Trespass

Michael awoke with a start, a sharp pain in his right hand that was gone swiftly.

"Same dream?" enquired Josef from the other side of the campfire. Michael pushed himself back up the tree trunk he was propped against and with his lone right eye glared at the short and remarkably ugly mutant.

"No, an entirely different one," he said tersely.

"Well, that's progress isn't it?" Josef replied with a grin that made his jutting lower tusks more prominent.

Michael ignored him and tried to get comfortable. He then turned his attention back to his right hand.

He wasn't entirely certain it was his. He distinctly remembered it being cut off. That sort of thing sticks you with. It certainly looked exactly like his old hand, or at least how remembered it. It, like his left hand, was rather mundane. Four fingers and a thumb on both. Graceful fingers, like those of his mother he had been told. No strange marks or scars. Still, this right hand did not feel... his. And it was beginning to bother him.

He heard a buzzing sound and felt a vibration through the tree. Immediately he stood up, casting aside the cloak he had wrapped himself in, and retried from beside the tree his sword that he propped up against it.

What's wrong?" Josef asked, getting to his feet and immediately grabbing his own weapon, that big and ugly but undeniable effective sledgehammer he wielded with remarkable aplomb.

Michael grasped the hilt of his sword, the leathery material warm and held it up before his eye. The various eyes on the sword's surface were agitated, and all of them looking in the same direction. "Trouble," Michael said flatly.

Josef, eyeing the organic sword with some distaste, sighed. "I did tell you this was Trog territory."

"Trogs are not a danger," Michael replied as he and Josef stood back to back with the fire between them. He knew of Trogs, vile subterranean horrors born from the Cataclysm. Cannibals who emerged at night to hunt and drag surface dwellers back to their lairs down below. The lucky ones, male and female, were killed quickly. Those less fortunate ended up serving the needs of the Trog to instill fresh blood in their tribes.

Another weary sigh, a habit Michael was growing increasingly annoyed by, left Josef's lips. "Maybe in your time but... things change. Honestly, you want me to be your guide but you never actually listen to anything I say."

Michael was about to retort with a suitably scathing remark but stopped upon seeing the pale shapes lurking in the darkness. He could smell them, foul and foetid. One of them scuttled closer, its pallid skin covered in dry, and fresh, filth and blood. It was human in the broadest sense, though lacking hair and pigmentation, a product of centuries of living underground.

It looked at Michael and hissed, baring sharp teeth. Its eyes were entirely black. It was completely nude and emaciated.

"Maybe they won't attack, if they think we're too much trouble they tend to-" Josef did not get to finish his sentence as the Trogs chose that moment to attack.

They came bounding out of the darkness, screeching and howling.

Michael brought his sword down and slashed through the arm of the first to reach him, his living sword cutting through the foul fresh with barely any resistance. The Trog tumbled and Josef finished it with as crushing swing of his sledgehammer against its chest, throwing backward in an ungainly tumble. The others were a little more cautious after that, but it was far from over.

What followed was carnage. Josef and Michael fought back to back, fending off grasping hands and snapping mouths, the former breaking limbs and cracking heads, and the latter bisecting and slashing with considerable speed. After seven or eight of their number fell, the Trogs backed off, clearly reluctant to continue this fight.

"They're waiting," Josef said.

"For what?" Michael asked.

He got his answer when the Trogs began to howl and from their midst came a far larger specimen, this one bearing numerous scarification marks and wielding a club made from a bone that was very obviously from something much larger than a human.

The Chief. The Alpha.

"If we kill that big sod we may make the others retreat," Josef whispered as the Alpha stepped closer. Despite its hulking stature, far taller than even Michael and very much broader, it had a look of cunning about it. But the way it looked at its kin strewn across the camp suggested it was angry. It bared its teeth and growled.

Michael smiled, baring his teeth in response.

The Alpha roared and the two felt the air vibrate, the echo taking its time to die away.

And then it charged, swinging that great club.

Michael pushed Josef out of the way and dodged the rather swift swing. He then dealt the brute a cut to the meaty thigh with his sword, the living blade cutting through almost to the bone in a spray of dark blood and... then getting stuck. The sword vibrated in his hand as it tried to extricate itself.

"Shit," Michael said as the Alpha grabbed him by the head and pulled him upright. It began to squeeze and try as he might, Michael could not lessen the grip. He tried not smell the foul stench that enveloped him. He tried not to hear the creak of his skull. He gripped the wrist of the Alpha with his hand, his fingers not fully encircling the girthy limb, and scrabbled. He felt his nails tearing into the flesh... but he did not have long enough nails for that... did he?

Suddenly the Alpha howled and dropped Michael. Josef had just struck it between its legs, catching its swinging member and swollen testes with an brutal thrust of his sledgehammer. The Alpha screamed in agony, clutching itself. But it was recovering, its fury overriding the agony inflicted upon it.

It was just enough time to allow Michael to pull his sword free and bring it down in a two handed blow, carving down through its left shoulder, cutting through the spine and rib cage before pulling it free in a burst of gore. The Alpha gurgled something and fell to its knees before pitching to the side.

The remaining Trogs were screaming now, torn between fleeing and vengeance. Michael, gripped by his anger and more than a little spite, grabbed the Alpha's head and with a single swing cut it off. As blood spurted from the stump he slid the severed head onto the tip of his blade and held it aloft, carefully so that none of that foul blood fell on to him.

"See this you... savages... you vermin!" he shouted stepping forward. Framed by the fire with the head of the Alpha held above him, he cast a terrifying visage that quietened the Trogs. "I am Michael Leonaris... and my kind once hunted yours... go back to your squalid little holes and pray to whatever nightmares you worship I do not return to put the rest of you down." He callously thrust his sword, sending the head flying through the air to land in their midst.

They scattered, subdued and silent.

Michael took a deep breath, hoping he did not look as terrified as he felt. He felt eyes upon him once again and turned to Josef who was watching him, a curious look in his eyes. "What?" he said somewhat irritably.

"I told you we shouldn't camp here," the mutant said with more than a little smugness in his voice. "I said this was Trog territory and you do not trespass on Trog territory. Perhaps you will start listening to me more from now on?"

Resisting the urge to say something scathing Michael turned his back to Josef and instead headed to the river close by to watch the blood and filth off before he got infected. With his special gifts due to his bloodline that was unlikely but best be sure.

After he washed his face and head he looked at his right hand again, seeing the chunks of flesh beneath the nails and blood that covered his fingers.

He really wasn't convinced this was his hand.