The Nun of Hell

The Nun of Hell

A distorted face, hypertrophied muscles, lupine jaws... that monster can only be one of those Northern warriors having an attack of raging madness, a Berserker. You jump on his ankles and clutch them as hard as you can between your right shoulder and your ear with a tension that disfigures your whole face. Loosing suddenly his balance with a blade backhand, the monster starts to totter. Shackled by your care, he raises his arms and makes them whirl round to try and recover his balance. Consequently, constrained to lift his guard, he leaves his trunk exposed to the opponent. With no more fuss, that one takes the opportunity to drive his sword straight in it and disembowel the monster.
Well done ! You induced the outcome of the fight ! You are sure that thanks to you, there is now one less demon in hell.

You quickly move away to avoid the last avenging blow from the one who owes you his defeat and his death. However, he could hardly do it ; with his bulging eyes and his hands held against his stomach, the Berserker falls on his knees and collapses silently on his side. The last look he takes on life is for you. But strangely enough, that glance does not mean hatred. On the contrary, in his blue eyes you read kindness and pity. Nevertheless, pleased with yourself, you turn over to whom such agony you probably spared.

It is time to know better your new mate. But your excitement is soon chilled. Indeed, whether you do not know what his intentions towards you are, as a matter of fact he does not seem to share the same kind of enthusiasm as you do. A sadistic and cruel grin darkens his face and, while he is wiping the freshly shed blood off his blade as if to prepare it for a brand new blood shed, he explains his intention :

" You're in my way. I'm going to slay you."

The explanation is short but at least it is clear.

At last you understand that the warrior standing before you is nothing like a defender of good.

So here you are, starting a wild race. Without turning back once, you put on a speed that would arouse straight away the suspicion of anti-dope doctors. You run away in the mist, not knowing where you are going. Since you can not see any further than fifteen feet in front of you, you are unable to find your way. But as far as you know, you have not deviated from a straight line. That is why you are amazed to meet him again twenty seconds later. Immobile, he is standing in front of you. He is greeting you with a sadistic grin and your obvious consternation is a great delight to him.

You go on the opposite direction and flee again. How the hell could this happen ? Of course, you took no precise direction.

He must be a runaway from Valhalla where mildness and well being probably became more burning than the worst torments as time went by. Still, you have never fought with a mace or a weighty sword. Your fate is already sealed, all the more since as you try to lift up the dead warrior's weapon, it is so heavy that you very nearly break your wrist. You step back to avoid your attacker's first blow. But it was not far enough : he marks your ribs with a large scratch.

You might have run round in a semicircle. Your side injury having impressed a curve on your race without you knowing it. But logically, you have not run long enough to come back to where you started...

Damn ! There he is, in front of you again ! Still with the same stance and the same grin ! How is that possible ? Did he run twice as fast as you did ? You stop ten feet away from him : no he is not even out of breath. You go back to where you came from and take a resolute turn to the right as you are running. But it is no use.

Twenty seconds later, he appears from the layer of mist that you have just been through. You see him coming towards you. Running away is still your one and only idea. Just like a rat trapped in a cage, you are going round in circles. But the cage seems awfully big and you begin to run out of breath. You slow down the pace and once again you see his silhouette behind a cloud. But as this time you do not run back with enough haste, he comes to meet you at giant steps. So you start again your distraught race. And this repeats time and time again for quite a while. Confrontation is unavoidable !

Every time you go in one direction he appears at the end of it, as if all your escape attempts were converging to the same point. He is everywhere you get to... You entered a mousetrap from which it is obviously impossible to get out. Your legs begin to weaken and your breath to run out.

So you stop halfway and, on the look out, you wait. Is the haze a camouflage only for him or could it also conceal you ? What wouldn't you give to know it !

You could call him to one spot by provoking him with interjections hurled at the top of your voice. Then you would change place. That way you would corrupt the rule of the place to your advantage. He would look for you but would not find you, like you tried to run away from him a moment ago but met him again every time.

So you will perhaps move towards the end of this nightmare. That reasoning makes sense.

You are in a place in which wherever you decide to go, you face the inevitable conflict. Yet nothing has happened for the few minutes you have been waiting. So as you recover, you ponder hard to work out a plan that would get you out of what seems to be a dead end.

And you convince yourself that you can turn the situation against him. For if he is wherever you do not expect him, it is pretty likely that he will not be where you expect him.


		It is risky but you go for it. You fling out loud : "Come and get me if you dare !" in the mist thickness. Then you move to an other spot.

		No ! All this is too intellectual ; pure sophism, an idiotic system. The point is, in an all different way, to sever the Gordius knot ! Resolute, you move towards the inevitable confrontation. You will dash yourself like a shell on his ankles. The strategy has paid off once ; it may pay off again.