The Virgin Claymore
Flash fiction: 50 words of sword-and-sorcery
May 10, 2025
The virgin claymore lies flame-edged atop a marble altar. He raises it in moonlight and strikes. The tapestry, parted, falls in whispers, its hounds lost, now separate from their masters. Exposed, the enemy lunges in transformation, skullcap to tail, hoof to claw. Too quick, the blade, once quenched, still thirsts.