Liam Hall

The Creature

A column of mercenaries marched through the ravine beneath him, their leather boots squelching in the mud.

Examining them as they passed through, he counted fifty. Each one walked with military discipline, stoically enduring the downpour of rain of this foreign world.

Their guisarmes were held with the thin blades pointed to the sky, deterring an aerial attack. Short blades hung by their waists, ready to engage in melee combat once their polearms failed.

But they were of little interest to him.

Just as the advance guard left his sight, a jeweled palanquin entered the ravine. He didn’t understand where in their train of thought they believed this would be the best way to blend in but perhaps he mistook their intentions. Maybe they sought to show that their dominion over the planet left them uncontested.

How pitifully vain.

A hunger howled in him to shed first blood but after incessantly hunting for clues across the universe, this was the first lead he’d retrieved in a hundred Reuns. A long time to keep a blood debt. Invisible in the gloom of the surrounding forest, he patiently waited for them to pass by.

He would not waste this chance.

A small army guarded the jeweled palanquin.

Unlike the advance group that went before them, these ones lacked any semblance of structure, guarding the palanquin as a horde.

As soon as the first half had passed, he leapt from his position and flew silently through the air, camouflaged in the gray of the rain clouds by the amulet he wore.

BOOM!

Landing right behind the palanquin, the force of the impact formed a crater around him, pulverizing the nearest ones. Waiting in the small crater for them to come to him, he watched with a wry smile as they tried to pull themselves out from under their steeds.

The suits of armor were powerful, undoubtedly paid for by their employer. Another show of power and wealth. A helmet slipped off one of their heads and his smile vanished.

Orcs, he glowered, memories of a time past resurfacing. Scourge of the universe.

The orcs looked around for their assailant, waving their swords aimlessly.

Can’t even do a basic detecting spell.

Disengaging his invisibility, the orcs finally locked onto him, their beady black eyes narrowed with hatred. With a guttural war cry, they charged; still disorientated and disorganized but fueled by bloodlust.

Malice filled his eyes as the shadow cloak swirled around him to intercept blows. Summoning his spear from a bracelet, he singled out the largest among them and hurled his spear at its chest. The monster didn’t even notice the hole in his chest until it collapsed in a heap.

Reaching out, the spear flew back into his hand, greedily drinking the green blood of its prey. Though dumb and dense as a rock, that sent a pretty clear message.

The orcs stopped and studied their opponent warily, glimpsing at the shriveled husk of their fallen comrade. With heavy armor and shields designed to interlock and form an indomitable metal wall, they had the potential to put up a fight, but… they were stupid.

One of them grunted and started ordering the others to form a shield wall.

Ah, it must be an enlightened one.

As a newly turned believer of ‘sportsmanship’ — a concept he’d learned from the human boy’s memories — he waited in his crater for them to arrange themselves. Looking over to the palanquin to see if something had stirred, he caught sight of the group of mercenaries running back in haste.

And on cue, he spotted a small halfling clambering out of the broken palanquin. Seeing its attacker covered in swirling black shadows, he rushed towards the oncoming mercenaries, waving his hands for help.

The orcs on the other hand seemed to understand their predicament. Only armed with gilded longswords, they were forced to meet him, descending along the sides of the crater he’d made.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Twenty feet away… fifteen feet… ten feet… and it was over.

His spear extended thirty feet, piercing the armor of two orcs. Swiftly dropping to a knee, he twirled the shaft around him and a shower of green watered the dirt. Humming with pleasure as it absorbed the fresh blood, he returned his spear to its regular size and leaned on it, waiting.

Fifty of the monsters had been slain within seconds, filling the crater with orc bodies.

The ground trembled as the mercenaries responded to the cry for help. They wear my patience thin. Reactivating his cloak of shadows, he raised an arm and the rain overhead froze in place.

“He’s at least a brand! Spread out!” the plumed leader cried out, reining in a four-legged creature he’d never seen before.

But their plan was difficult to execute in a narrow passage which is why he’d chosen this location. Unable to flank him, they were funneled right towards him.

On their shoulder plates of their mismatched armor, they wore the insignia of the Black Ark Warriors, a well-known mercenary trope. Known for taking bribes and leaving a job half-done if they stood to benefit from their client’s failures. Undoubtedly they involved themselves when they heard the halfling’s coins calling for help.

While five of them ran to secure the halfling, the rest were still oblivious to the spikes of ice growing above them.

Waving his hand down the spikes fell silently, sealing their fates. Screams erupted around him as the entire band was skewered, their armor useless against two-ton shards of ice descending from the sky.

Ignoring the blubbering cries of the dying mercenaries, he searched for the leader. He found him dead with the entire right side of the man’s body separated from the rest, and on his lips, his last orders still lingered.

The creature he was riding wasn’t spared from the brunt of the attack. The bovine animal lay there moaning on its side, its eyes turning glassy in shock. A pity.

Plunging his spear through its skull, he left his spear to drink, walking towards the surviving members.

“I’m sorry. We just did what we were told—”

With a wave of his hand, the mercenary’s head rolled in the mud. The rest kept their mouths shut. Inspecting them, he noticed that they were missing someone.

“Where is the halfling?” he demanded.

They simultaneously pointed to a creature climbing up the side of the ravine.

“Don’t move,” he instructed them and vaulted over to the government official. As the halfling finally made it to the top, it found him waiting.

“Please, I didn’t do anything. I promise not to tell anyone, I swear,” he noisily pleaded, crying into his handkerchief.

The halfling’s pristine navy blue and black uniform was torn at the hem and covered in mud. His large ears and mousy brown hair gave him the appearance of a child, but its scowling lips ruined the effect.

“Give me the location of the man who governs this sector,” he replied, disgusted by the halfling’s behavior.

Ceasing its crying immediately, it looked up incredulously. “How does something like you know that?”

“For I met him before. Shall I take your question as your refusal to answer?” he asked, summoning his bloody spear.

“L-listen now,” he stammered, nervously wetting his lips. “I don’t know where he is, b-but I know of someone who uhhh… would know.”

“Who do you speak of?”

“Ysleve of Turnoc,” he replied. “All I know is that he has black hair, I swear!”

“Him and half the galaxy,” he sighed, plunging the spear into its guts.

Blood burbled from its mouth as the halfling’s vitality was drained into the spear. “Why?”

Twisting it deeper, he pulled it back out, taking its guts with him. Its drained body fell at his feet, twitching, and then finally it fell limp.

Staring at the trees behind him, he watched them sway in the wind. “Why? You are a liability.”

Walking back down the slope, he frowned when he saw there was only one mercenary remaining.

“Where are your friends?”

The mercenary looked to their right and the retreating figures in the distance. Pulling water from the ground, he froze it into three spears and launched, watching it till it closed the distance and impaled them in their backs.

The mercenary hadn’t moved yet, shuffling uneasily in their mismatched armor. Large mercenary tropes like the Black Ark had too many members to manage so they made applicants scavenge.

“Take off your helmet.”

Slowly wrenching off its helmet, long mahogany hair flowed out, tumbling down her back. Her stature was hard to discern under her bulky armor, but the slightly pointed ears and small teeth hid nothing.

“An aureavil,” he remarked dryly. “What is your name?”

“Glissa Fouris,” she answered without hesitation. “What is to become of me?”

“... Well, that will be up to your discretion.”

“I would like to live.”

“So be it. Before I leave— and let’s pray we never meet again — do you know a Ysleve of Turnoc?”

“He’s a military contractor of the upper echelon in Turnoc, a supposed genius of the Lux branch.”

Preparing to leave, she called out, “You know I must tell my superiors, right? My commander was the band leader’s son. He’ll find you and kill you.”

Chortling at her misplaced concern, fierce vibrations from his necklace interrupted his retort. It was an artifact gifted to him when he became one of the stronghold’s guardians. Responsible for their protection, he was among the first ones to know when something was amiss. Someone’s broken into the Citadel.

Leaving the aureavil woman, he rushed to the cover of the surrounding forest and summoned a portal, praying there were no reports involved when he got back.