Predictions
The smell of rotting buildings overpowered the stench of rotting flesh. The city wouldn't be denied it's own suffering before those inside it.
Conrad couldn't stand the simple gates of this sick city already. The gate was massive, formed out of old oak wood reinforced with metal. Both the wood and the metal resembled the rotting flesh of the corpses that gathered at the base of the gate. They stared up into the sky, their hands grasping at the wood. Almost like they thought of climbing over too late. He smiled at that, getting the faint notion that he should feel bad about that. As if. Black humor was all that was getting him through at the moment.
He flipped his collar up, like some kind of poor man's gas mask. The massive maul head strapped to his back pressed him towards the earth, like it wanted to join the bodies. He stepped up to the front of the gates, using his foot to gingerly push a corpse out of his way. He made an effort to miss the face, but he caught a glimpse of it. The lower jaw was already gone.
"Scavengers..." His grip on his sword tightened, the cold tickle of sweat crawling down his brow.
He stared up the gates, trying to slow his pounding heart, hoping that what he was about to do would work. He refused to become a corpse like the others. Anything but that.
Letting out a sigh, he reached into his pack, feeling for that telltale clink of glass. He instead brushed up against smooth wood. Smiling despite himself, he gripped it and pulled it out. His old pipe had enough scratches to rival the gate, but it still did it's job. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled flakes of herbs out, dumping them into the pipe. Finding his pack of matches, he lit one on the side of his sword and held it over the pipe.
The smoke slowly began swirling around him, filling his nose with it's noxious aroma, calming him. His heart slowed, that panicked sensation dispersed.
I was too slow. I didn't react fast enough. You're not the sharpest tool in the shed. Everything likes falling apart. Has a way of following you.
The smell of rotten buildings continued to overpower the corpses and smoke.
The time finally hit him. He needed to get in before dark, and he'd tossed the afternoon sun smoking. Taking one last huff, he dumped the pipe and dropped it back in his pack.
He found the vial, the cold glass rendering his fingers numb. He held it up to the dying light, letting its contents swirl in a mesmerizing flow. The dirty blood inside glowed in the sun, almost looking clean.
"My kingdom for a ladder..."
He raised his sleeve, pressing his fingers into his elbow to find the vein. Locating it, he put the needle directly over the vein, barely pressing against his skin.
"What I wouldn't give-"
He pressed the needle in firmly, pumping the cursed blood into his system. He got as far as beginning to pull it out when he felt the fire.
Screaming heat coursed through his body, his knees giving out instantly, the needle hanging in his arm by a sliver of flesh. He gripped it to pull it out, before feeling a sharp sting in his hand. The vial was shattered.
A heavy ache hammered his scalp, his hair forcefully pushing out, growing longer. His arms felt like they were being torn in half, the bone growing past the skin. The ache slowly poured across his entire body, his coat constricting him. He went open his collar, and felt it tear. A singular claw shone in the evening light, a small scrap of fabric hooked on it.
His sword, still gripped in his left hand, quickly aimed for his back, a move that he had practiced to an endless extent. The sword slipped smoothly into a socket on the maul, setting with a loud click. Lifting the newly formed hammer onto his shoulder, he kept his feverish gaze on the lock of the gate, blood filling the insides of his eyes, almost blinding him in red. Feral strength thundered through his arms, threatening to shred the few unaffected parts of his body. The hammer might as well have been a twig for how much it weighed.
The growls came. In rapid succession they drawled from his mouth, leaving his throat sore. Building up, growing in intensity, pitch, threat.
Justwaitjustwaitjustwaitjustwaitjustwaitjustwaitjustwaitjustwaitjustwaitjustwaitjustwaitjustwaitjustwait...
SO SLOW.
The hammer nearly flew from his grip with the strength he put into the hit, his misshapen arm exploding forward. The hammer went down onto the lock, crushing it with a shrieking bone-like crunch. The hammer continued, splintering the wood behind the lock and pulverizing the mechanism. Leaving it firmly stuck in the gate's fresh wound.
Unending pressure built up in his head, sealing off his ears, making the red in his eyes absolute, leaving him deaf and blind. A final roar erupted from his mouth, completely silent, shredding his throat, spewing warm blood.
In his blind madness, he launched his other arm into the gate, squarely hitting the maul head. His hand bent with a resounding snap, felt rather than heard. The maul gave way, flying from his fist, into the city, whatever it looked like.
The outline of the gate was gone, just an ocean of red.
And all he could smell were corpses.