Into the Nightmare

When he came to, he found himself in his worst nightmare.

A sharp pain stung him in his stomach, reverberating through his whole body. A heavy groan escaped his lips as he tried to sit up. He touched the wound softly and felt wetness spreading through his clothes. When he moved his palm away, he saw a striking red flowing through his fingers, dripping down. With each beat of his heart, the pain pulsated in him, forcing more blood out of his body.

He pressed his hand back down on the wound firmly, thinking about calling for help. But then he looked around and realized no one was going to help him.

The moon was up high in the sky, and the world around him was awfully quiet. Terrifyingly quiet. You couldn’t hear any owl hoots, nor any chirping of crickets. There was no other living thing here.

The whole field was littered with the bodies of men. All of them were dead. Some of them were missing limbs, others even heads. Poor horses, which were carrying their warriors into the war and were unable to run away, were lying next to them.

Pools of blood were spreading through the surface, the dry earth readily gobbling them up. Parts of bloody armor and silver weapons were lying around, abandoned. Their drying blood was still glistening under the soft moonlight glow. The air was filled with heavy metallic stench.

An acidic liquid filled his mouth. He held back vomit, thinking about how to get out of this situation. If he doesn't stop the bleeding soon, he will perish just like others. That would be a rather humiliating way to die for a hero who was summoned to do big achievements in the kingdom of Silgorod.

He tried to move forward, but the pain was too much for him to bear. He fell on the ground, an embarrassing yelp escaping his mouth.

So he was just lying between the bodies of people, waiting for death to come, even though his mind was screaming, desperately climbing to life. Tears were falling down his cheeks. Some of them were caused by pain, others by disappointment. The reality was, he was lame and useless, and it did not matter in what world he lived. It did not matter where he was born or summoned to…

But… he did not want to give up. The real end will come only when you give up.

A dark red glow filled his vision.

He looked up, thinking someone had come to take care of the dead bodies left on the battleground, but no. Instead, there was an old sword before him, rammed into the ground. Its blade was standing tall and strong. The bandages wrapped around the hilt were unraveled by the night wind, fluttering gracefully in the air. Right under the handle, in the crossguard, there was a big crimson gem embedded in its metal throne. It was glowing under the moonlight, competing with the silver rays for domination.

He blinked.

The red ruby on the sword also blinked.

“Did you come here to laugh at my pathetic self?” he asked the sword.

The sword blinked again.

He was dying now, right? This is why he was losing his mind and talking to an inanimate object.

But the crimson ruby blinked again, and the eerie quiet of the bloody night was cut off by a sharp laugh reminding him of whistling. Chills ran down his spine, numbing his pained body.

The tall sword swayed in the air and then fell down, its handle with the red gemstone right next to him. Whistling high-pitched laughter disappeared in the night. Tempting whispers filled his ears, entering his mind.

Take me.

Take me, and you will never lose a battle.

Take me, and I will make you a proud warrior.

Take me!

Did he even have a choice?

He mustered his last remaining strength and reached out with his hand. His fingers touched the hilt and enveloped the ruby. The red glow dimmed. And then exploded.

A red color filled his vision. An invisible force entered him, flowing down, looking for his wound. Once it found what it searched for, it devoured mercilessly. He shouted out of pain, but the sword no longer listened. The blade shivered as it drank blood directly from his body, satiating its eternal hunger. A roar filled his ears.

“Stop it!” he yelled. “STOP!”

Suddenly, the shrieks subsided. The night was again eerily quiet. The blade jumped back up, helping its new master to stand up. A sharp metal yowl filled the night, greeting him.

He looked at his body. He let go of the sword and touched his stomach, searching for the wound. But it was gone. The pain dissipated. He looked at the sword, his eyebrows knitted together.

“Did you just heal my wound in return for letting you drink my blood?”

The crimson ruby blinked slowly, satiated and content.

He gripped the hilt and took the sword off the ground. He walked around, looking for a scabbard that would fit the sword. Once he found one, he sheathed the blade and looked at the bloody graveyard behind him for the last time.

It was time to leave.

He took another step, but lost his balance. Anemia, fueled by a massive blood loss, clouded his eyes.

The moon shining on him disappeared…