A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,71
been eerily silent. They had heard nephilim pacing and grunting outside, sometimes shrieking in rage. They had heard other Vir Requis shout from their own hideouts in abandoned cellars and halls. But this—this cry of agony—was new.
"Something is hurting them," Elethor muttered. "That is no scream of rage or hunger. It's a scream of pain."
Were the other Vir Requis emerging to fight? No; he heard no dragon roars. Did Bayrin return with the salvanae or Lyana with griffins? Elethor could not hear them either; salvanae bugled and sang in battle, and griffins let out eagle cries.
Garvon rose to his feet. His hoary head nearly hit the ceiling. He drew his sword with a grunt.
"Get ready," he said and spat. "They're planning something."
The nephilim screeched again, and a new stench flared from outside, one of blood and sour milk and worms. Elethor could not see outside from here—the tunnel curved, sealing them in shadow. He began walking toward the bend. He had to look outside, to see what new devilry festered there.
Garvon grabbed his shoulder. "I go first."
The old man shoved Elethor back, trudged around him, and walked down the tunnel toward the exit. Elethor drew Ferus, his old longsword, and walked close behind. The stench invaded his nostrils as violently as demons thrusting into mortal women.
The crumbly doorway stood before them, lichen hanging from the lintel. Elethor frowned and Garvon muttered. For the past three days, nephilim had stood here, reaching claws and teeth through the doorway like cats pawing at mouse holes. Today Elethor saw sunlight through the doorway, no claws or teeth blocking the exit. The screeches rose outside, and the stench of blood and rot swirled so powerfully Elethor nearly gagged.
Garvon kept advancing toward the doorway, sword raised. Elethor walked close behind. Soon they stood in range of thrusting claws; Elethor saw their grooves cut into the walls and floor.
"Careful, Garvon," he said.
The old soldier froze, spat, and cursed. Elethor looked over Garvon's shoulder into the forest. He felt the blood leave his face.
"Stars," he whispered.
The nephilim stood in a ring outside between fallen statues, crumbling walls, and trees that grew from cracked flagstones. Between them lay a howling nephil. She was a female, Elethor saw; her rotted breasts hung loose like bags of sour milk, and her shrieks sounded almost human.
They are half human, he remembered with a chill, the spawn of demons and human mothers.
The female nephil dug her claws into the earth, tearing stone and root. Her screams rose. Her legs lay open, and blood sprayed from between them. She gave a great howl, and a warty head began to emerge from her womb. The mother screeched. Her spawn's head burst out, coated in blood and mucus, and screeched.
The nephil spawn thrust its claws out, tearing the opening wider. Its mother wept and screeched, and the nephilim around her roared and reached for the heavens. The spawn fell into the dirt, coated with blood, and bit off its umbilical cord. It stood the size of a man, its wings limp and dripping, its flesh already rotten and covered in boils. It wailed and leaped onto its mother. It grabbed onto her breast and began to feed, not drinking milk but tearing into the flesh, feasting like a wolf upon prey.
Garvon growled low in his throat. "Bastards."
More blood gushed from the mother.
Another spawn began to emerge, wailing and clawing and biting its way out. Soon the second beast began to feast, ripping into its mother's flesh. Across the forest ruins, more shrieks sounded, followed by the shrill wails of spawn.
"They're small enough to enter the tunnels," Elethor said softly.
Garvon stared at him, teeth bared. "They're too young; they're babes."
"Babes who are tearing apart grown nephilim and eating their flesh." He grabbed his shield from over his back and slung it onto his arm. "Garvon, I—"
A squeal rose outside, cutting off his words. One of the spawn leaped off its mother, face smeared with blood, and stared right at them. Its eyes burned with white fire. Its lips pulled back, revealing long teeth like daggers. It came racing toward them, squealing and snapping its jaws.
Garvon cursed and raised his sword.
The spawn reached the doorway, leaped into the tunnel, and crashed onto the old man.
Elethor yowled and thrust his sword, but could not reach the spawn without cutting Garvon too. The old soldier screamed and hacked at the creature; it was nearly as large as him.