Waking Up Impaled

Opening my eyes, I was instantly assaulted by a mind numbing amount of pain, "AHHHHH!" I screamed but even that hurt. The scream came out, accompanied by mouthfuls of blood and by the time my vision cleared up somewhat I could tell why the blood was coming from my mouth as I was screaming:

I'd been impaled by so many sword I was surprised I was alive.

Any movement I made, whether that be breathing, or even slight twitches my muscles were doing involuntarily due to the odd position of my body...it all hurt.

It hurt so much.

And I don't know ho much time passed before I even got used to the swords, but I knew that multiple different carrion had landed and picked at my flesh. But after a brief moment, the pain of missing flesh would disappear before it occurred again with the bird eating the flesh over and over and over and over and over and over...

It hurt. But it also annoyed me. It invoked a weird urge in my to ignore the pain around me...and rip that bird apart. To see how it feels when someone rends it's flesh apart.

But something seemed to scare the bird away and within seconds...I knew what had scared it.

A person.

"P-please...help me...!" I got out, somehow, despite my lungs being pierced by so many swords I was surprised they could even hold air anymore.

The person looked of Asian descent and they looked down at me with surprise and pity. I didn't want pity. I wanted help. But help wasn't what they gave...well, directly at least. They grabbed one of the swords piercing my chest and started pulling it from my body.

If the pain before was excruciating, then this pain was the type of mind-breaking pain that sent someone insane. But every time my mind felt like it was going over the edge...it seemed to snap back and heal to it's earlier state. Just like how I got used to the pain earlier, or rather, how I seemed to be able to ignore it after a while. This wasn't normal. I should be dead or going into shock. How am I alive? Why am I alive?

Questions. Questions flooded my mind, followed quickly by cursing whatever put me in this situation. The same odd instinct to kill came back to me again as the man pulled another sword.

He pulled a few more swords after that before binding them together and walking off.

"H-HEY?!" I roared at the exiting man. He looked back at me in pity before walking back. I thought I'd been saved but then he kneeled down next to me and pulled what looked like a tanto blade from behind his back.

I tried to shake my head left and right. I tried to beg. I tried to apologize for shouting.

None of it worked and he slit my throat. I found my vision going dark. I couldn't breath. I felt like I was dying. The last thing I saw before it went dark was the name seeming to be praying before he walked away.

And the last thing I can remember feeling was anger. Pure rage.

Before it all went black. But to my utter surprise and after who knows how long...I woke up. I was alive. Though looking down at my sword-riddled body, I once again wondered - how? The swords were one thing but surviving having my neck slit? That's impossible, isn't it?

Realizing that I could breath again, I came to a stunning revelation...I could heal. Like Wolverine. Or Deadpool. Upon realizing this, I realized something else:

Despite it still hurting immensely, my body felt much better than before. I quickly connected this with the removal of those swords because if they were removed, those parts of my body could heal, couldn't they...? Then what if...I do that for the rest of my body...?

I looked to my right arm or more specifically, my hand.

It was nailed to the sludge-like ground by a short and thin blade. Bracing myself, I moved my hand, feeling the sharp edge cutting deeper into my hand as the width of the blade widened the closer my hand got to the hilt.

The blade was lodged deep because it took until I could grip the hilt that I pulled it from the ground below.

Bring the hilt to my mouth, I gripped the fabric covered hilt in my mouth before I closed my eyes and pulled my hand loose. The hilt served as a brilliant thing to bite through the pain and it muffled my whimpers and cries as my hand began to bleed profusely. But just as I thought that I'd deceived myself about the healing...the pain began to stop.

And before I knew it, my hand was fine.

Opening my eyes and blinking away the tears of pain, I held my hand above my face and despite being coated in mud and blood...it was healed. Flexing my arm and making a fist, I knew that it was completely fine.

I could heal. I could heal. I. Could. Heal.

This was repeated in my head like a mantra as I pulled the blades stabbed into my left arm with my now healed right arm. I pulled them out with fervor as I realized that pulling them out would allow the wounds to heal and would finally stop the goddamn pain!

From my arm, to the top of my chest, and from the top of my chest, to the bottom of my stomach.

I removed every blade I could. Until there was just one. The one that was straight through the middle of my chest and holding me down. The blade's hilt was massive and thick and the blade itself looked to be unnaturally thick.

But I cared not. I grabbed the hilt and I pulled. I pulled and I pulled and I pulled. Yet I made minimal progress. The blade was too heavy and far too stuck in the ground below me.

Most of the blades were normal sized Katanas and only stabbed through my body and a little bit into the soil below. This one was sunken straight through my body and buried it's remaining length through the ground.

Knowing progress would be nil if I continued like I was, I placed my hands on the ground along with my feet. And then I pushed myself up.

It hurt. It really hurt. But compared to when I had dozens of swords stabbed into my body? Not so much. At the back of my mind I already knew I'd been forcibly changed by this experience. I was...different, and that urge to hurt and to kill was still there. Even clearer as my mind cleared away the pain.

As I got up, the blade cut through my chest a little more but whatever healing I had helped me stay alive. Finally, with my feet under me and my torso mostly pointed up, I pushed myself up and with my body, the blade had to come.

Standing, I looked around and saw what looked like a battlefield. Full of gore, blood, death, and rot. Mass graves surrounded me and carrion birds were having their fill. Humans and horses lay not too far from me and all of the humans were wearing armor that I recognized as Japanese.

Some of them even looked like Samurai.

But ignoring that, I looked down at the hilt and with a calmness that would unsettle anyone who knew what I was about to do, I started to pull the blade out of my chest. Inch by inch. Foot by foot. Until it was gone and my body was completely healed...and I felt free. Free of pain or being stabbed to high hell by fucking swords!

...Free. Yet still shackled with what that felt like an urge to kill.

And unlike the other swords, I didn't drop the big one. I looked at it. Slick with my own blood and dirtied by mud. Wiping it against the torn clothes I was wearing until it was clean, I looked at it's shiny metallic surface and saw myself. The same face as I remembered.

Red hair. Green eyes. Pale white skin. Decent looking.

The same. But there was something in my emerald eyes that was...different. Something that sparkled malevolently. I didn't get much time to think about this change as I heard someone speak from behind me in a language I couldn't even begin to fathom. Other than it being Japanese, that is.

"@#%!" the person said and I turned around to see a similar person to the man who pulled those swords out of me and 'mercy' killed me.

I held the heavy Odachi with strength I didn't know I had and tilted my head at the man who looked at the sword I was holding and then to my ragged appearance.

He laughed before he unsheathed his own katana before he rushed at me.

My instincts took over and despite never even having been in a fight, or knowing any martial arts or sword fighting techniques, I easily used the Odachi. Like it was an extension of my body. I easily blocked and parried the katana of the man before I lopped his head off. The Odachi, despite it's obvious weight, was easily to wield in my hands.

Even as the man's blood splattered across my face...I felt nothing other than my urge to kill getting stronger. So I just stepped over the mans corpse and walking toward a group of people I noticed from afar.

I took a step as I felt my body heat up as if I was getting stronger.

Everything disappeared from my head as I realized...all I wanted to do was kill. Those swords impaling me and the pain it caused me...had definitely unhinged me.