A Husband's Choice

The cobblestone streets shimmered with a perilous gloss, mirrored by the haunting radiance emanating from the engulfed flames of the houses and quaint cottages. The spilled blood, aglow in the flames' flickering light, created an eerie tableau. The agricultural field transformed into a makeshift runway for the advancing horde.

Windows lay shattered, doors torn from their intended purpose, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of burning timber. Villagers who had sought refuge were easily discovered, dragged from their homes, or subjected to gruesome mutilation within.

Amid this chaos, a lone figure stood his ground, silhouetted against the backdrop of the stormy night. He stood at the front door of the place he called home. The man's gaze pierced through the relentless downpour, his eyes reflecting the determination burning within him.

As raindrops pelted his body, his heart throbbed in perfect harmony with the rhythmic downpour.

Above, the clouds roiled like a turbulent sea of gray and black. Thunder began to rumble, announcing its presence with a deep and ominous growl that mirrored the escalating turmoil below.

The man's home, once a place of peace and serenity, a welcoming haven for those from all over, now stood in the bring of destruction. His hand firmly grasped the serrated fork's hilt, its keen edge, reflecting the fatigue of innumerable seasons, etched with the scars of tireless labor. It had been in a relentless journey of ceaseless need and toil. Yet, it was now held with resolve purpose rather then it's original purpose. 

The man's robust, weathered hands gripped at the serrated fork, its necessity undeniable despite his reluctance. With each forceful thrust into the rain-soaked air, his thoughts briefly drifted back to simpler days when this very tool had nurtured the land that sustained his family. Understanding that every swing contributed to his next meal. Each motion of the fork embodied the stark contrast between peaceful cultivation and the grim toil that now lay ahead.

And then, as he descended his swing, the serene image of cultivating the land transformed into a macabre dance of relentless massacre. His hand gripping the serrated fork like a weapon. His muscles tensed, and in one swift, fluid motion, he lunged at the nearest creature.

The serrated fork pierced the creature's grotesque hide with a sickening squelch, its tines sinking deep into its malevolent heart. Blood and ichor spurted from the wound, mingling with the rain.

With each swing, the creature's onslaught grew swifter, its numbers multiplying in a relentless tide. Eventually, the man found himself overwhelmed, unable to parry the ever-increasing horde. As he thrust his weapon into the flesh of one adversary, he failed to retract it in time, as another pinned him down mercilessly.

Stripped of any weaponry and drained of his strength, his frantic struggles proved futile. In this dire moment, he had no choice but to resign to fate. He closed his eyes, a glimmer of relief that his wife had followed his advice to seek refuge indoors. Now, all he had to do is accept his fate, and face his destiny alone.

In the grim moments just before the relentless creatures could rend his flesh and shatter his bones, an abrupt and piercing shriek pierced the air. A knife swiftly plunged inside its mark, impaling the creature from behind, forcing it to convulse and relinquish its grip on the man.

To his astonishment, his wife had abandoned her hiding place and emerged from the safety of the inn. Her face, a portrait of fear had let go of the kitchen knife, its blade glistening with the creature's blood. Her trembling hand had crumpled to the ground, overcome with sobs of the weight of her choice.

"No!" The man's voice quivered as he clutched his wife's shoulders, inadvertently hurting her with the tightness of his grip.

"Why? Why did you leave the inn? I asked you to hide! Now...," His voice trailed off, and he couldn't bear to meet her gaze, his eyes fixed on the ground below. A turbulent storm of emotions swirled within him — anger, despair, and the painful realization that his sacrifice had been in vain, discarded like a worthless token.

"I... I just couldn't help it!" she stammered between sobs, her voice choked with emotion. "You were about to die. How could I simply hide when I thought I was about to lose you right before my eyes? I... I couldn't bear the thought of living with myself if I did." Her tears flowed freely as she wailed, her anguish echoing in the stillness of her choice.

Her husband stood there, caught in the whirlpool of grief and sadness, overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions. In that moment, it became starkly clear to him that they were both doomed for. Numerous scenarios raced through his mind, but amid all of them, one outcome stood out as the most humane course of action.

"It's okay...," he whispered, his voice trembling with sorrow. "I don't blame you for your choice." Moving closer, he gently pushed her into an embrace, enfolding her in a tight hug.

His unexpected act of understanding and acceptance washed over her as a profound relief. She clung to his embrace, grateful for his support, even as she couldn't help but steal a glance at the inn's door. Meanwhile, her husband's gaze fixed on the approaching horde.

"I love you..." The husband's voice quivered with sorrow as he uttered those words.

His declaration sent a shiver down her spine as if something was amiss, but quickly discarded this unease and reciprocated the sentiment back to him, her voice trembling as well. "I love you t-...?"

But before she could finish her sentence, a searing, excruciating pain erupted in her chest. She glanced downward, dismayed, to see a pointed metallic edge jutting through her heart, the source of her pain revealed in the cruelest twist of fate.

"I'm sorry... this was the only way." the husband whispered through tears as he held his wife even more tightly, his heart heavy with the weight of their tragic choice. He gently withdrew the same knife that had been used to save his life from her back, the blade stained with his poignant decision.

Her grasp on her husband's back gradually loosened as she sank closer to the floor, ultimately held up only by his outstretched hand. In her weakened state, she gazed at her husband's tear-stained face, offering countless apologies through his sobs.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! forgive me! I had no other choice!"

It was in this moment of profound understanding that she finally comprehended the depth of his sacrifice. Leaving her hiding place had sealed their fate, and her husband had chosen to spare her the excruciating torment that awaited them both.

With a final act of love, her husband had decided to usher her towards the path of least suffering. It was an agonizing choice: to die by his hand in the least painful way imaginable, or to endure the unimaginable agony of being consumed alive by the relentless horde.

With a fading smile, she extended her trembling hand toward his tear-streaked face, despite the immense effort it took. Her frail gesture brushed away his tears, though the relentless rain continued to drench his skin. Her action transcended words, a profound and heartfelt expression of their shared emotions in their final moments together. 

Before her hands slipped from her waning strength, her husband tenderly grasped them, pressing them to his face, cherishing the fleeting touch. Gently, he cradled her lifeless body in his arms, lifting her from the rain-soaked ground.

He rose from his kneeling position, carrying her fragile form in his arms. Step by step, he walked toward the inn's entrance, his heart heavy with grief. He pushed the door open and laid her down on the interior floor of the inn, the shelter they had sought in vain. Slowly, he closed the door behind her, her figure fading from view as it disappeared behind the closed door, leaving him alone in the rain-soaked world outside.

In his final act of defiance, he resolved to protect her body from the vile creatures. Piles of the creatures' corpses began to accumulate in the entrance of the inn as time passed, forming a gruesome barricade that concealed the entrance. As he reached this grim point, he finally released all hope, knowing the relentless horde was still closing in.

With a heavy heart and resolute determination, he lifted the knife he still clutched tightly, and without hesitation, he sliced it across his own neck. In that tragic moment, he chose to join her in death.

Tap, Tap...

Tap, Tap...

All that remained was the relentless patter of ceaseless rain on the desolate ground and the grisly sounds of the beasts feasting on their gruesome meal. In the distance, a silhouette loomed larger than any of the creatures, emerging from the shadows. It was the leader of the horde, carrying what appeared to be the lifeless body of Lord Van, a sinister trophy of their conquest. The leader stood in the center of the plaza, surveying the now lifeless village.

With an air of disdain, the leader discarded Lord Van's corpse as if it were a mere plaything, showing no interest in the life they had claimed. Then, as if satisfied by their macabre victory, the leader turned away from the village, and the remnants of the horde followed suit, disappearing into the obscurity of the night, leaving behind a scene of utter destruction.

***

A few hours later, emerging from the forest were two figures riding on horseback. As they surveyed the desolate area, a profound sense of despair washed over them, their hearts sinking into the depths of disbelief.

"No...!"