The camp fell silent. The only sounds were the crackle of cooking fires I hadn't bothered to put out and the quiet moans of men who weren't dead yet. I stood in the middle of it all, the metallic taste of blood thick in my mouth. I had just killed over forty men, and my main thought was that my back hurt.
This body had limits. The muscles were starting to ache with a deep, insistent throb. It was an entirely new sensation, and I found it incredibly annoying.
I noticed a pile of bodies shift. A small movement, followed by the quick, shallow breath of someone trying very hard not to be heard.
I walked over and pulled two corpses aside. Underneath was a boy, maybe sixteen, curled into a tight ball. The moment he saw my eyes, he lost control of his bladder. The sharp smell of piss mixed with the coppery scent of blood already thick in the air. His hands were clenched around a cracked wooden prayer bead, his knuckles white.
