"What do you want?" Demetrius asked as he knelt on one knee across from his opponent, the dark-haired maniac who had decided to kill his men without mercy.
His armor was broken and several scars lined his body, all a result of trying and failing to stop the bastard from killing more of his men.
He'd watched the man… no, there was no way the thing before him was a man.
It was best to call it a thing, a thing wearing flesh, and the flesh couldn't be considered to be human, not with how it was able to remain intact despite receiving quite a few blows from his spear.
The thing before him had already killed fifty men, men he had led for several years.
If he could, he would rip the bastard to shreds and use its body parts to pay homage to his fallen soldiers.
But he couldn't and so, he was forced to do what he didn't wish to do.
Talk.
The thing stood across from him, its right hand still holding on tightly to a bloodied spear made of some unknown material.
