, many exhibit uncountable scars upon their bodies as if a sacred right-of-passage and a measure of status.
Moments later, red eyes start to manifest and multiply along the muddled border. As more creatures funnel in from the smoldering village the rate of howls, screeches, snarls, growls, grunts, moans, grinding teeth, brawling, and many other disordered clamoring’s become increasingly deafening. In a taunting manner, a few decapitated heads land at the feet of the unflinching few. Time stood still as the warrior’s gaze across the battlefield as a palpable increase in temperature signals the thirst for vengeance. In response to these heinous crimes against humanity, an animalistic fueled roar ripples through the air followed by a thunderous horn piercing the heavens.
Both armies exploded towards each other at a blistering pace fueled by an incalculable measure of hatred. Projectiles start to buzz, fizz, and hum through the air, as the armies closed the gap, dropping man and monster alike. Inevitably, man and beast crash into each other as blood sprays into the air, bones pop and fracture, weapons and shields clank and clatter, unrelenting screaming, sobbing, moaning, impaling, hearts thumping uncontrollably to stay alive, limbs trembling, biting, scratching, necks snapping, death all around, rivers of bubbling blood, and dismembered bodies invade a once prospering field by reducing it to a splattering sea of butchery and confusion. With every passing minute the stench of disemboweled corpses hangs over the arena of disorder. Embers from the burning village start to shower down, covering the combatants with ash. Mud turned to dust, visibility decayed as it become difficult to differentiate friend from foe as the battle rages on.
Amid dwindling numbers, an extreme fear of imminent defeat overtakes a lone dual wielding fighter, displaying an undeniable resemblance to a defiant lion. Each swing seems to move mountains, bodies fall lifeless in droves. By defying all odds, his relentless hacking, stabbing, dodging, only appears to provoke this cornered animal to move with increased haste to preserve the age of man. As the dust settles……. a deafening silence cloaks the terrain ……. a sole man and beast remain at opposing ends of the field. Both gore drenched extremists turn to each other in a repulsed manner. Aggravated, the beast snarls. The man waves the beast over to make the first move. Exhausted, the beast conjures the last drops of fearlessness and dashes towards the final objective. With every forceful step, blood sprays and spews from the scattered corpses, dust kicks up, sweat drips, and vast amounts of steam ejects from the beast’s nostrils. The sun starts to rise as the devil’s henchman jumps towards the stout-hearted mortal. As the rays of sun pierce their bodies, the warriors seemed frozen in time as they both slowly disintegrate. Fragmented remains of the fallen warriors, beasts, and demons gather to form a cloud and retreat towards the volcano’s mouth. Dawn has come to end the chaos, but the relic will awaken and replay once more and echo throughout time.
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Brent Rusinoski 