Werevolka
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...and so, he's walking along at night, through a dark alley, and of course, he's scared – how could he not be? Fear is the strongest of all emotions; it's a primal instinct, the most primal there is. It's on the level of the survival instinct – it protects us from untimely death... And then, this creature emerges from a dark doorway – and let me tell you, I've seen a lot of monsters, I've encountered all sorts of horrors, but nothing like this... No, my goodness, take back all my agreements and blood oaths – I didn't sign up for this... Leave my immortal soul to me, how can I live without it?...
...And while I was thinking all this, calculating all the possibilities, it charged at me. And let me tell you, I didn't have much time left to think – it was coming with all its might, saliva flying from its mouth. What else could I do? I drew my sword, raised it to the sky, and stood there, trembling... And it kept coming, relentless and inevitable... I swung my sword, closing my eyes...
The sword, hitting something warm and alive, slowed down. But the force of inertia was great, and the tendons and muscles gave way – how could it resist the steel forged in dwarven caves? Poisonous blood spurted out, flowing down the wound, congealing and cooling...
I swung my sword wildly, without looking; I was driven by a feeling close to despair. And that gave me strength I had never felt before. It took a long time before I realized, before I felt that there was no more resistance to my sword, that I was cutting the dead body of the enemy... And I cried, mixing my tears with blood...
...And while I was thinking all this, calculating all the possibilities, it charged at me. And let me tell you, I didn't have much time left to think – it was coming with all its might, saliva flying from its mouth. What else could I do? I drew my sword, raised it to the sky, and stood there, trembling... And it kept coming, relentless and inevitable... I swung my sword, closing my eyes...
The sword, hitting something warm and alive, slowed down. But the force of inertia was great, and the tendons and muscles gave way – how could it resist the steel forged in dwarven caves? Poisonous blood spurted out, flowing down the wound, congealing and cooling...
I swung my sword wildly, without looking; I was driven by a feeling close to despair. And that gave me strength I had never felt before. It took a long time before I realized, before I felt that there was no more resistance to my sword, that I was cutting the dead body of the enemy... And I cried, mixing my tears with blood...
