When disaster strikes, the last place you want to be is amongst a crowd of people. Panicked people especially made for a lousy lot. Chris vowed to remember that as he was swarmed in an avalanche of panic, forced to run faster lest those behind crush him in their panic.

People scattered in all directions, uncaring of where they went. The guttural roars seemed to whip them into a new frenzy, causing the avalanche to panic anew. The shouts and screams took on a fever pitch, rising to the point of being an indistinguishable white noise that crashed into him like a wave.

For his part, Chris did his best to ride the wave without thinking. Once it spilled out of the square and crashed into the rest of the camp proper, the wave thinned enough to unspool him from its confines. He crumpled to the ground on hands and knees and looked around the camp in heaving breaths.

It was chaos, everywhere. Tents lay in tatters and splintered wood from broken crates created a minefield of debris. The tremors grew wilder and less forgiving, sending people crashing into the ground in droves. In only a few minutes, the outpost looked like a scene from a natural disaster.

The ground shook and everything in the square came apart. Crates, wagons, and everything else disintegrated into a pile of rubble right before his eyes. Above it all, the guttural roars grew louder.

Without further thought, he rose to his feet and started running away from the roars. He fell more than once in his stumble across mounds of debris. All the while, the ebb and flow of carnage played out like a movie around him.

Figures like liquid pools of ink came running out the shadows. First one, then five, then a score howled their way through camp, wreaking havoc wherever they trod. Putrid saliva dripped from their jaws, hitting the ground with the sound of water on hot coals.

Chris blocked it all out, putting all his focus on cresting one mound after the other. The world shifted and blurred until he felt like a passenger watching the events unfold around him through a hazy window. Parts of him kept thinking it wasn't real, that the screaming would go away when he opened his eyes and was greeted with the dawn of a new day.

But that moment never came, and the screaming only grew louder. More and more of the creatures took shape until the air vibrated with the sound of gleeful howls and pain-filled screams. The only reason they hadn't reached him was thanks to the mounds of debris heaped around him. The slim security would not last but it gave him an opportunity to get a better look at the Blightspawn.

The creatures looked like reptilian hounds covered in black leathery skin. They were waist-high in height and attacked in bursts of speed, overwhelming their victims with ferocity and reckless charges. There was no way he would involve himself in any of that, so he pivoted in the direction with the least amount of turmoil.

At some point, he stumbled across a pole half as tall as he was. It looked like a prop for a tent and he didn't hesitate to drag it with him. It slowed him down considerably but if he had to fight Blightspawn, he wanted to keep as much distance between him and them.

He came out near the butcher’s yard, where the screams were less chilling. The acrid stench was a welcome relief compared to the frantic pleas for help. Still, there was no time for rest and he almost tumbled in his rush down the shallow hill.

Lazriel and his crew were down there. He had no plan but being around people who spent their days butchering Blightspawn wouldn't hurt his chances. They could figure something out between them.

The silence was the first clue that something was wrong. Over a dozen men worked in the butcher's yard. There was no way none of them would sit idle after hearing roars and screams for help.

When he arrived in the yard, he no longer had to wonder what happened. Part of his mind shrieked in horror at the sight before him while the rest of his body went numb. For a moment, he just stood there, trying to decipher the scene into something legible.

A seething sea of black and red sludge streamed along the tufted ground like a dry riverbed. Beneath the churning sea of black and red rose ribbed humps of torn flesh, broken bones, and a hand clutching a blunt knife. The air was hot and turgid, baking the stench into the earth until it festered like a rotten thing.

Chris only managed a few seconds of careful examination before he was forced to empty out his stomach. There had been over a dozen carcasses littering the yard earlier that day. The slaughter that took place left a uniform mesh of flesh and he couldn't separate man from beast.

At the far end of the black and red sludge, sat a hulking panther-like creature, tongue lolling, watching him with yellow-slitted eyes. Swirls of emerald, sapphire, and ruby rippled along its pupils; the same as the Blight Gate.

Jet black fur covered a sleek frame rippling with taut muscles. When it saw him staring it stumbled to its feet and he noticed a familiar set of jagged wounds lacerating its body. It took him a moment to remember where he’d seen cuts like that and he looked back to the torn hand still clutching a blunt knife. The same knife Lazriel had been pestering him to do something about for weeks.

The creature lumbered towards him, a monument of his failures coming to haunt him like a perfect ending to a good tragedy. He barely saw it. His mind was dizzy as guilt settled around him like chains stretched to breaking. This was all his fault. Maybe if he listened to Lazriel some of them would still be alive

An ominous growl broke through his turmoil and he looked up to see the Blightspawn already halfway towards him. Gripping the pole like a quarterstaff, he glared back at the creature with a mix of regret, self-loathing, and resolve to make things right. He might die here but he owed the others that much, at least.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Not waiting for the creature, Chris charged with reckless abandon, bringing the pole around in a bat swing. Startled, the creature tried to back away but the long pole took it across the shoulder before it could get too far. Bone cracked and a loud whimper escaped its throat, but he heard none of it.

He pulled his arms back and brought the pole down again and again. But it was taking too long. He threw it aside and advanced on the beast with bare fists. A claw tore into his leg but that pain was a noonday breeze to the turmoil tormenting him inside.

Pain, grief, and sorrow made his fists fall down like hammer blows until his vision turned red. Coherent thought faded and was replaced with the need to let it all out.

“Raging storms, Chris. It's dead. Snap out of it,” said a voice in the background, breaking through the haze.

He was jerked back and his vision turned white when his back crashed into the ground. Chris blinked and looked up to see Zareti’s imposing figure looming over him. Then pain like he’d never felt before pulsed through his body like a vortex.

“We don't have time for this,” said another voice he didn't recognize. “Grab your friend and follow me. The Seekers won’t be able to hold for much longer.”

Chris slowly sat up and turned to see two others with him. One was an Azzari warrior he’d never seen before. His face was pale and he gripped his spear like it was a lifeline. He was doing everything he could not to look at the ground and Chris didn't blame him for it.

The second was a lanky old man with a whip-like figure. He had the worst case of sunburn Chris had ever seen and it left his face pockmarked with wrinkles. His shoulder-length gray hair was bleached from sunlight and was plastered to his scalp like a soiled rag. When he caught him looking, he gave a crisp nod before spitting on the ground.

“Ugly business you got here,” he said in a gruff voice, looking down on the red sludge like he would a cultivated garden. “If you must, you can cry while we’re on the move. There’ll be a lot more where this came from.”

“I’ll grab him,” said Zareti. “You bring the weapons and all the supplies we can carry, old man. I don't think we’ll be coming back here anytime soon.”

“The Head Seeker won’t be pleased to learn you’ve been stealing from our supplies this whole time,” said the Azzari, a touch of sourness breaching his tone.

“That old man will have enough on his plate to bother us,” said Zareti, hauling him to his feet. “Now enough talking. It's time we get out of here.”

The Azzari took a moment to glare at them before turning to march out of the yard. Chris found himself leaning on Zareti more than he would’ve liked as pain lanced up his left leg. His hands and wrists felt like raw wounds with salt rubbed on them, and it was all he could do not to break out screaming.

“Wha… when did you get here?” Chris rasped between groans.

“What was that? Oh, we arrived around in time to see you caved its skull in. That was sloppy of you, by the way. I’ll show you a thing or two about punching when your hands heal up.”

That was not what he was asking but he kept quiet and weathered the trip up the hill as best he could. The outpost stood in ruins. The sound of people running, shouting, and dying echoed through the air. Creating a macabre symphony that resonated with the devastation all around them.

Mixed in with that chilling noise was the sound of anguished roars and whimpers. Chris whipped his head around wildly, almost falling out of Zareti’s grip. As though reading his mind, Dante gestured at the center of the outpost.

“There,” he said, pointing.

Chris turned in that direction and let out a gasp. The area around the Blight Gate looked like the center of a storm. Dozens of Blightspawn came flooding out the Gate and streamed into the camp like a tide.

Unlike the Outlanders, the Azzari weren’t allowing them to rampage unopposed. They fought in teams of five; three people distracting the creature, while the final pair struck them down. It was a simple plan, and the Azzarri executed it to perfection.

Even as more creatures kept coming, they never broke ranks. There wasn't so much as a hitch in their movements as they flung themselves into the hoard like moths to a flame. Their teamwork not losing fluidity, even at the brink of death.

“Look at the Tainted,” said Zareti, pointing at the figures standing near the mouth of the Blight Gate.

Chris followed his gesture and saw a group of less than fifty holding a loose formation at the mouth of the Gate. They stood rooted in place and it took him a moment to recognize the general standing at the lead.

He immediately understood why the rest of the Azzari gave them a wide berth. Their fluid teamwork was impressive. However, it was a paltry party trick compared to the utter decimation that line was dishing out. They moved so fast that he only saw the aftermath of their actions.

The only reason he saw anything at all was because of an awkwardness in their motions. Almost as though they were using skates for the first time. It did little to stop them from cutting a swathe through the creatures, but it was noticeable.

His eyes were drawn to the general. His movements were as clunky as the rest, but it was less pronounced on him. He was holding off not one or two, but half a dozen creatures all on his own.

One of the creatures jumped for his unguarded back, with jaws wide open. And was stopped cold with a spear through its mouth.

He pivoted, disemboweling a creature on the ground with his spear while fending off another with a kick to the head.

Two more came at him, forcing him a step backward. Once cornered, he fell into a stance, and a yellow mist radiated from his skin. The next moment, he was gone. Fighting another hoard of monsters thirty meters away. He flung kicks and spear thrusts around him with ruthless proficiency.

When he paused long enough for him to get a better look. Chris saw his eyes glowing a soft emerald hue, making him look otherworldly. Shifting his gaze, he realized they all had those eerie glowing eyes.

Unlike the brief glimmers, he saw that morning followed by bursts of power. This time, the glow was persistent.It was no wonder their movements were all over the place, they must not be used to it yet.

Their escort did not stop or slow down to take in the spectacle and the last thing he saw was the general flinging himself into another hoard. What could he do with that kind of power? No, the better question was what would he do when he had that power?

The question drifted through his psyche, distracting him from the pain wreaking havoc in his body. It wasn't long before they reached the exit and came across more Azzari leading Outlanders out. Well, at least there’ll be plenty of food for everyone now, he thought morbidly.

“This is where I leave you,” said the Azzari, already turning to leave.

“Wait a moment,” Chris said, “why do you call yourselves Seekers?”

“Our purpose has always been to seek Sukanda’s Rest and restore what was lost,” he said proudly, before deflating. “At least that’s what we were before Blights Touch. May you all find shade under Sukanda’s leaves. I have to go back and help.”

Chris watched him wade into the sea of chaos without a backward glance. He was a young man, but something about the panicked Outlanders passing by him made him a pillar that towered of strength. A stone in the ocean.

He held that image until it was seared into his mind. He had been like that once. What happened to him? Zareti began leading them into the surrounding forest but Chris held that image like a light to his darkness. Maybe one day, he would find himself back there.