Whispers. They were the ones that snapped him out of the darkness. They were now resounding all around him at the edge of audibility, which was like the gentle rustling of the wind. Suddenly they fell silent and it became quiet.
Marus woke up and took a greedy breath of fresh air into his lungs. He remembered everything. He remembered that he had died. Involuntarily, his hand went to the spot where the javelin had been cut into his body. His fingers encountered a layer of clotted blood that, along with his linen clothes, clung tightly to his skin. Surprisingly, nothing hurt him and he felt great. He slowly got up and looked around. There was no one around. The warriors had long since left taking his belongings and horse with them. It must have been a few hours since he could remember, because the sun shining through between the trees had shifted. A dark pool of clotted blood was visible in the roots of the oak tree under which Marus lay. No human could have survived losing it in such quantity.
Marus tried to pull off his stiff linen shirt, but it clung tightly to his body. Finally, he tore it open and tossed it aside. He rubbed his fingers over the place where the javelin had been cut into. There was now a bright star-shaped scar on the skin there. It looked as if the wound had been inflicted many months ago, but it could only have been a few hours. He stood still for a moment, trying to digest the fact that he had somehow managed to survive. He suddenly remembered the strange warriors who had attacked him. As he guessed, they must have been Goths. A disturbing thought occurred to him.
- I have to warn the people of the village. - He said out loud to himself. - Maybe it's not too late.
Marus began running toward the village by the shortest route possible. He knew the area well, and on foot he could go where a horse might encounter problems. The foreign warriors were certainly unfamiliar with the area and would make up the road, if they even made it to their village. He had a chance to get there before them.
As he traveled through the forest, Marus noticed his transformation, which made him more and more surprised. Despite the long run, his body did not tire. He felt light and strong at the same time. Half-naked, he moved quickly between the trees, carefully observing his surroundings. His senses improved considerably. His eyesight sharpened so that the slightest movement of animals drew his attention, and his sense of hearing became more sensitive to sounds. Never before had the sound of the forest reached his ears so clearly.
Another hour passed and as he approached the village, the smell of smoke grew more and more intense in his nostrils. Soon dark clouds could be seen in the sky ahead of him, belching from the burning buildings. Marus realized that he had arrived too late. However, at that moment he was not thinking about his safety. He was thinking about his father and the other inhabitants he had known since he was a child and who were part of his life. He had to protect them.
Marus dashed ahead as fast as he could. At the nearest burning hut, he spotted a warrior standing with his back to him. When the man turned, it was too late for him. He received a powerful blow to the jaw with a crack of breaking bone and his head spun. The man was momentarily knocked out. Marus himself was surprised by his own strength and looked puzzled at the inert body that collapsed to the ground. However, he had no time to think. He grabbed the sword that the warrior had at his belt and moved between the buildings towards the shouts that rang out every now and then.
In the square he found a sight that froze him to the core. On the ground lay the cut-up bodies of villagers who had defended themselves to the end, fighting the invaders. Some of them had their entrails blown out. The strange men had gathered the girls and women of the village in one place and were now taking turns raping them.
Marus felt unimaginable anger. An anger that was searing him from the inside and burning his soul. He wanted these people dead and knew he had to kill them at all costs. In the midst of all these emotions that flooded him, there was another feeling that he did not recognize at first. It was hunger. His nostrils were struck by the metallic smell of the blood of his fellows, which drifted all around him and intensified this feeling.
His fangs involuntarily extended, and he started walking towards the warriors, then running until he reached the closest of them. Instinct told him what to do. He grabbed the man, and before he could do anything, Marus violently tilted his head to the side and sank his teeth into the man's neck. An inhuman scream rang out, drawing the attention of the others, who were busy rapping. Only then did they notice that someone had attacked them. Marus hit an artery with his fangs, and blood under great pressure gushed onto his face and flowed into his mouth. He began to drink it greedily. At that moment, Marus felt a warmth spread throughout his body. A strange form of ecstasy overwhelmed him. After a moment, he discarded the bleeding man and looked at the other Goths, who were looking at him in horror.
Here he stood before them. A half-naked, filthy savage, covered with fresh blood that trickled from his mouth and ran down his body. He held a sword in his hand and looked at them without fear. There were seven of them left, so they were outnumbered, but none of them wanted to move first. Each of them was afraid. Marus made the decision for them and attacked. Soon he clashed with the first of the warriors. With inhuman strength, he deflected the man's sword, nearly knocking it out of his hand, and in a simple motion, pierced him through. The death of their next companion sobered the Goths somewhat. Those who could, grabbed their shields.
There was a buzz of energy in Marus. He felt invincible. The Goths seemed to move slowly to him, as if at a snail's pace. None of their movements escaped his attention and each was predictable.
Under his powerful strike, the shield of another Goth split in two and became useless. Marus' next cut easily reached his opponent, and a fountain of blood rose into the air. A short time later, after a brief exchange of blows, two more warriors fell and threw themselves at him together with a shout. The remaining Goths suddenly realized that they could not defeat him. He moved too fast, and his blows were deadly accurate and inhumanly powerful.
One of the surviving three stepped back with a look of disbelief on his face when he recognise the young man he had killed a few hours earlier with a javelin in Marus.
- Skohsl! - he shouted in terror. After a moment, he threw his sword and shield to the ground and started to run away, followed by the surviving Goths. They could not get far, however. Marus quickly caught up with them and killed them, one by one. When the last of them fell, the battlefield was silent.
