POV : WASTELAND
Nadir and his soldiers had ventured out, searching for a new ambush spot that would give them the upper hand in their next encounter. What they hadn’t anticipated was becoming the hunted instead of the hunters. The skeletal horde came upon them like a shadow creeping over the land, silent at first, then deafening with the clatter of bones and jangling of rusted armor.
The sight was overwhelming—a sea of undead, their hollow eyes glowing with a cold, unnatural light. Nadir’s soldiers froze for a moment, their weariness from the previous battle weighing them down. The air grew thick, charged with the metallic tang of impending violence.
“We’ve been spotted!” one of his men shouted, panic edging his voice.
But there was no time to prepare. The skeletal warriors surged forward, weapons gleaming in the faint moonlight. The clash was immediate and brutal.
CLANG! CRASH!
Shields were torn apart like paper, swords shattered against unyielding bone.
Nadir’s voice rose above the chaos, commanding his men to stay steady, but the fatigue from their battle with the adventurers earlier that day dulled their reflexes. Their movements were sluggish, their formations loose.
A skeletal knight cleaved through one soldier with a jagged sword, its blade cutting through armor with a sickening SHRICK. Another warrior fell under the relentless barrage of clawed hands that tore flesh from bone.
“Fall back!” Nadir bellowed, but it was too late.
The horde pressed them hard, forcing them into a chaotic retreat. Screams filled the air, blending with the eerie rattling of bones. Nadir fought with everything he had, his blade flashing as he cut down one undead after another.
‘This is bad,’ he thought, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. ‘We weren’t ready for this.’
One of his lieutenants stumbled, an arrow piercing his throat. He went down with a wet gurgle, his blood pooling on the ground as skeletal archers rained arrows from afar.
THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!
There was no saving them. The ending had been written before the first blow was struck. Outnumbered, exhausted, and unprepared, Nadir’s forces were overrun.
“For the Faith!”
Screams of defiance rang out across the battlefield. Yet it looked like today was not going to be a day where prayer would turn the tide.
Nadir fought on, slashing and stabbing, but every swing of his sword felt heavier than the last. He was losing strength, losing hope. A skeletal warrior lunged at him, its jagged sword catching him in the side. Nadir cried out in pain, staggering as blood seeped through his tunic. He could barely stand. His vision blurred as he saw the last of his men fall, overwhelmed by the sea of bones.
A bestial skeleton loomed over him, raising its massive sword for the final blow. Nadir gritted his teeth, raising his sword in a feeble attempt to block it. But he knew it was over. His strength had failed him. His men were dead. He had led them to their doom.
The skeleton's sword came down with brutal force.
CRUNCH!
Nadir's sword shattered, the blade splintering in his hands. The skeleton's blade followed through, slashing across his chest, and he fell to his knees, choking on his own blood.
As Nadir knelt in the dirt, the cold grip of death closing in, his thoughts turned away from the battle, away from the bloodshed and his fallen men. Pain coursed through his body, but in his mind, there was a strange, calm certainty. ‘Even though I fall here, I shall awaken in the promised land.‘
The skeletal warrior attacked again, it’s hollow eyes and cold sword reflecting Nadir’s end
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Yet, the dying Nadir felt no fear. His faith wrapped around him like a shield, stronger than any armor. ‘The faith will preserve us,‘ he thought, a flicker of peace softening the edge of his pain.
He could feel his body weakening, his breaths shallow, but his spirit remained unshaken. This world, the endless struggle, was just a passage. Beyond it lay something greater. “Paradise awaits,” he told himself, his grip loosening on the shattered remnants of his sword.
As the final blow came down, Nadir’s last thought was not of defeat, but of a serene, unshakable belief.
***
Darkness closed in as the skeletal horde continued their merciless onslaught, their bony feet crunching over the remains of Nadir and his fallen men.
The battlefield was a painting of death, churned into a gruesome mixture of earth, blood, and ruin. The corpses of the dead lay strewn about, limbs twisted unnaturally, faces frozen in terror. Skeletal bones, broken and scattered, crunched underfoot, half-buried in the dirt like grim reminders of the onslaught.
Dented armor, battered and broken, lay discarded beside the fallen. Helms split open, chest plates pierced through, some still clinging to the bodies they had failed to protect. Mana coins, glinting faintly in the low light, were scattered among the wreckage—tokens of power now meaningless among the dead. Weapons lay everywhere—swords snapped in two, axes lodged deep in the soil, spears bent and splintered—mute witnesses to a fight that had gone horribly wrong.
Here and there, the ground was stained dark with blood, viscera spilling from bodies that had been torn open. Entrails mingled with the mud, a grotesque smear of flesh and earth. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, the sickly sweet scent of decay mingling with the iron tang of blood.
All around, the once-defiant bandits were now just remnants, their lives crushed into the wasteland’s dirt. It was as though the land had swallowed them, consumed everything they had been, leaving only memories.
In the end, there was nothing left but bones and silence. The skeletal army marched on, leaving a trail of death in their wake. Nadir and his bandits were no more, just another casualty in the wasteland's endless cycle of violence.
‘‘‘
POV : CELESTIAL WAGER
The Celestial Wager buzzed with energy, its liquid-silver floors rippling under the footsteps—or equivalent appendages—of its alien patrons. Holographic screens displayed a variety of live feeds from the Wasteland below, including the most popular attraction of the moment: Nadir and his exhausted soldiers facing their untimely demise at the hands of a Skeletal Horde.
Zeltrax leaned lazily against the railing of a VIP balcony, his translucent skin glinting under the soft glow of the ambient lights. He sipped from a floating bulb of a fluorescent drink while his three green eyes tracked Nadir’s attempt to rally his troops.
“Predictable,” he said, his voice dripping with boredom. “Should have just laid down and saved everyone the trouble.”
“Predictable?” Gorvax rumbled, his deep, gravelly voice vibrating the air. The massive, stone-like alien sat beside him, gripping a glass that was, in essence, a boulder with a straw. “I had my coins on ghouls. This was… disappointing.”
“That’s because you’re unimaginative,” said Lurox, fluttering nearby with his iridescent blue wings catching the neon light. He gestured grandly at the screen where a skeletal soldier blasted Nadir’s lieutenant into a bolt riddled heap. “Skeletons have panache. You don’t get drama like that with ghouls.”
Zeltrax raised his drink bulb in mock toast. “Here’s to panache, then.”
At a nearby betting kiosk, Zark and Bleeb were causing their usual scene. The two alien bettors—blob-like creatures with perpetually drooping eyes—stared forlornly at their rapidly dwindling balance.
“Who bets on tripping over his own sword?” Kroxar scoffed, his tentacles twisting with incredulity as he adjusted his payout slip. “It’s like you two enjoy losing.”
“It seemed poetic!” Zark protested, his voice wobbling like his body.
Bleeb slumped further into his gelatinous form. “We’re visionaries… misunderstood visionaries.”
“Idiots,” muttered Blontik from behind the counter, his greasy-lipped face twisting into a grin as he raked in their losses. “The house always wins.” He punctuated his point by flicking a slimy mana coin onto the counter.
Across the room, Virelia glided effortlessly between tables, handing out drink bulbs to winners and losers alike. She approached Zeltrax’s group, her lavender skin glowing softly as her luminescent tendrils danced.
“Celebrating or commiserating?” she asked with a sly smile, holding out a tray of sparkling drinks.
“Celebrating,” Lurox answered, taking a bulb. “I had Skeletal Horde. The payout’s delightful.”
Gorvax grumbled something unintelligible and waved her off, glaring at the screen where Nadir’s head finally rolled across the blood-soaked sand. “Ghouls would’ve been better.”
“You’ve said,” Zeltrax sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “Several times.”
On the screens above, Nadir’s final moments replayed in slow motion, accompanied by commentary from a holographic announcer.
“And there it is, folks! The Horde claims another victim! If you had ‘decapitated by skeleton knight,’ collect your winnings now!”
Kroxar’s tentacles twitched in satisfaction. “Not bad. I got the timing down to the exact minute.”
The holograms flashed the updated odds for the next big event—a caravan ambushed by mutant rhinoceros. Lurox leaned closer, his wings fluttering in excitement. “Oh, this one’s going to be interesting. Ten-to-one they make it to the Frontier Justice.”
Blontik chuckled darkly. “Not likely. Let the betting begin.”
As the crowd buzzed with new wagers and old grudges, Virelia shook her head with a knowing smile. In the Wasteland, death was inevitable. Here in the Celestial Wager, the only question was how profitable it would be.