Flash Fiction: “The Barbarian Crazylegs”

The Barbarian Crazylegs

The barbarian Xatmec Crazylegs whirled his broadsword down on skull-faced cretin. Said bastard parried weakly and made his own attempt on Xatmec’s exposed shin. In a wild blur of metal Xatmec lifted the imperiled leg and stomped the attacking blade down into the stone floor, holding it there with all his weight; the grounded sword wobbled and bowed under his boot.

With nothing much else to do, the cretin gaped stupidly at the barbarian who’d bested him. Xatmec was a giant, with an enormous sweep of breast and the shoulders of an ox. He wore a tattered robe of deerskin that fell lightly over a beaten iron girdle. Gripping a chinked sword as heavy as a man, his forearms were massive with corded muscle. His great legs were at the same time fat and lean.

“Ready for hell, dog?” spat Xatmec. He waited, patient, for the other to respond, and then it occurred to him that perhaps the man couldn’t talk. Perhaps, during the cretin’s Bone Ceremony—when, with obsidian blade, he’d flayed skin and muscle neatly off his face, leaving unmolested only his red watery eyes—he severed his tongue as well. But Xatmec grew bored with such thoughts, and, in blatant defiance of physics, lashed his hefty leg upwards in a violent crescent kick. The speeding bulk of his shin connected with the other man’s throat. In a wet pop the man’s windpipe imploded, his jaw fell limp. The pupils of his eyeballs vanished up into the shadows of his sockets.

Xatmec took note of the swelling tongue inside the jaw, then, with his massive hand he gripped the entirety of his enemy’s face and crushed it like it was a cheap porcelain vase. The bone crunched and popped into a dozen terrible flakes. Freed from their cradle of bone, the cretin’s eyeballs dangled and rolled over a tongue buried in brittle white shards and speckled with unsightly skull liquids. As a desperate gurgling sound rose up from a now-faceless throat, the eyeballs jiggled on their bed of bone gravel and tongue and blood and brain wrinkles. As Xatmec left the dark chamber he noted with amusement that his enemy was still alive, stumbling around the room sprinkling bone bits on the floor. Choking on his own eyes.

copyright 2012 Bill Carson

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3 Responses to Flash Fiction: “The Barbarian Crazylegs”

  1. cestlavie22 says:

    I love the gruesome nature of this post! My favorite part is that the opponent didnt die but instead was forced to suffer. My one critique would be instead of “funny noises” maybe you could use Onomatopoeia? I think it might add a bit of dark humor 🙂

    • Bill Carson says:

      thanks! I just liked the idea of a Conan-like barbarian warrior, standard in most ways, except he has bruce-lee-like flexibility when it comes to kicking. A weird scenario that shouldn’t and wouldn’t exist, yet here in this “magical realm” it does! I was thinking he even does full “splits” too, and from that position he can no doubt wreak some real havoc with his sword (I’ve been thinking about this too much, I guess). love the suggestion about the dark humor, although today a new final detail came to me and I had to use it.

  2. cestlavie22 says:

    LOVE the new bit!!! I can see him rolling the eyeballs in and out of his mouth but cant quite spit them out as the juices slip and slide down his throat.

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