Goddess of War and Death

Killing hordes of men is my favorite thing to do, but sometimes its important to indulge my more whimsical side. When faced with the task of carving up millions of soldiers, its hard to spend much time on excessive brutality. Oh sure, every once in a while I'll take a moment to absolutely ruin some poor bastard, but for the most part its a by the numbers wholesale slaughter. Its not good to ignore the more creative part of my soul. Besides, I've spent a great deal of time pondering which I prefer more: killing a hundred thousand men en masse or butchering a hundred men in exquisite detail. I know damn well I like them both the same, but it gives me something nice to think about while I wait for a fresh crop to harvest.

That need to indulge the artist within is what brings me to this encampment in the middle of the night. An exceedingly cowardly king who has constantly shirked his duty to lead his men in to battle against me is trying to make his way back home after watching me massacre his soldiers for the umpteenth time. Its too good of an opportunity to pass up. I can finally punish this coward for having the audacity to live in to his thirties and I can take my time with his guards. Just a few men, handpicked from the ranks of his army. They ought to provide some sport.

The first one of the boys I find is a sentry, standing watch as if they have any chance against me in the first place. Quietly, I take him from behind, pulling him to the ground and wrapping my legs around him. I clamp my hand over his mouth, muffling his terrified screams. As I start to squeeze, I whisper in to his ear about how pitiful he is. His muscles might have served him well against other men, but against me, against the might of a Goddess, they are utterly worthless. Squeezing with all my power,  I crush the lad, the sound of his ribs and sternum splintering are all quite audible in the otherwise silent night. Blood bubbles up out of his mouth as he dies, coating the palm of my hand. I maintain my grip until hes done twitching. After wiping my hand off on him and telling his corpse how stupid he was for not enjoying the death I gave him, I carry on.

As I draw closer to the camp, I find my next victim. I come at him directly, swaying my way towards him. His eyes goes wide, but before he can cry out in alarm, I silence him simply by putting my finger to my lip. He drinks in the view, knowing full well that I am death incarnate but unable to disobey me. He just keeps staring as I draw close and pull back his head, exposing his throat. He doesn't even struggle as I slit it with my dagger. He falls to ground, gurgling and choking and I sit down beside him, happily listening until he bleeds out.

Finally at the camp, I make my presence known. A group of  four knights are huddled around a fire, trying to keep warm. Before a single one of them can react, I'm upon them. The first one dies instantly as I split him in two, my blade cleaving through his head and body. His gore splashes me, thrilling me and spurring me on. I relieve the next man of his legs just below the knee. No sooner does he start to scream and flail about helplessly on the ground when I spear him through the eye with the heel of my boot. I've still got my foot in whats left of his face when the remaining two manage to act. The first comes at me clumsily, full of anger. Men are so oafish, I have all the time in the world to free myself from the dead man's skull and evade the pitiful blow. My attacker doesn't even have time to feel surprise before I force feed him my sword. It exits out the back of his head and I pull the blade sideways, cutting his skull nearly in two.

The last man tries to flee, but he gets nowhere fast. I rip off his helmet and tear at his face. His eyes split open and his flesh peels away. To make sure he can't try and flee again, I break both his arms and legs with my bare hands and throw him on to the fire. He screams in pain as he begins to cook in his armor, finally alerting the rest of the camp.

The men are quick to join the fight and I'd expect nothing less from the finest knights in the land. These boys didn't have time to put on their armor, but that suits me fine. It lets me see their exquisitely chiseled figures as I kill them. The first of them come at me with a spear. I promptly eviscerate him and take his weapon, leaving him to bleed out as he stupidly tries to stuff his guts back in to his opened stomach. With my newly claimed toy, I skewer three men, driving it through their chests. They gasp, shout and squirm trying to free themselves before crumbling at my feet. One of them coughs up blood on my boots and I punish him for impudence, kicking him in the face so hard it caves in his head.

The men are terrified and attacking me piecemeal, their lifetime of training and conditioning failing them as they finally face me. So many people think I don't value male life at all, that I don't even think of men as human. On the contrary. Its their lifetime of training, their hopes and their dreams that makes slaughtering them worthwhile. Its why I claim them so early in their lives. Young men stand on the precipice of life, in their physical prime. If they weren't so full of energy and a desire to live, they wouldn't be half as fun to murder.

The next man to try his luck lunges at me. I catch him in mid-charge with my sword, burying it in his groin. Of all the things I can do to a man, this is by far the most enjoyable. The lad keeps looking back and forth between the blade between his legs and me, his eyes full of disbelief. “Aww, poor boy,” I tease him. “Oh well, I didn't want that from you anyways. I wanted this.”

I stab him with my dagger over and over, turning his broad, muscular chest into an unrecognizable mass of gore. He has the audacity to cry, to weep in my presence as I kill him. I don't bother collecting my sword, but I do bring the dagger with me. All thats left is the craven king and I don't need anything but my hands and a cutting utensil for him.

Of course, I find him cowering in his tent. I give him a smile and ask him if he really thought I'd ever let a man die of old age.

Killing him is a sheer delight. I gouge his eyes out first so he can't even look at me before he dies. I shred his flesh, from head to toe, with my nails before breaking every bone in his body. Once the bones in his limbs are shattered, I carve them off with my dagger and describe the sight to him, telling him what all the pieces of him look like. He screams, he whimpers, he begs and in the end, he too weeps and cries like an infant as I beat the life out of him.

===THE FOLLOWING PART IN PARENTHESIS IS TOTALLY OPTIONAL===

(Ad-lib something about finding a man hiding in a corner once you've calmed down from the ecstasy of your latest kill. Talk about what you do to the poor bastard. Be as brutal and graphic as you like.)