Before the Beast III
Its bellow made a few of my men deaf. I felt my left ear drum burst as I had not cover it well enough. It arched backwards, a dozen of gigantic arrow projectile sticking to its eyes, needles in comparison to him, but needles can blind any man. He tripped over a half-crumbled tower and fell back onto the half-destroyed walls and battlements it had left in its wake, and something cracked as he did. It sounded like a bone, a bone the size of a tower. It bellowed again and kicked, wildly, bursting part of my last wall. It just burst like a massive explosion had taken effect.
I saw half my men crumbling back with the debris to rain over the city. Like everyone else, however, I was too overwhelmed to manage any kind of reaction. I stood still. Frozen.
I was a farmer once. There was a moment in the past when my biggest worry had been how to milk a cow. When my biggest failure was to have clothes dirtied by muddied rain.
...
Ten cities. Four castles. Twelve to fifteen thousand lives and the greater majority of the royal family. My left ear. A beast so big and mighty we thought it a mad god laying in front of me, its bellow shaking the earth hundreds of feet beneath the wall beneath me. Its wild kick having effortlessly shattered a third of said wall, of the last wall.
I had climbed in life with all of my ability only to now realize I had just made myself responsible for so much. For too much, my failures were impossible for me to perceive, let alone fathom. I could quantify it but I could never qualify it.
Lacking the ability to heal, however, the beast would be blind. That was all I could hope for now; that it, at least, would be unable to seek out other nations.
As for me?
Its foot claw approached like a falling building. The size of one, too. I noticed the unholy hell that was stuck to it, an agglomeration of ground, buildings and corpses all pressed together in a muddled mess of despicable visage.
My grave.
