“Aue ’et uh.” ’Asune get up’ is what Ail’liaro spoke, but without his tongue the words did not form.

He could smell the fear, blood lust was lost with these men—they were not Norsemen who fed off of war, bred for war.

His presence made known by the baptism of blood that erupted from the middle of the battlefield.

Men, women and children all died equally for there was no middle and there was no mercy on either side.

His face nothing but a black skull and his dislocated arm nothing but bone and attached by only the ligaments. The flesh completely torn away from his body. A wind surged through the land sending sand against the raw nerves of his flesh.

The blood of the creatures flooded the battlefield, reaching up to their ankles, and yet they did not stop.

Ne`kell rammed his hand forward gripping the things throat as it snapped its mandibles to try and rip through his faceplate and into his skull.