After the battle

Lorkan awakens for the second time that day.

He finds himself in the midst of a pile of wood and stone, in the shadow of a ruined house that once belonged to a family of four. They are nowhere to be seen.

The last thing he remembers is one of the helmeted brutes charging at him, swinging that bastard of a two-handed maul, and sending him flying with ungodly ****.

The sky above is overcast, and lit by that same unnerving purple light as before. He feels a growing sense of fear, mixed with anger and… cruelty?

Flee or die. You can do nothing now. Flee and find victims of your own.

At first it is a relief as he becomes aware of noises beyond the ruin, which push away the thoughts in his head. Then he listens properly.

The helpless, **** moans of women, the rhythmic wet slapping of flesh on flesh. Muffled groans and gagging, and inhuman grunts of pleasure.

He shifts on the rubble, peering around a ruined window, drawn unstoppably to the sounds. Drawn by horror, but also by some darker impulse in him that he does not recognise.

It takes a moment to fully process the scene, and his battered mind begins by taking in the scores of dead men laying butchered and broken on the ground, eyes open and staring unseeing at the purple sky.

Then he sees what has become of Valiri, and the women.

She is facing him, but her eyes too are unfocused, her face constricted in a mix of pleasure and pain. Her small, pale features are painted with a thick film of semen. Behind her is one of the orange-skinned beasts, one hand gripping Valiri’s ginger hair, the other clasping her by the waist with a barbed gauntlet.

He can hear the clapping of the Daemon’s balls against Valiri’s rear, as the thing takes her in the middle of the village; **** onto her hands and knees, her armour in tatters, her mouth hangs open in a silent moan as the Daemon thrusts roughly into her from behind.

Take it slut you’re breeding stock now.

He beats his knuckles against his own head at the thought, trying to stamp it down. But as he looks again, the thoughts crowd in, seeing more horrors.

Or delights?

Ava, who runs the village store is flat on her back in the dirt, folded almost in half as a fully armoured warrior pounds away at her, his hand around her throat, her pale legs hooked over his shoulders.

Beside her, her leggings torn and tattered with seed, one of the woodsmen’s daughters kneels, her shins filthy with dirt, her head tipped back to line her mouth up with her throat, as a third Daemon pumps downward, fucking her face mercilessly, clutching her head even as the young woman beats her fists freshly against him.

The scenes are repeated again and again around what he can see of the village, and his eyes are drawn back to Valiri, now being made to fellate a second daemon as she is bounced on the first’s rod.

Last night she bounced on yours. This is her place.

He repeats the last words to himself, then finally turns away, unable to watch, or bear the crooked thoughts any longer.

He stumbles from the ruined house, and finds himself face to face with One-Eyed Abnur, whose face bears a look of mixed horror and hunger. Kurt, the young blond, stands beside him, craning his neck around Lorkan, a grin on his face.

“You, and whoever else survived. Of the…” he falters, then continues “of the menfolk. We need to leave. Now.”

The purple skies flicker, seeming almost to seal over the desolation and defilement below.