Consciousness comes quickly, and with it sensation. As the body awakes, a need for oxygen arises. The lack of air brings about an acute sense of danger. Eyes open abruptly, causing a red and brown world to appear. In its vision figures are moving. It knows that they are prey and instinct kicks in. The right arm shoots forward and easily takes the life of the figure closest. It rises from the slick mud that housed its body for so long.

Its limbs feel loose and flexible, and in no time two more prey are dead, while more are running away. A deep hunger distracts it shortly, before conscious beats instinct and it decides to hunt the last two. Their smell indicates they split up, but it does not matter. The first man is mangled quickly, but the second has gone far away already, the scent is mixing with other odours. Concentrating, the beast resumes the hunt. As it continues, other creatures appear in the tunnels. They are monsters with demonic appearances, mutations of many creatures and globs of flesh that exude a poisonous mist. They are not prey, but equally insignificant, so any in its path are swathed aside.

It does not take long to pick up the scent once more. The Barh’groth growls when the target is found, before lurching towards the weak body. Finally, it sates some of the hunger. When it is finished, the surroundings become clearer and a nearby light draws it closer. The beast strides into the outside world, where its steps cause the earth to lightly quake.

Outside a dark plane stretches in all directions. Tall mountains appear in the distance. Behind the exit, rock rises to form a great mountain peak, and to the side of the mountain a black fortress rests. Overhead, the sky is covered by turbulent grey clouds.

The creature stands still, taking in the new world, and adjusting all its senses. A feeling of indecisiveness stirs inside its mind, not knowing what it should do. The feeling is replaced by the necessity to enter the fortress, to receive instructions and to start serving its purpose for which it was bred.

Just as the Barh’groth begins to move, a small sense of self-awareness appears telling it to reconsider, to decide on its own path. Rapidly, this feeling is quashed and the beast disappears in the shadows of the fortifications.

*

Several years after these events, the Barh’groth has become a feared existence. The beast’s masters reside on a large island in the middle of this world. Their fortresses are rising above the ruins of the civilization that they destroyed when they arrived from another world through their portals. Via magical portals and crude ships, their minions launch incursions on sea and into surrounding lands. The Barh’groth was often part of these attacks, leading hordes of monsters in its wake of destruction.

However, every time it left the island, small voices started to whisper inside its head. They tell him not to kill, to value every life, to disobey his masters. As a result, its battle style became more savage, leading to the demise of many fellow monsters. Its masters did not care about the small fry and the Barh’groth was worth thousands upon thousands of normal creatures. It became experienced in battle, while also further growing to over 5 metres in full height.

*

It is during a hot summer, that the beast leads a small horde deep into the lands to the northwest. Their target is a small elven shrine that purifies this land from the masters’ influence. The Barh’groth knew the magic necessary to defile the shrine and to turn the area into a barren wasteland.

As they approach the shrine, a battalion of 100 elves appears, armed from head to toe. Elves are tough warriors, being much faster and more accurate than the weak humans. Their understanding of weapon crafting and magic is also far more advanced. The Barh’groth was still immature for its kind and a regular Barh’groth, of the same age, would fall quickly before such a large elven host.

There were no tactics on the monsters’ part, only a relentless attack. Wielding a large, black axe, the Barh’groth smashes into every small opening in the solid shield wall. Around it, the monsters are easy pickings for the long elven spears, while in the air silver arrows cull the flying abominations that resemble large black vultures.

Soon, only a tenth of the horde is still alive, and even their leader is bleeding black blood. Its vision becomes red as a mindless rage takes hold. Without care, its axe rises and falls over and over again, until even the steel shields, reinforced with mithril, begin to rip and tear.

At this point, an ancient elf finishes a long incantation and a grand magic spell of purifying light hits the lumbering monster. Pain inundates every fibre of its being, howling it smashes around, killing friend and foe alike. As the pain intensifies, the beast howls again and storms off, not caring about its subordinates. The monsters finally feel something akin to fear well up inside, making them easy pickings for the remaining elven warriors. Of their original 100 elite soldiers, only 40 are still alive, of which half is severely injured. As some of them finish off the remains of the horde, the old wizard converses with the captain of the battalion:

“Kirrith, we should follow that harbinger of death. If it does not perish today, then it may cause great calamity in the future.”

The captain surveys the men and women from his squad. Their armour is in tatters and they are covered in blood. The many deaths are a heavy loss, and their countenance reflects grief and exhaustion.

“I trust your judgement, elder Tor’he. However, we are exhausted. Let us rest shortly, before proceeding with the chase.”

This is not the answer that his ally wanted to hear. With a frown, he admitted:

“Alright, I will respect your decision. The wounded will be in my care. Let us hope that when we continue the only thing we find is a corpse.”

The captain nods tiredly:

“Aye, a good Barh’groth is a dead Barh’groth.”

A nearby female soldier agrees:

“I have seen them in the last big war. We would all be dead if it were a mature Barh’groth.”

Then they start moving away from the battlefield, taking with them their wounded and dead. The surviving elves set up camp at the edge of a nearby forest, as the wizard casts a cleansing fire over the field of corpses. The next day a group of 30 soldiers sets out to terminate the life of their enemy.

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*

Around the same time, their target wakes up in a small grove. The air around it reeks of blood, mixing with natural smells of the forest. Its body is still hurting, but that is not of immediate concern. Its mind is filling itself millions of thoughts, ideas and notions. Whereas, before, it was controlled by instinct and obedience to the masters, now a sudden clarity appears. The voices in its head, that were aggressively driving it into madness all these years, now converge to form helpful information, to add memories not its own, and to support its own awareness. With effort the Barh’groth opens one eye, letting an eye slit trail over its body, seeing magical symbols slither around.

As time passes by, the pain lessens slowly and it moves into a more comfortable position. It had gained independence, and it could think for itself. As a result it decides that this is much more preferable than being controlled. This idea brings along several problems. One is more general; what shall I do from now on? The next was more practical; where shall I go? Away from its old masters, although that is in relation to its current location, that it did not know.

These thought are interrupted as the environment starts changing very subtly. First, the Barh’groth was not aware. Ignoring the pain, it concentrates to notice the trees swaying, closing in on its location. Clearly, they try to constrain the monster. Thick roots are slithering to trap the legs and arms.

An image flashes through its mind of an old elf casting a bright spell. The Barh’groth cringes as the memory is accompanied by a sharp pain.

Taking a hoarse breath, it steadies itself, clawing away the tree roots. The axe was lost somewhere the day before. Growling, the beast begins to storm through the grove, towards the only spot still open. With pure strength one, two, small trees are felled. Rushing through the forest, the trees are still moving to block it. A green mist spreads from the mossy forest floor. When inhaling the mist, the muscles numb and become paralyzed.

Gritting its teeth and relying on its natural resistance to magic, the creature burst forth out of the forest, into moorland. The moors are like a swamp, bordering a long and winding river, with mud and sharp reeds slowing the beast, as it wades in deeper.

A few hundred meters back, a small battalion of elves bursts forth from the forest. When they spot their enemy, the archers take aim and release their arrows. The Barh’groth crouches in time and the arrows hit the water or are deflected by the hard scales. The spear bearers rush after it in pursuit, but are quickly deterred by the soggy soil. However, the beast is now in deeper water as well, while trying to protect its more vulnerable parts from incoming arrows. As it struggles, the wizard is once more preparing a deadly spell, intended to finish it off once and for all.

The Barh’groth glances back quickly and notices the magic building up, real panic setting in. It despairs, knowing that its independent life may be so short-lived. The panic activates the newfound knowledge that it gained, and information pours into him. The vast and sudden knowledge about spells, magical theory and application brings confusion and it stops in its track, standing still in a daze. A well-aimed arrow scrapes the side of its head and a next arrow buries into the back of its right leg. Growling, the monster focuses on the mess of random knowledge and picks out the only simple and useful technique that it can find.

Accompanied by low growls and grunts, it starts to formulate the selected spell. The type and process of magic is much different from the little amount of instinctual magic that it had used before. This basic spell fails two times, before the technique finally succeeds. At this point, the wizard is finishing chanting its highly advanced spell and a large clump of magic is gathering above his head, forming a small sun. The wizard now orientates himself to the surroundings, intend on destroying their prey. The spell almost collapses, as he screams “Impossible! How can it use such magic?!”

Just then the third attempt of the Barh’groth is completed and fuelled by a large reserve of raw magic power, the spell sets into motion. The muddy water around the monster starts to surge and broil. All the water nearby begins to gather, after which a front of water pushes towards the nearby river, further away from the elven squad. The monster dives forward, to be carried along this wave.

The elves stare in astonishment, as they have never seen a monster use this kind of magic before. The ancient wizard curses loudly, something he had not done in many centuries. He renews his concentration and narrows his eyes, trying to track the fast-moving target. Determining its path, he cries out , letting fly the small sun towards this hated enemy.

However, the wave reaches the river at the point and starts to dissipate, causing the Barh’groth to change direction slightly. The ball of intense cleansing fire only grazes the monster on its left flank. Still, the fire ignores the thick and hard scales and eats away a large part of its left arm. A huge billow of steam covers the spot that even elven eyes cannot pierce easily.

The heavy mist disperses and the waters turn calm once more. The soldiers cheer as the monster is gone, only small pieces of flesh and scales floating down in the steady-moving river. Only the wizard remains with doubts regarding his success. He knows that he had hit the creature, but he was also slightly off-target. Was it enough to completely destroy it?

Seeing the jubilant soldiers, he huffs and turns to the captain, who is still serious:

“Who live downstream, captain?”

The captain knows that this question reflects the possibility of the beast surviving. Remaining calm, he answer:

“There is a young country called Watamo. I believe the first city downstream is theirs.”

The wizard nods:

“Send them a report of what happened here and tell them to be alert.”

“I will make sure of it, sir.” Turning to the rest of the soldiers, he orders them in formation: “We are moving back to camp. It is time to bury our fellows.”

A silence descends, and the soldiers start marching, each thinking sadly about their troop of 100, now reduced to only 42. It is a cruel world.