190: End
190: End
Ambershanks didn't like to close his eyes and recall the last months. He had drawn out all the terror and the anger and the sorrow that he could, and he feared that the only emotion left to sacrifice would be something integral, a key part of what sanity he still maintained. His home was a shambles, his family dead or worse, the world swiftly dribbling downhill into hell. There were only two things important left in the world, his life and his mate's. By the end of the night, he would lose one if not both.
The bite was deep. It would have proven a severe injury from an animal; from those things, those hideous false charades of friends and family, a bite was without doubt fatal. What few healing powers Samhuinn could muster through his gibbering delusions were proving paltry, and what vestiges of survival healing Ambershanks provided was ineffective. Maybe in a safe tent or a barracks, Ambershanks told himself, leaning down once more in a feeble attempt to suck free the venom from the wound in Samhuinn's thigh. Maybe with a priest or a paladin. Maybe if there were any safe tents or priests left. But Ambershanks as the hours had loomed into days and into weeks, he began to wonder, then consider, then believe that he and Samhuinn were the only living ones left.
It had been difficult, escaping from Thunder Bluff. The living had proven more deadly than the walking dead as the slow and the old were trampled under hooves, squished, tossed aside. Samhuinn swore he saw a young doe pushed over the brink of the higher bluffs. Only through Ambershanks's instruction did the two escape alive, using their cat forms to dart between legs and past the moaning caricatures of taurenfolk, trying to ignore the gut-wrenching screams of agony and chaos swarming around them.
There were a few survivors, Ambershanks and Samhuinn among them. They could reach nobody through their speaking stones, but a few of the other survivors were able to get in touch with their loved ones. Even last city was in pandemonium. Even the stalwart Forsaken could be turned. Even Arthas's forces were finding themselves being eaten from the inside out, their very own mindless Scourge susceptible to a greater chaos than the Lich King could muster. Each night communications grew thinner and thinner until at last there came no word from the world outside Mulgore.
It was thought that wide-open plains with abundant crops and hunting animals would have proven safe grounds for such slow-moving mindless droves. But one by one they fell. Some wandered too far out into the dark and found themselves surrounded by the things. Some had become unaccustomed to a wild life and passed away through the rigors of nature. But most of them just snapped. Small fights escalated over days or hours or minutes or seconds into bloodthirsty murders as the weight of all they had lost broke their spirits and shattered their sanity. Some screamed, some mumbled, some sang. But one by one the madness fell upon them.
Ambershanks took Samhuinn off before the makeshift tribe could massacre itself. For such a timid bull, Samhuinn had to his credit remained strong. He had cried, of course, in private, in Ambershanks's arms, but after that he had proven cautious, dedicated, and above all, he managed to keep a grasp on his internal sense of order when the rest of the world was spiraling into chaos. In a moment of exhaustion, Ambershanks exclaimed that Samhuinn would sometimes snap when all was well and yet keep it together when the world was hell. They fought that night. They had fought several times since the onset, sometimes coming to blows or, once, bites. But through it all they had come to trust one another and depend on one another in a way their civilized lives would not afford.
That was coming to an end now. The infection was spreading through Samhuinn's body. It had been for three days. That warm body he had come to depend on during the darkest nights was growing cold, like ice were being dispersed through his body. His breathing had stopped even as his heart still beat. He had begun to drool more, and snort, and sometimes his eyes opened and stared at Ambershanks, but they did not see.
Samhuinn had made a final request the night before, when he could still speak. Ambershanks had shaken his head and resolved with everything he was that he would not grant that request, that it was beyond him, that the request was like giving up and Ambershanks would not give up. He watched the younger tauren's gradual change into something he was not. And he realized that to honor his mate and to give him any chance at peace beyond, it was what he had to do.
He lifted his hammer.
Wham. Wham. Wham.
He wondered which of them it hurt more.
Wham. Wham. Wham.
He could have been quieter, but he did not care. He did not care if all the stupid drooling monstrous damnable things in the entire plain converged on him now. Maybe he would have welcomed it, as long as first they would let him stop Samhuinn. There would be time for crying afterward. No, no, maybe there wouldn't be. Maybe it wouldn't make a difference.
Wham. Wham. Wham.
There was no good or bad or right or wrong anymore. There was no civil or savage or just or unfair anymore, there was only necessity. There was doing what had to be done, and this had to be done. He had to, he had to, he had to.
Wham. Wham.
The red hammer fell to earth.
Ambershanks didn't like to close his eyes and recall the last months. He had drawn out all the terror and the anger and the sorrow that he could, and he feared that the only emotion left to sacrifice would be something integral, a key part of what sanity he still maintained. His home was a shambles, his family dead or worse, the world swiftly dribbling downhill into hell. There were only two things important left in the world, his life and his mate's. By the end of the night, he would lose one if not both.
The bite was deep. It would have proven a severe injury from an animal; from those things, those hideous false charades of friends and family, a bite was without doubt fatal. What few healing powers Samhuinn could muster through his gibbering delusions were proving paltry, and what vestiges of survival healing Ambershanks provided was ineffective. Maybe in a safe tent or a barracks, Ambershanks told himself, leaning down once more in a feeble attempt to suck free the venom from the wound in Samhuinn's thigh. Maybe with a priest or a paladin. Maybe if there were any safe tents or priests left. But Ambershanks as the hours had loomed into days and into weeks, he began to wonder, then consider, then believe that he and Samhuinn were the only living ones left.
It had been difficult, escaping from Thunder Bluff. The living had proven more deadly than the walking dead as the slow and the old were trampled under hooves, squished, tossed aside. Samhuinn swore he saw a young doe pushed over the brink of the higher bluffs. Only through Ambershanks's instruction did the two escape alive, using their cat forms to dart between legs and past the moaning caricatures of taurenfolk, trying to ignore the gut-wrenching screams of agony and chaos swarming around them.
There were a few survivors, Ambershanks and Samhuinn among them. They could reach nobody through their speaking stones, but a few of the other survivors were able to get in touch with their loved ones. Even last city was in pandemonium. Even the stalwart Forsaken could be turned. Even Arthas's forces were finding themselves being eaten from the inside out, their very own mindless Scourge susceptible to a greater chaos than the Lich King could muster. Each night communications grew thinner and thinner until at last there came no word from the world outside Mulgore.
It was thought that wide-open plains with abundant crops and hunting animals would have proven safe grounds for such slow-moving mindless droves. But one by one they fell. Some wandered too far out into the dark and found themselves surrounded by the things. Some had become unaccustomed to a wild life and passed away through the rigors of nature. But most of them just snapped. Small fights escalated over days or hours or minutes or seconds into bloodthirsty murders as the weight of all they had lost broke their spirits and shattered their sanity. Some screamed, some mumbled, some sang. But one by one the madness fell upon them.
Ambershanks took Samhuinn off before the makeshift tribe could massacre itself. For such a timid bull, Samhuinn had to his credit remained strong. He had cried, of course, in private, in Ambershanks's arms, but after that he had proven cautious, dedicated, and above all, he managed to keep a grasp on his internal sense of order when the rest of the world was spiraling into chaos. In a moment of exhaustion, Ambershanks exclaimed that Samhuinn would sometimes snap when all was well and yet keep it together when the world was hell. They fought that night. They had fought several times since the onset, sometimes coming to blows or, once, bites. But through it all they had come to trust one another and depend on one another in a way their civilized lives would not afford.
That was coming to an end now. The infection was spreading through Samhuinn's body. It had been for three days. That warm body he had come to depend on during the darkest nights was growing cold, like ice were being dispersed through his body. His breathing had stopped even as his heart still beat. He had begun to drool more, and snort, and sometimes his eyes opened and stared at Ambershanks, but they did not see.
Samhuinn had made a final request the night before, when he could still speak. Ambershanks had shaken his head and resolved with everything he was that he would not grant that request, that it was beyond him, that the request was like giving up and Ambershanks would not give up. He watched the younger tauren's gradual change into something he was not. And he realized that to honor his mate and to give him any chance at peace beyond, it was what he had to do.
He lifted his hammer.
Wham. Wham. Wham.
He wondered which of them it hurt more.
Wham. Wham. Wham.
He could have been quieter, but he did not care. He did not care if all the stupid drooling monstrous damnable things in the entire plain converged on him now. Maybe he would have welcomed it, as long as first they would let him stop Samhuinn. There would be time for crying afterward. No, no, maybe there wouldn't be. Maybe it wouldn't make a difference.
Wham. Wham. Wham.
There was no good or bad or right or wrong anymore. There was no civil or savage or just or unfair anymore, there was only necessity. There was doing what had to be done, and this had to be done. He had to, he had to, he had to.
Wham. Wham.
The red hammer fell to earth.