Hiroshi Tanaka
The moment Captain Aric fell, Hiroshi Tanaka’s hand instinctively found the hilt of his oversized sword. The weapon felt familiar yet strange in his grip—comforting, despite its absurd size. The corrupted soldier loomed over Aric, its eyes glowing with a sickly hue, like some twisted mockery of life itself.
Move, Tanaka.
The thought cut through the fog in his mind, as sharp as the blade in his hands. Since arriving in this strange world, Hiroshi’s body felt... different.
Tanaka’s grip tightened on the hilt, muscles trembling with a strength he hadn’t earned. The sword felt both familiar and foreign, its weight pulling him forward. No time to question—it was do or die and its heavy arc crashed down with more force than he had intended.
He wasn’t a warrior, just an exhausted man trying to provide for his son.But there was no time to reflect on who he used to be. Now, in this world, he had to act.
Hiroshi’s heart pounded as he drew his sword, the weight pulling him forward for a split second. The blade seemed to hum with the land’s strange magic, but he steadied himself, eyes locked on the corrupted soldier.
This isn’t Earth. I don’t know what this is, but I have to fight. Now.
With a deep breath, Tanaka charged, the ground trembling beneath him. His sword came down in a heavy arc, unsteady but powerful. The angle was off, but it didn’t matter. The edge bit into the soldier’s arm, and a spray of dark, oily blood spilled from the wound.
That’s... not right.
Tanaka paused, the acrid stench of the black blood turning his stomach.
"Aric!" he called out, his voice strained, hoping the captain was still with them. His eyes flicked to the captain, whose fox-like ears twitched as he tried to push himself up.
Aric’s eyes met his for a fleeting moment. "Not bad," the captain grunted, his voice laced with pain and effort. But there was no time to celebrate.
Tanaka turned just in time to see another soldier, eyes glowing with that same eerie light, lunging toward him. His grip tightened on the sword once more, and he swung up just in time to block the blow. The force of the clash sent a jolt through his body, but he stood firm, teeth clenched against the strain.
These things can’t be human anymore. Something isn’t right.
He didn’t have time to consider it further. His body was moving on instinct now, responding faster than his thoughts could keep up. He wasn’t trained for this—didn’t have the years of discipline a real swordsman would—but somehow, each strike felt guided, as if his sword had a mind of its own. Each block, each parry, came naturally, like muscle memory he had never earned.
Lucas darted past him, his twin blades carving a path through the corrupted soldier’s arm, his lips twisting into a grin. Lucas grinned. ‘Let’s see how fast you are, ugly!’ he taunted.
Tanaka saw Whisker darting forward, hesitating for only a moment before plunging into the fray. His wide eyes were filled with uncertainty, but there was something else—determination. Tanaka saw it clearly now: Whisker wasn’t letting fear win.
"Whisker!" Tanaka shouted, his voice firm. "Stay focused!"
But as he said it, a soldier lunged toward him again, their twisted movements unnerving. Tanaka blocked the attack, his sword clanging against their blade with a resounding metallic crash. His heart raced, his muscles burning, but there was no time for doubt.
I have to keep going.
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Whisker
Whisker stood frozen, eyes bouncing between the fallen Captain and the chaos swirling around Tanaka whose massive sword clanged against the enemy. The chaos rattled in his ears. He wasn’t a fighter—never had been—but running wasn't an option now. Not when the enemy was this close. His heart thundered, nearly drowning out the battle.
What am I doing here? I’m not a fighter.
His body trembled, hands twitching at his sides—hands, not paws. The weight of the moment pressed down, and all he wanted was to run, like he had back in those alleyways.
No alleys here, no shadows to hide in.
Amidst the chaos, Whisker’s focus wavered. His breaths came in shallow bursts as he tried to keep track of everything happening at once. Lucas dashed forward, a blur of motion. His twin blades moved faster than Whisker could track at first. Then, suddenly, something clicked.
Time seemed to slow around him. Whisker’s eyes locked onto Lucas as the fox-like warrior spun, ducked, and slashed through one of the corrupted soldiers. Whisker didn’t just see the strike—he felt the rhythm, the calculated precision behind it. His mind, so often frantic, now moved in sync with Lucas’s movements. For a brief, surreal moment, the world around him became almost... quiet.
This... this makes sense
The flow of his attacks, the footwork—it was like a dance, and Whisker saw the pattern.
But as quickly as it came, the moment was gone. The sound of a nearby explosion jerked Whisker back into the present. His heart raced again, the overwhelming reality of the battle crashing back into focus. Lucas darted past him, unaware of Whisker’s sudden clarity, continuing to carve his way through the chaos.
What was that? Whisker shook his head, trying to steady himself. He wasn’t like Lucas, wasn’t trained for this, but... there was something there. Something he had glimpsed wasn't just luck. But he had no time to understand it—not yet.
The corrupted soldiers moved with twisted, jerky motions, glowing eyes fixed on the group. Tanaka held them off, but his faltering steps warned Whisker they couldn’t keep this up.
Out of the corner of Whisker’s gaze, he caught movement just beyond the chaos, where Felix worked quickly with quiet intensity, his hands deftly placing small, mechanical devices along the ground.
Amid the storm of battle, Felix was creating something—a plan, a line of defense where there seemed to be none.
He’s building a barricade
Whisker realized, watching as Felix connected a series of metal contraptions in a flash.
A soldier lunged toward Felix, but with a deft twist of his wrist, one of the devices whirred to life, sending a pulse of energy that knocked the corrupted back, just far enough for Felix to secure the final piece of his trap.
He's always two steps ahead
I can’t just stand here. I have to move. Do something!
Instinct screamed at him to act, but both fight and flight felt impossible. He wasn’t used to this body, but something stirred—raw and primal. Without thinking, Whisker lunged forward, clumsy but determined, closing the distance to Captain Aric.
He could hear Tanaka’s voice shouting in the distance, telling him to stay focused, but the words barely registered. His entire world had narrowed to the fight in front of him, to the soldiers and the sickly glow of their eyes.
"Get back!" Whisker shouted, though his voice wavered. His hands crackled with energy, the strange, glowing tattoos on his skin pulsing brighter as the magic within him stirred to life.
What is this?
He didn’t know what the magic was or how to control it, but it was there, reacting to the surge of adrenaline flooding his system. His instincts told him to lash out, to use whatever this power was before the soldiers overran them. He raised his hands, and without fully understanding what he was doing, he released the energy.
A pulse of raw magic shot from his fingertips, slamming into a corrupted soldier. The force knocked it back, its body twisting unnaturally. Whisker blinked, struggling to catch up.
Did I really just hit them?
But no time to process it—another soldier was already closing in.
But there was no time to think about it. Another soldier was already closing in on him, their movements jerky and unsettling. Whisker’s instincts screamed at him to move, and he did—ducking just in time to avoid a wild swing from the soldier’s spear. His heart pounded louder in his chest, his breath coming in shallow, panicked bursts.
His eyes darted to Tanaka, who was still locked in combat, and then to Captain Aric, who was pushing himself to his feet, clearly still dazed from the earlier blow. Whisker’s pulse quickened as he realized that if they didn’t stop these soldiers soon, there wouldn’t be anyone left to save.
He ducked under the soldier’s swing, his movements still awkward, but more sure than before. The tattoos on his arms pulsed again, and without thinking, he thrust his hands forward again. Another burst of magic surged from his palms, this one more focused, more controlled. The soldier staggered back, caught off guard by the force of the blow.
"I... I did it," Whisker whispered, his voice shaking with disbelief. But there was no time to celebrate. More soldiers were approaching, their sickly glow casting eerie shadows across the battlefield.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. His body felt strange—too big, too clumsy—but the power coursing through him was undeniable. He didn’t understand it, didn’t know how to control it yet, but it was there, and it was his.
He glanced at Tanaka again, who was still locked in combat with one of the soldiers. Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, Tanaka fought with a kind of determination that Whisker envied. He didn’t know how Tanaka did it—how he kept moving, kept fighting, even when everything felt impossible.
But if Tanaka could do it... then maybe, just maybe, Whisker could too.
He gritted his teeth, raising his hands once more. The energy within him flared to life again, more stable this time. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know if it would even work, but he had to try. He couldn’t let Tanaka fight this battle alone.
With a shout, Whisker released the magic, watching as it shot forward, slamming into one of the soldiers with enough force to knock them to the ground. His hands still crackled with energy, the tattoos on his arms glowing brightly, but now there was something else—a flicker of confidence.
"I... I think I’m getting the hang of this," he muttered to himself, though his heart still raced with fear and uncertainty. He wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t even sure what he was anymore. But in this moment, in this strange new world, he had no choice but to fight.
And somehow, against all odds, he was still standing.
----------------------------------------
He swallowed hard, his hands trembling, not from fear but from the surge of magic crackling beneath his skin, like electricity looking for an outlet. His glowing tattoos pulsed with energy, their light illuminating the scene in front of him.
Tanaka’s massive sword cleaved through another one of the soldiers, but the corrupted soldiers weren’t falling like a normal—it would twist and writhe, as though something inside it refused to die.
Whisker’s eyes widened. The blackened, sickly ooze that poured from the soldier’s wound wasn’t blood—it was something else.
Something’s wrong.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the chaos. Captain Aric, now standing but clutching his side, shouted over the noise. “These soldiers—they’re not themselves!” His fox-like ears twitched, eyes narrowing as he scanned the battlefield. “They’ve been corrupted—twisted by something dark. This isn’t just magic!”
Whisker’s breath hitched.
Not just magic?
His eyes darted back to the soldiers, his body instinctively shifting as he watched them more closely. There was something horribly unnatural about the way they moved— the jaggedness he was seeing.
It was like their limbs weren’t connected properly anymore. Their eyes, glowing that eerie, sickly yellow, seemed to pulse in rhythm with the tattoos on Whisker’s arms, as though drawing from the same dark source.
He took a step back, but then something small in the corner of his eye caught his attention—a refugee. The goblin that Aric had been protecting was cowering behind a stall, shielding a young fae child who trembled with fear. They’re terrified. And we’re all they have.
Whisker clenched his fists. He had to help. But before he could act, he saw it—the change. One of the soldiers, who had once looked entirely human, suddenly convulsed, their body seizing and twisting unnaturally. It was as if something had crawled inside their skin and was tearing them apart from the inside.
Whisker’s eyes went wide as he watched in horror. The soldier's flesh rippled and bulged grotesquely, their bones cracking with sickening pops as their limbs contorted, elongating into something more beast than human. Their face—once normal—twisted into a grotesque snarl, their mouth stretching impossibly wide, jagged teeth erupting from their gums. The eyes, once merely glowing, now burned like embers, casting an unholy light on their deformed features.
“No... no, no, no!” Whisker whispered, stumbling back as the twisted soldier let out a guttural, inhuman roar. It wasn’t just a transformation—it was like watching a nightmare come to life.
Tanaka, still locked in battle, didn’t seem to notice at first. He slashed through another soldier, but Whisker could see the toll it was taking on him. The fight was relentless, and these creatures—they weren’t staying down. They kept getting up, and if anything were becoming something worse.
What are we missing?
“Get ready for more!” Aric’s voice came again, sharp and commanding.
Whisker’s instincts flared. Fight or flight—those were the only options. But something in him snapped. He couldn’t just run. Not now. Not when Tanaka, Aric, and the others were still fighting. Not when those refugees were counting on them.
His new hands clenched, the glowing tattoos on his arms flaring to life, reacting to the surge of panic and adrenaline coursing through him.
Without thinking, he lunged forward, his body moving in awkward, stuttering steps, but moving nonetheless. His tattoos pulsed in time with the energy, glowing brighter and brighter until it felt like his entire body might explode.
And then, with a shout, Whisker focused it at one of the soldiers as a wild, chaotic burst of magic shot from his hands, arcing across the battlefield like a bolt of lightning.
It struck one of the corrupted soldiers, sending them stumbling back with a horrific screech. The energy coursed through their body, causing them to twitch and convulse.
Whisker stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The power in him was surging like before, but he still didn’t know how to control it.
He wasn’t like the others—not like Tanaka, who swung his sword with unyielding determination, Felix with his traps, or Lucas, who swiftly ran across the battlefield, each strike calculated with precision.
But he could feel it now, the miasma that clung to them. It wasn’t just magic—it was something more insidious. The corruption had taken hold, warping them into creatures that were barely recognizable as human.
The smell made him turn his head and almost retch his stomach.
It’s worse than the sewage back home.
But before Whisker could even think any further, another soldier turned toward him, its eyes focused on him with its horrendous sickly light. It lunged, and Whisker’s instincts kicked in. He ducked just in time to avoid the swipe of the soldier’s twisted, clawed hand, stumbling backward as the soldier snarled in fury.
I’m not fast enough. I’m not strong enough...
But as his mind raced, something else stirred. That raw, primal power deep inside him—something that wasn’t human, something that still clung to his old self—pushed him forward. His body moved before his mind caught up, and suddenly, he was facing the soldier again, his glowing hands raised.
Another pulse of energy shot from him, this one more controlled, more deliberate. It slammed into the soldier, sending it crashing into a nearby stall. The dark, twisted form convulsed, its limbs flailing as the corruption inside it twisted and writhed.
Whisker’s breath caught in his throat, but before he could take another step, a hand landed on his shoulder. He flinched, spinning around to see Captain Aric standing behind him, his foxlike face twisted with concern but also something else—respect.
“They’re corrupted,” Aric said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. “It’s not their fault... but we have to stop them.”
Whisker swallowed hard, nodding shakily. “How do we stop something like this?”
Aric’s grip on his shoulder tightened, but his gaze shifted toward the battlefield. “We fight. We save who we can.” His voice softened, though his eyes remained sharp. “That’s all we can do.”
Whisker stared at the captain for a moment, then back at the battlefield, where Tanaka and the others were still fighting, still holding the line. He took a deep breath, feeling the crackling energy in his veins again. This wasn’t over.
As he stepped forward, something else caught his attention from the corner of his eye—Mira, her wings fluttering anxiously as she hovered just above the chaos. Her expression was strained, her eyes wide as if seeing something none of them could.
Whisker blinked.
What is she seeing?
And in that moment, everything shifted. The battle wasn’t just about survival anymore—it was about understanding the darkness that had gripped these soldiers, about the corruption that had taken hold of them, and the terrible force lurking beneath the surface of this world. As Whisker’s gaze settled on Mira, a strange sense of calm washed over him.
She could see something they couldn’t.
And maybe—just maybe—she knew what they were really up against.
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Mira Inoue
Mira hovered, her wings trembling. Below, the battle unfolded like a grotesque dance, the corruption weaving between soldiers with burning eyes. This wasn’t just magic—something more insidious. She closed her eyes, steadying her racing heart. Her visions felt closer now, as if reality was finally aligning with her nightmares.
Her mind flickered back to one such dream—a vision of twisted figures rising from the earth, their bodies writhing with dark energy. It had seemed so distant, so abstract, but now... now she was living it.
Her breath hitched as she looked down at Whisker. He was fighting—actually fighting—like he had always been meant to. His movements were still clumsy, unsure, but there was a spark in him, something that made him push forward despite the odds. Her heart ached for him, for all of them. They had been thrown into this nightmare, and yet here they were, trying to protect the innocent, even as they struggled to understand their new abilities.
Suddenly, Mira’s vision flickered, the world around her fading to black for a heartbeat. When the colors returned, they were sharper, more vivid. The soldiers weren’t just moving—they were transforming. Black oil oozed from their skin, their bodies convulsing violently as the darkness took hold.
This is it.
Mira’s heart pounded in her chest. She had seen this before—this very moment in a dream. Below her, the battle twisted and churned, just like her dream. The corrupted soldiers moving like puppets on strings, grotesque imitations of the men they once were.
From below, Whisker caught her gaze, his eyes wide with horror as he watched the transformation unfold. His voice was hoarse as he shouted over the chaos. "Mira, what’s happening to them?"
Mira’s mouth was dry. She wanted to answer, to tell him everything she had seen in her vision, but the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, she focused on the energy swirling around her fingertips, trying to grasp the fleeting power that had always seemed just out of reach. Her fingers moved instinctively, tracing sigils in the air, each stroke sharper, more confident than the last. The sigils pulsed with a pale light, and as she reached out with her senses, she could only feel the wrongness in the air.
This wasn’t just an enemy they could fight and defeat. This was a disease. And it was warping everything it touched.
What if we’re too late?
Before Mira could focus more, a low, ominous rumble shook the ground beneath her. Her wings faltered as she spun in the air, eyes wide as the sound of cracking stone filled the battlefield. One of the old, crumbling buildings in the market on the edge of the square began to buckle under the chaos, its supports shattered by the relentless clash of steel from the soldiers.
"Watch out!" Mira shouted, her voice cutting through the noise as the building lurched forward, stone and wood groaning under its own weight. Refugees scattered in terror as debris rained down, and for a brief, horrifying moment, Mira saw a group of them trapped beneath the collapsing structure.
Her instincts kicked in. Without thinking, she dove toward them, wings beating frantically as she traced a sigil in the air, summoning a protective barrier of frost. The shimmering shield caught the worst of the falling rubble, but the force of the collapse still sent shockwaves through the battlefield, separating her from the others.
Mira’s breath came in ragged gasps as she steadied herself, her heart hammering in her chest. The battlefield had just become far more dangerous, and the corrupted soldiers were already closing in on the vulnerable refugees.
Mira’s hands trembled as the sigils flickered around her. Her powers were still new, still raw, but the urgency in her chest drove her to act. She traced another sigil, this one colder, sharper. Frost formed in the air around her fingers, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent a wave of ice toward the nearest soldier. The ice cracked and splintered as it collided with the creature, freezing its movements for a moment.
But it wouldn’t last. Nothing would.
“Mira!” Whisker’s voice pulled her attention. She turned to see him struggling, his form barely dodging the jagged claws of another soldier. Without thinking, she propelled herself forward, her wings carrying her swiftly to his side. With a quick gesture, she conjured a shimmering barrier of frost around him, blocking the next strike.
“Thanks,” he muttered, still wide-eyed.
Mira nodded, her throat too tight for words. Her mind was already racing ahead, her thoughts swirling with fragments of the vision that wouldn’t leave her. The darkness wasn’t just here—it was branching out, entangling beneath the city. She had seen it in her dream, like roots twisting through the earth, choking the life out of everything.
“I have to warn them,” she whispered to herself. She glanced toward Hiroshi, who was holding the line with grim determination.
Her wings fluttered again, and she rose into the air, her voice carrying over the chaos. “There’s something worse at play! This corruption—it’s spreading. We have to find the source before it consumes everything!”
She didn’t know if they could hear her, but she had to try. The vision was clear now—if they didn’t stop this, the Last Bastion would fall.
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Hiroshi Tanaka
The battlefield was chaotic, but within the storm, Hiroshi's mind was steady. His grip on the sword tightened as the corrupted soldiers advanced.
This is wrong.
He could see it in their faces—twisted, grotesque versions of what they once were. These weren’t the soldiers from earlier, the ones he'd sworn to protect. Something dark had taken hold of them, warping their forms into mockeries of their former selves.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Aric, his brow furrowed in concern. "They're not themselves," Aric growled, swinging his weapon to block an incoming blow. "The corruption… it's twisted them beyond recognition."
Corruption…
Hiroshi thought grimly. It was as though their very souls had been tainted, transformed by some malevolent force. He watched as one of the soldiers—the one who had been human not hours before—began to twitch uncontrollably. His skin rippled, and with a sickening crack, bones shifted under his flesh. What was once a man contorted into something nightmarish, its eyes glowing with an unnatural hunger.
We have to end this now.
Hiroshi pushed forward, his blade cutting through the air with precision. But as the corrupted soldier lunged at him, he felt a strange sensation ripple through his arm—a pulse of energy he hadn’t felt before. The tattoos along his skin began to glow faintly, and as his sword connected with the enemy, a shockwave of force rippled out, sending the soldier sprawling back. Hiroshi's eyes widened in surprise.
What was that?
He didn’t have time to dwell on it. Another soldier was charging, their body grotesque and malformed, arms longer than they should have been, fingers twisted into claw-like talons. Hiroshi barely had time to react before they were upon him, their claws swiping dangerously close to his face. He dodged, narrowly avoiding a lethal strike, and swung his sword in a wide arc.
Fall back to the barricade!" Captain Aric’s voice rang out through the chaos, his shield raised high as another corrupted soldier crashed into him. The impact shook him, but he didn’t waver. Hiroshi heard the command, clear and steady above the din of battle.
"Hold the line!" Aric bellowed again, his sword cleaving through the next wave of enemies. Despite the exhaustion on his face, his voice remained strong—unshakable. Hiroshi, still catching his breath, glanced toward Felix’s barricade and saw the group beginning to regroup. It was working. Captain Aric’s leadership had turned the tide, if only for a moment.
"Get them to the barrier!" Aric called out to Hiroshi directly, his eyes narrowing with determination. "We’re not losing anyone else today.
Okay focus. I can't lose control.
Hiroshi’s grip tightened around his sword, a foreign energy flowing through him. The tattoos on his arms brightened, pulsing with each strike, as if resonating with the sword itself. He wasn’t just getting stronger—there was something within the weapon, something awakening in tandem with his own growing power. Each swing felt guided, as though the blade had a purpose he had yet to understand. But the urgency left no room for questions.
It was like the energy was building up, waiting to be unleashed. He could feel it, just beneath the surface—power, waiting to be tapped into. But he didn’t know how, didn’t know if he could control it.
Another surge of energy rippled through him as his sword clashed with the next enemy. The tattoos flared, and this time, the blast of force was stronger, knocking the corrupted soldiers back several feet. Hiroshi stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
What is happening to me?
"We need to protect the refugees!" Aric shouted, cutting down another soldier with brutal efficiency. "If we don't stop this, they'll be overwhelmed!"
Hiroshi nodded, his mind racing. He could feel the power within him, growing stronger with each strike. But he couldn’t let it consume him. Not now. Not when so many lives were at stake.
He charged forward, his sword swinging in precise, practiced arcs, cutting down the corrupted soldiers as they advanced. But even as he fought, he could feel the energy pulsing within him, urging him to release it. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold it back.
A sharp scream cut through the chaos, and Hiroshi's gaze snapped toward the refugees. A group of them had been cornered by a group of the corrupted, their twisted forms advancing with deadly intent. Without hesitation, Hiroshi sprinted toward them, his heart pounding in his chest.
As he ran, the tattoos along his arms flared to life, the energy within him surging to the surface.
Now or never.
He raised his sword, and with a roar, he slammed it into the ground. The shockwave that erupted from the impact. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. It rippled outwards, cleaving through the soldiers, sending them flying in all directions.
When the dust settled, the refugees were safe, but Hiroshi could barely stand. The energy had drained him, leaving him gasping for breath, his muscles trembling with the effort.
"Tanaka!" Whisker's voice cut through the fog of exhaustion, and Hiroshi turned to see the young raccoon-turned-human rushing toward him, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and concern.
"We're not done yet," Whisker said, his voice steady but urgent. "There's more coming."
Hiroshi nodded, pushing himself to his feet.
No time to rest. We have to keep going.
But even as he readied himself for the next wave, he couldn't shake the feeling that something inside him had changed—something he didn’t fully understand.
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Whisker
Whisker’s heart raced, and his instincts screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. The corrupted soldiers, now monstrous parodies of humanity, lurched toward them. Whisker froze as one of the soldiers collapsed, writhing in agony. His transformation, a grotesque contortion of limbs and bone, made Whisker’s stomach churn. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t—the horrifying sight drew him in, reminding him of the inescapable nightmare they were trapped in.
No... they’re changing. Right in front of us.
The soldier’s eyes, once dim with the pain of the fight, now glowed a sickly yellow, and his flesh rippled unnaturally. His mouth contorted into a vicious snarl, sharp teeth protruding where once there was a gentle smile.
This isn’t supposed to happen.
Captain Aric, his blade cleaving through another twisted figure, caught Whisker’s eye. “They’re not themselves, Whisker! These soldiers—they were corrupted after the refugee incident. They’re… gone now.”
Whisker’s gut twisted as he turned, his eyes scanning the battlefield. Hiroshi was struggling to defend a group of terrified refugees, his movements precise but strained under the weight of knowing he was fighting what used to be fellow soldiers. Felix launched projectiles from behind a collapsed wagon, his eyes wide in disbelief. He hadn’t expected this kind of carnage.
Captain Aric shouted again, his voice carrying over the clamor. “They’re beyond saving now. All we can do is end them.”
End them? They were people.
Whisker’s mind spun. It wasn’t just a fight—it was a mercy killing. But his thoughts scattered when another monstrous soldier came at him. Its distorted body moved with unnatural speed, and Whisker’s body, still adjusting to its new form, struggled to keep up. He barely dodged, a surge of panic fueling his clumsy reflexes.
As he scrambled to his feet, the nauseating reality of what he was facing hit him harder than the stench of the battlefield.
He caught a glimpse of Mira, her wings glowing faintly, her hands trembling as she struggled to channel her energy. She was seeing something, Whisker knew—something terrible from within the corruption. Her eyes flashed with visions of horrors Whisker couldn’t begin to fathom. But then, something shifted in her stance. It was subtle, but Whisker recognized it—Mira was learning, adapting to the energy inside her.
For a brief moment, their eyes met. Mira, too, looked shaken, but there was a growing fire within her—something Whisker had rarely seen in her before. She nodded, her wings fluttering as she prepared to defend herself.
They’re fighting… we’re all fighting.
A soldier-turned-monster lunged for him again, but this time Whisker was ready. His body moved with newfound instinct, and as he slid between the creature’s legs, he lashed out with a knife—a blade he barely knew how to hold—but it landed true. The beast screeched, black blood oozing from the wound, but it wasn’t dead yet.
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Keep moving. Don’t stop.
Captain Aric’s voice echoed again. “It’s not your fault, Whisker. These men were my comrades too. But now, they’re something else.”
Another wave of the grotesque soldiers poured in, their bodies twisting as they howled through the night air. The horror of it wasn’t just the battle—it was watching them turn, seeing humanity drain away before their minds were fully overtaken.
Whisker’s focus darted between his comrades. Lucas, in his new foxlike form, was a blur of motion, claws and blades cutting through the chaos. Aria and Ava worked in tandem, their abilities barely keeping the tide of corruption at bay. Hiroshi, steady as always, was beginning to unlock more of his abilities, but even he was barely holding the line.
And then there was Mira—still standing, still fighting. Her wings were aflame with light, the faintest flicker of magic flowing from her as she strained to keep a group of refugees safe. Her voice trembled as she shouted, “There’s more coming. We need to hold them off—until we can retreat!”
Whisker swallowed hard, the weight of it all crashing down on him.
We’re not going to survive this.
But there was no time to dwell. He glanced over at Captain Aric, who now stood beside Hiroshi, his blade dripping with black ichor. Aric’s gaze met his, filled with a grim determination. “You need to keep moving, Whisker. We can’t afford to fall here.”
The battle was intensifying, and the corruption wasn’t letting up. Whisker knew this would only get worse. The horrors surrounding him were real, and there was no running from them now.
We have to survive.
The cold, suffocating terror was clawing at Whisker’s mind as he pushed forward, but something else fueled him too—something deeper. He glanced back at Mira, seeing her fight back her own terror. He could sense it. The connection they shared, the fear they were all battling, but also the strength.
We will survive.
As Whisker ducked beneath another swipe, he felt the shift—the story wasn’t his alone anymore.
Mira’s voice rose, determination cutting through the chaos. “Hold them back! We can do this together.”
And so they fought, the horror of the corrupted soldiers becoming their reality, their unity the only thing keeping them alive.
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Mira Inoue
The oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on the group, but Mira's heart raced for an entirely different reason. As the battle continued around them, the corrupted soldiers, now grotesque and monstrous, clawed their way toward the refugees. Whisker darted ahead, Hiroshi and Aric battling to hold the line, but Mira... Mira felt something more terrifying brewing within herself.
I need to see.
Her visions had always been faint whispers on the edges of her mind, but now they surged forward, demanding her attention. Each pulse of the corruption, each strike from the abominations, made the air around her thick with a malevolent presence. The world dimmed, and in the darkness of her mind, Mira saw them—the soldiers. Their human forms, faces filled with fear and confusion, now distorted into nightmarish creatures. Their eyes, once filled with determination, had turned hollow, black with malice.
They were human once...
The corruption wasn't just twisting their bodies. It was breaking them, consuming whatever humanity they had left. Mira blinked, and her surroundings blurred with the overwhelming force of her vision. She saw it again—how the soldiers transformed, their bodies snapping and contorting, flesh warping like clay in a wicked sculptor’s hands. Their cries, once filled with life, became twisted echoes of their former selves, reduced to guttural roars.
Before her eyes, one of the soldiers fell to the ground, twitching violently as dark tendrils crawled across his body, sinking into his skin. His bones cracked audibly, flesh tearing as his limbs elongated unnaturally. His hands—no longer human—now resembled claws, dragging across the earth as his spine contorted into a monstrous arch.
No. They didn’t deserve this.
Her hands trembled as she reached out instinctively, trying to grasp at something—anything—to make sense of what she was seeing. The soldier’s face shifted again, briefly flickering back to the image of a terrified young man, his eyes pleading for help before the corruption swallowed him whole once more.
“Mira!”
Aric’s voice broke through the haze, his sword slashing down another corrupted beast. “We can’t hold them back forever!”
She snapped out of the vision, the edges of reality still rippling as her connection to the corruption lingered. “They’re gone,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “They’re not themselves anymore, just... monsters.”
Hiroshi, sweat dripping down his brow, looked back at her between strikes. “What do you mean?”
Mira took a deep breath, her visions pulling her deeper into the storm of chaos. “I can see it... I see what’s left of them. They weren’t always like this. Someone—something—did this to them.”
Before Hiroshi could respond, one of the soldiers, now a grotesque abomination with distended limbs and jagged teeth, lunged at Mira. She barely managed to dodge, stumbling backward. Her pulse quickened. She felt the power stirring within her, the same unsettling energy that allowed her to glimpse into the corruption’s heart. But she didn’t know how to control it, not yet.
I have to learn... now.
The creature reared up again, and this time, Mira’s hands glowed faintly.
Do it... use it.
Without fully understanding, she thrust her hands forward, and a burst of energy—dark and shimmering—shot from her palms, striking the creature square in the chest. It recoiled, its corrupted form writhing as the force knocked it backward.
Aric, standing beside her, turned, his eyes wide in surprise. “Mira… What was that?”
Mira’s breath was ragged, the aftershock of the power she’d unleashed still buzzing through her fingertips. “I… I don’t know.” Her voice trembled. “But it’s not just me. I think we all have something inside us.”
A pause hung between them, the realization setting in like a cold wind.
More corrupted soldiers emerged from the mist. The refugees huddled behind them, desperate for protection, their faces pale with fear. Mira’s vision blurred again, showing her flashes of what could be—each of her companions fighting these monstrosities, discovering their hidden abilities one by one. But something darker loomed behind that future, something they hadn’t yet faced.
She stumbled toward Hiroshi, gripping his arm. “Hiroshi, it’s not over. There’s more. Worse. I can see them... shadows, like figures waiting in the dark.”
Hiroshi’s expression hardened. “We need to end this now. If there’s worse to come, we can’t afford to waste time.”
Mira’s stomach twisted. Her visions were never wrong, but she didn’t have the strength or the control to explain it all. The soldiers—what they were fighting now—was only the beginning.
“We can’t let the corruption spread to the refugees,” she said, her voice steadying as she forced herself to focus. “We need to protect them and stop this before it gets out of control.”
The battle raged around them, but Mira’s resolve solidified. She didn’t fully understand her abilities yet, but she knew they were connected to the corruption in some way. The more she saw, the more she felt the link between them—the shadow of something ancient and malevolent pulling the strings.
Hiroshi nodded, gripping his weapon tighter. “We’ll hold them off.” He glanced toward Whisker, who was fending off another wave of attackers with fierce determination. “But we can’t keep this up forever.”
Mira’s gaze sharpened.
I need to see more. I need to know how to end this.
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Hiroshi Tanaka
The smell of sulfur and burning filled Tanaka’s nostrils as the battlefield around him exploded into chaos. His muscles ached, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he kept pace with the relentless assault. Mira's earlier warning about the corruption lingered in his mind, and the weight of responsibility pressed down on his shoulders like never before.
I can’t fail. Not again. Not like Ryoka.
The corrupted soldiers were relentless. Each of them, once human, now twisted into something unrecognizable. Their bodies contorted and bloated, skin torn apart to reveal dark veins pulsating beneath. The once-human eyes were now hollow pits of hatred, black liquid seeping from them like tears. Their jaws unhinged as if their very humanity had been ripped away, replaced by a hunger for violence.
Tankaka watched Aric's sword cleave through another soldier, his eyes hard.
That’s right. I can’t think about who they were. Not now.
Tanaka glanced at the soldiers once more, his stomach tightening. He had witnessed many terrible things during his lifetime, but nothing quite like this. He saw the way one soldier collapsed, only to rise again with a sickening crunch, his limbs twisting grotesquely before lunging at one of the refugees they were trying to protect. Tanaka moved on instinct.
I won’t let them die.
He dashed forward, blocking the attack with his own body. The force knocked him back, but he managed to hold the soldier off with his blade. His muscles burned with the effort, but something deeper stirred inside him. A pulse. A low thrum in his chest, growing stronger as the adrenaline surged through him.
For a moment, he faltered.
What is this?
Before he could think further, the corrupted soldier in front of him began to change, right before his eyes. The flesh peeled back, revealing sinewy muscle, bones cracking unnaturally. A guttural sound erupted from its throat, and Tanaka could feel the corruption emanating from it, dark and malevolent. He could smell the decay, a stench so overpowering it made his eyes water.
The transformation was horrifying—a reminder of what they were truly up against. But as he stared into the soldier's hollow eyes, something clicked. This corruption was no ordinary affliction. It was deliberate, controlled.
Someone or something did this to them.
Without thinking, Tanaka raised his sword again, but this time, he felt the pulse in his chest surge. The tattoos on his arms glowed faintly, the same strange energy he had felt earlier rippling through his veins. The blade in his hands grew lighter, as if the weight of the world momentarily lifted.
What’s happening?
His thoughts blurred as his body moved on its own, faster than before. His strikes were sharper, more precise. The corrupted soldier stood no chance as Tanaka’s blade cut through it, the force behind the attack unlike anything he’d felt before.
The enemy crumpled to the ground, dissolving into a pool of thick, black ooze. Tanaka stepped back, his heart racing as the power surged inside him, threatening to spill over.
Before he could fully comprehend what had just happened, another wave of corrupted soldiers charged at them. "Tanaka! Behind you!" Aric's warning came too late. Tanaka turned just in time to block an incoming attack, but the force sent him tumbling to the ground, the corrupted soldier towering above him.
For a split second, fear paralyzed him. But then he remembered.
I’m not alone.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tanaka saw Lucas darting forward, his movements wild but with purpose. Lucas’s face was set in a determined grin, one Tanaka had seen before, the look of a man on the edge of reckless brilliance.
"What are you doing?" Tanaka shouted, his sword raised to block another attack.
Lucas didn’t answer, instead throwing himself into the thick of the fray, his body twisting and turning with a fireman’s instinct to save. He grabbed one of Felix’s discarded devices and hurled it toward the incoming soldiers with the same ease as throwing a fastball. The device whirred to life, sending out a pulse of energy that knocked the corrupted soldiers off their feet.
"That’s how it’s done!" Lucas called out, flashing a lopsided grin before diving back into the fight.
The fox-kin moved with practiced ease, his twin blades flashing in the dim light as he slashed at the legs of a corrupted soldier. One of the twisted beasts lunged for him, but Lucas ducked low, sweeping the creature’s legs out from under it with a fluid motion, delivering a lethal blow before it could recover. Even amidst the madness, Lucas fought like a predator—swift, calculated, and without hesitation.
He gritted his teeth and thrust his hand forward, his body responding instinctively. The tattoos flared brighter, and suddenly, a shockwave of energy erupted from his hand, knocking the soldier back with a force that left Tanaka momentarily stunned.
Did I just…?
There wasn’t time to question it. He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding in his chest as the battlefield around him grew more chaotic. His body moved with a newfound fluidity, the power within him pushing him further. The corruption wasn’t just a physical enemy—it was a force, twisting reality itself. And whatever power Tanaka was awakening, it was somehow tied to it.
He fought alongside the others, glimpses of his companions flashing in the corner of his vision. Whisker, moving swiftly, his small frame deceptively agile as he slashed at another soldier. Mira, hovering just above the fray, her wings beating softly as she cast a protective shield over the refugees. Aria’s figure was a blur of motion, her blade cutting through the corrupted with precision and grace.
Tanaka felt a strange sense of unity. Despite the horror, despite the overwhelming odds, they were holding the line. Together.
In the chaos, Tanaka’s mind raced. How much longer could they hold out? How many more would fall to corruption? He could feel it building, the darkness creeping closer, but beneath that, there was something else—his power.
He knew it now. This wasn’t just some random surge. It was a part of him. And if they were going to survive this, if they were going to save these people, he had to learn how to use it.
The ground shook beneath him, another explosion rattling the battlefield. The corrupted soldiers were closing in, and Tanaka could see the exhaustion on his comrades' faces.
"How much longer do we have to do this?" Whisker called out, his voice strained. Tanaka could see the fatigue weighing down on him, but still, he fought on.
Just a little longer. We can do this.
Tanaka gripped his sword tighter, feeling the pulse of energy flow through him once more.
I can do this.
He had to. For them. For himself.
With one final push, he stepped forward, the power inside him flaring to life. His sword glowed faintly, the same glow as the tattoos on his arms. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He slashed through the nearest enemy, and as the blade connected, the corrupted figure disintegrated into ash, leaving nothing behind.
For a moment, the battlefield went quiet. Tanaka stood there, chest heaving, his body trembling from the exertion. But the power inside him still hummed, waiting, ready.
Tanaka nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. His mind raced with a thousand questions, but he knew there was no time for answers. Not yet.
As he prepared to move forward, Tanaka glanced at Whisker across the market, who was already poised ready, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield.
We’re in this together
Tanaka thought, the weight of his newfound power settling over him.
we’re not done yet. We need to finish this.
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Whisker
They had been human.
Whisker reminded himself, but whatever remnants of humanity they once had were gone now.
Whisker's breath hitched. He had seen it happen with his own eyes, only moments before—one of the soldiers, a refugee himself, had been comforting a child, his hand trembling as he offered reassurance. But then, his face twisted, contorting in agony. His eyes rolled back, veins bulging beneath his skin, and his mouth opened in a silent scream as dark tendrils of corruption snaked up his arms, devouring him whole.
It happened so fast.
The transformation had been grotesque, sickening. The man’s skin had split apart, blood mixing with the black tendrils, his body warping into something unnatural. His once-kind eyes turned hollow, a black void replacing the warmth they once held. And then… he had turned on the very people he had sworn to protect.
The memory stayed still fresh in his mind. The sounds of tearing flesh and bone snapping still echoed in his ears.
“Move!” Felix’s voice shouted, pulling Whisker out of his daze. Felix’s hands crackled with energy as he blasted one of the corrupted soldiers away, his face grim. “We have to keep them away from the refugees!”
Whisker nodded, his body moving on instinct as he followed Felix, trying to keep up with the others. His eyes darted around, catching glimpses of Mira, her wings beating frantically as she struggled to shield a group of refugees from another twisted abomination. Lucas was further ahead, his fox-like reflexes allowing him to dance around the corrupted with ease, slashing through them with deadly precision.
But no matter how many they fought, it felt like more just kept coming. Instead they were just rising from where they were cut down.
The corrupted soldiers were relentless, their forms twisted and monstrous—skin rotted and peeling, bones protruding at odd angles, black veins throbbing with the dark energy that consumed them. Each one looked worse than the last when they rose back up.
Their human forms are barely recognizable under the grotesque mutations.
One of them lunged at Whisker, its claws outstretched. Without thinking, he ducked, narrowly avoiding its grasp. His body moved on instinct, his old instincts guiding him as he rolled away and slashed at the creature’s legs. His strike wasn’t as precise as he wanted, but it was enough to make the thing stumble.
His heart raced as he slashed again, this time aiming for the creature’s throat. The dagger bit into its flesh, and black ichor sprayed from the wound. The corrupted soldier gurgled, collapsing to the ground in a heap.
But there was no time to rest. Another soldier had risen, and was already charging toward him, its eyes wild with hunger.
Whisker could see the pain in Aric’s eyes as the captain parried blow after blow, struggling to hold his own against them. There was sorrow there, buried deep beneath the stoic expression.
“We can’t let it spread to the refugees!” Mira shouted from somewhere behind them, her wings glowing as she unleashed a burst of light, momentarily driving the creatures back.
Whisker’s chest tightened. This wasn’t just a fight for survival—it was a battle for the very soul of the people they were protecting. This wasn’t just a war of steel and blood.
As the battle raged on, Whisker caught glimpses of his companions—Felix’s hands crackling with arcane energy, Mira’s glowing wings providing bursts of light in the darkness, and Aric cutting through the soldiers with a mixture of fury and sadness.
The corrupted soldiers lunged again, but Whisker was ready this time. His movements were fluid now, more in tune with his new form as he leaped over the incoming blow and slashed downward with a strength that surprised even him. The creature shrieked, collapsing in a heap, its body dissolving into black ooze.
But there was no time to celebrate. More were coming.
Whisker’s breathing was ragged, his muscles aching with the strain of the fight. But there was no stopping now. Not when so many lives were at stake.
“Keep pushing forward!” Aric’s voice rang out over the din of battle. “We have to make it to the gate!”
As Whisker caught his breath, he saw Captain Aric cleaving his way through another corrupted soldier, his face a mask of grim determination. Aric’s swordwork was impeccable, his strikes as sharp and lethal as the orders he barked to those around him.
Yet, even the Captain couldn’t fend off every blow. Whisker winced as Aric took a hit, the gash along his side bleeding heavily, but the fox-like warrior didn’t falter. He pushed forward with sheer force of will, his teeth bared in a snarl. 'Stay together!' Aric growled, cutting down another foe as he shielded the refugees with his own body.
With a deep breath, Whisker pushed forward, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared for the next wave.
Whisker nodded, his eyes darting to Mira, who was already moving ahead, her wings glowing brighter.
----------------------------------------
Mira Inoue
As Whisker surged forward, Mira’s vision flickered—the corruption spreading, twisting everything it touched. She could feel it… the wrongness of it all. But even in the chaos, something inside her was awakening, something she didn’t yet understand.
Her wings fluttered, and she took flight once more, her eyes locking onto the next target as she prepared for the inevitable confrontation.
What am I missing? Can we stop this?
The battlefield below Mira was a whirl of chaos, bodies moving in and out of focus, clashing with the corrupt soldiers as the tension mounted. She could feel it—the growing darkness, that sickening rot that crawled under the skin of their enemies, twisting and warping them into grotesque parodies of the soldiers they once were.
Hovering just above the fray, her wings beating anxiously, Mira’s hands glowed with the remnants of the sigils she had traced moments earlier.
She had barely managed to create illusions that distracted a few of the enemies, but it wasn’t enough. Her heart pounded, panic pressing against her chest. Her visions had warned her of this—of the corruption, the warping of everything it touched. But they hadn’t told her how to stop it.
Her eyes flitted over the battlefield, catching sight of Whisker and Tanaka Tanaka fighting fiercely, their movements becoming more refined with each passing moment.
They’re adjusting. Learning how to fight this.
But what was she learning? Her fingers trembled as she traced another sigil in the air, trying to harness the energy that swirled around her. The magic responded sluggishly, as though it was resisting her call.
Why won’t it listen?
As she floated above the battle, she felt a strange tugging sensation deep within her—a pull that she couldn’t explain, but it was there, gnawing at her consciousness. It was that feeling again, the one she had felt earlier when the soldiers had first transformed into the twisted horrors they were now.
A glimpse. Another vision.
Her breath hitched as her vision began to blur, the battlefield below fading away as something else—something darker—took its place. She could see the corruption, its tendrils reaching out, curling like blackened vines, ready to strangle the life out of anything that crossed its path. It was coming from below… deep underground, spreading like a disease.
She could see the refugees too, the fear in their eyes as they huddled together, desperate to escape the carnage unfolding around them. But they weren’t safe.
No one was safe.
A violent pulse of magic snapped her out of the vision, her body jerking as the battlefield rushed back into focus. Her wings fluttered, and she narrowly avoided a swipe from one of the corrupted soldiers who had somehow climbed onto the roof of a nearby building, its twisted hand reaching for her with deadly intent.
Mira spun in midair, her hands flaring with energy as she traced a quick sigil in the air. An illusion shimmered into existence beside her, drawing the soldier’s attention away. As the creature lashed out at the illusion, Mira sent a burst of energy crashing into its chest, knocking it back into the street below.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
Focus, Mira. You’re part of this fight.
But even as she steeled herself, her gaze was drawn to the refugees once more. Among them was a small child, their wide eyes filled with terror as they clung to the leg of one of the older goblins. The sight tore at her, that helplessness clawing at her mind.
I have to protect them.
I have to stop this.
"Keep them away from the civilians!" Captain Aric’s voice rang out from the front lines, his sword cleaving through another soldier. His fox-like features were twisted with both anger and sorrow. But despite his skill and determination, the fight was taking its toll. His breaths were ragged, his movements slowing as the corrupted soldiers pressed him harder.
“I see it,” Mira whispered under her breath, her hands trembling as she raised them again. Her wings fluttered, and she shot forward, diving toward the heart of the battle. She wasn’t a fighter—not like Tanaka or Lucas—but she could feel the magic inside her, waiting to be used. She just had to tap into it.
As she swooped down, her eyes locked onto one of the corrupted soldiers closing in on the refugees. Her pulse quickened, the panic rising in her chest as she realized she wouldn’t make it in time.
No!
In a burst of adrenaline, Mira thrust her hands forward, tracing an intricate sigil as fast as she could. The magic flared to life, her fingers glowing with power as the sigil solidified in the air. In an instant, an illusion sprang forth—this one sharper, more real than before. It mirrored the soldiers exactly, creating a perfect duplicate of one of the corrupted soldiers charging toward the refugees.
The real soldier hesitated, its blackened eyes flicking between the illusion and the real target, its confusion giving Mira just enough time to act. She dove forward, sending a pulse of energy through the air, the force of it slamming into the soldier’s chest and sending it crashing to the ground.
She hovered over the fallen soldier, her chest heaving with exertion. Her wings beat frantically as she tried to catch her breath.
I did it. I stopped them.
But the moment of victory was fleeting. Her vision blurred again, another pulse of magic rushing through her veins as her senses stretched out, grasping at something just out of reach. The corruption was still spreading, still writhing beneath the surface. She could feel it growing stronger with each passing moment, sinking its claws deeper into the city, into the soldiers.
They had to stop it. But how?
“Mira!” Whisker’s voice snapped her back to reality, and she looked down to see him struggling against one of the larger corrupted soldiers. His movements were frantic, his glowing tattoos flickering with each wild swing of his blade. He was holding his own, but barely.
Mira’s eyes narrowed.
He needs help.
With a surge of energy, she shot downward, her wings propelling her toward Whisker. As she neared the ground, she raised her hands, summoning the last reserves of her magic. She traced another sigil in the air, her fingers moving with practiced precision despite the exhaustion threatening to pull her under.
The sigil flared to life, and a shimmering shield of light formed around Whisker just as the corrupted soldier swung its weapon. The blade glanced off the shield, the force of the blow dissipating harmlessly.
Whisker’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t waste the opportunity. With a snarl, he drove his sword into the soldier’s side, black ichor spilling from the wound as the creature finally collapsed.
“Thanks,” Whisker panted, his voice shaky but grateful.
Mira managed a weak smile, though her heart still pounded with fear.
There’s more to come. I can feel it.
Her eyes scanned the battlefield once more. The battle wasn’t over just yet. But as long as they stood together, they had a chance.
“Stay close!” she called to the others, her voice barely audible over the chaos.
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Whisker
Whisker glanced up at Mira, her wings still glowing faintly as she hovered above him and flew away from him to the others. He could feel the weight of the battle pressing down on him, the fear gnawing at the edges of his mind. But something in the way Mira fought—her determination, her magic—ignited a spark in him.
I can do this. We can do this.
With a deep breath, he pushed himself forward, his eyes locking onto the next wave of corrupted soldiers.
The battlefield was a cacophony of violence, screams, and the visceral stench of blood mingled with the earthy rot of the corrupted abominations. The sky above, once a clear, almost serene contrast to the chaos below, now bled with a darkened hue as if the heavens themselves recoiled from the horror unfolding.
Whisker's breathing was ragged, every muscle in his newly human body screaming with exhaustion, but he couldn’t stop. His fingers clutched the blade with an awkward grip.
Whisker barely had time to react before another one of the creatures lunged at him, its claws sweeping dangerously close to his face. His legs moved instinctively—
Run, run!
But something in his chest made him hesitate. He couldn’t flee, not this time. Not when his new companions were fighting for their lives.
His mind screamed at him to fight back, to swing the sword and defend himself, but he had no idea how. His grip on the sword was clumsy, the weight of it unbalanced in his hands.
Tanaka's figure flickered in the corner of his vision, moving with purpose and precision, the sword in his hand cutting through the air in fluid arcs, deflecting the strikes of the monstrous soldiers.
Why can’t I be like him?
Then, like a flash of insight, something clicked. Whisker’s eyes widened as he watched Tanaka—no, as he studied him. The way Tanaka moved, the way his body flowed with the rhythm of combat, it was like watching a dance—a brutal, efficient dance, but one Whisker felt he could replicate.
Copy.
The thought was bold and sudden, but it settled into his mind like a missing puzzle piece. His eyes locked onto Tanaka, and, without realizing it, Whisker began to mimic his movements. His grip on the sword shifted, his stance adjusted, and as another creature rushed toward him, he swung his sword—not with his own untrained clumsiness, but with a calculated movement he had borrowed from Tanaka. The blade connected with the creature’s flesh, a sharp spray of blackened blood splattering across the ground as it let out a twisted scream.
Whisker’s heart pounded in his chest, but this time, it wasn’t fear.
I can do this.
Whisker’s movements were smoother now, not his own, but an echo of Tanaka’s precise strikes. His body adapted with each swing, mimicking the flow of Tanaka’s swordplay. It wasn’t perfect—his limbs occasionally stumbled, and the weight of the blade still threw him off—but it was enough to keep the enemy at bay.
Each strike felt borrowed, like he was wearing someone else's armor. Whisker noticed it, felt the strangeness in the way his body responded without him understanding how.
I’m copying him...
The realization hit harder than the battle itself, but there was no time to dwell on it. He had to survive.
Another soldier fell, its twisted form crumpling at Whisker's feet.
Around him, the battle raged on. He saw glimpses of the others—Mira’s delicate wings slicing through the air as she used her magic to shield the refugees from the onslaught, Felix and Lucas engaging multiple enemies at once with an intensity that bordered on madness.
We’re not going to make it.
A deafening crash tore through the battlefield, followed by a violent tremor as Tanaka's sword slammed into the ground again with all the force of his newfound power. The shockwave sent soldiers, both corrupted and otherwise, stumbling back, and in an instant, one of the nearby buildings shuddered under the impact. With a groan of collapsing stone and splintering wood, the structure came down in a cloud of dust and debris.
Whisker barely had time to react as the building crumbled, sending chunks of stone scattering across the square. He threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding a falling beam, his heart pounding in his chest. When the dust finally settled, his breath caught in his throat. He was on the far side of the square—cut off from the main group.
“Tanaka... Mira...?” he called out, but his voice was swallowed by the chaos around him.
The battle still raged, but the dust from the collapsed building hung thick in the air, obscuring everything in a heavy, suffocating haze. Whisker coughed, his vision blurred, and that’s when he realized why his companions weren’t responding—they were on the other side of the rubble. He was separated, and it wasn’t just him.
A small cluster of refugees huddled behind him, their wide eyes filled with panic. Their thin bodies shook, covered in grime and dust from the collapse. Whisker’s heart sank.
“We’re separated,” he muttered under his breath, the weight of the situation hitting him hard. He wasn’t with the others anymore. It was just him and these terrified people, and the soldiers were still coming. His hands trembled as he tightened his grip on his sword.
I have to protect them.
His body was exhausted, muscles trembling from the strain of copying Tanaka’s swordsmanship. His mind raced. He wasn’t a fighter—not like the others. But he didn’t have a choice now. He couldn’t let the soldiers reach these people.
His limbs felt heavy, but the movements from earlier—the ones he had copied from Tanaka—still lingered in his mind. Instinctively, his stance shifted, the grip on his sword adjusting as he readied himself for what was to come. But it wasn’t just Tanaka’s movements. Lucas’ footwork, the swift and agile dodges Whisker had watched in awe earlier, played through his head as if time slowed for a moment, showing him the pattern.
A soldier lurched toward him, grotesque and twisted, its movements jerky and unnerving. Whisker’s muscles screamed in protest as he pushed himself to move, dodging the creature’s attack with a fluid sidestep that felt unnatural but effective. His feet moved as Lucas’ had, light and fast, dancing around the soldier’s wild strikes.
The sword in his hand felt foreign, but with a surge of adrenaline, he swung it, mimicking the precision of Tanaka’s brutal strikes. The blade cut through the soldier’s corrupted flesh, and black ichor splattered across the ground. The creature howled, but Whisker didn’t stop—he couldn’t. He pressed forward, slashing again and again, each blow more desperate than the last.
Another soldier lunged, and Whisker spun, his footwork unsteady but swift. The movements were draining him fast. His body wasn’t used to this—it wasn’t built for this kind of battle. But his mind had locked onto the techniques he had observed, and now, with the refugees depending on him, he couldn’t stop.
He dodged, parried, and slashed, mimicking the combined styles of Tanaka’s brute force and Lucas’ nimble evasions. The corrupted soldiers fell, one after another, but each movement took more out of him. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his muscles burned as if they were on fire. His arms grew heavier with every swing, and the sword began to feel like an anchor, dragging him down.
Just... keep... going.
Another soldier charged at him, its grotesque face twisted in a snarl, its claws reaching for him. Whisker tried to dodge, but his body was too slow this time. The soldier’s claws grazed his side, tearing through his tunic and leaving a deep gash. He stumbled back, wincing in pain, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the injury.
The refugees were still there, huddled behind him, their terrified eyes watching his every move. He couldn’t fail them.
With one last surge of energy, Whisker raised his sword and slashed at the final soldier, the blade connecting with its neck. The creature let out a gurgled scream before collapsing in a heap at his feet.
Whisker’s chest heaved, his body trembling with exhaustion. He could barely hold the sword anymore. His limbs felt like lead, his vision swam, and the burning pain from his wound pulsed in time with his ragged heartbeat. But they were safe. For now.
He turned to the refugees, his breath shallow, forcing a reassuring smile. “It’s... it’s over. You’re safe.”
But as he glanced past them, through the thinning dust, he saw his companions once more. They had regrouped, their forms cutting through the haze. Mira hovered just above the ground, her wings beating anxiously, while Tanaka and Captain Aric stood side by side, their weapons slick with black ichor.
But then, something in him hardened. His gaze flickered toward Tanaka again. If they had any hope of survival, it would come from working together, learning from each other, and pushing beyond their limits.
Whisker took a deep breath, forcing the panic down as he adjusted his grip on the sword once more, this time fully embracing the ability that was starting to awaken within him. He moved in closer to Tanaka, mimicking the exact way his companion’s sword sliced through the air. Another swing, another fallen enemy.
He could feel it now—this strange, foreign ability that allowed him to mirror the strength and skill of those around him.
I can help. I have to.
The battlefield was a blur of violence and desperation, but amidst it all, Whisker found a grim determination building within him. They could still win this. They had to.
As the onslaught of corrupted soldiers began to slow, Whisker’s body felt heavy with exhaustion, but the fight wasn’t over. Not just yet. But He could sense the tide turning, even as the monsters rose.
“Whisker!” Mira’s voice broke through his concentration, her wings fluttering in the periphery of his vision. “We did it. It’s finally over. Regroup!”
He nodded, though his breath came in ragged gasps.
We’re alive. We did it. I’m alive.
But the weight of it all—the battle, the deaths, the realization of his newfound powers—pressed on him like a vice. And in the distance, beyond the battlefield, he could feel something darker loomed.
We’re not done. I just know it. My instincts tell me there is something more going on.
As the last of the immediate threat began to wane, Whisker glanced toward the horizon, his chest tight with the certainty that this was only the beginning. But for now it is finally over.
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Whisker’s breath came in shallow, ragged bursts as the battlefield grew quieter. The sounds of clashing swords and magical bursts had dimmed, leaving only the faint groans of the fallen and the dull hum of residual magic in the air. His limbs felt heavy—his muscles trembling from the strain of combat—but it wasn’t just the physical toll that weighed on him.
He stared at the sword in his hands, too big, too foreign, and yet he had wielded it like it belonged to him. He hadn’t known how to fight when the battle started. But now, after watching Tanaka’s movements and Lucas’—copying them—he had somehow found a way to survive.
What am I?
His thoughts swirled in confusion as he looked down at his glowing tattoos, flickering faintly, as though the power within him was ebbing with the end of the fight. He hadn’t been trained for this—none of them had—but something inside him had taken over. It wasn’t just instinct. It was something more.
Whisker’s gaze drifted across the battlefield, catching glimpses of his companions. Tanaka, his blade still glowing faintly, stood tall, battered but victorious. Mira hovered above the ground, her wings twitching with nervous energy, the weight of her visions heavy in her eyes. Aric, Felix, Aria, and the others gathered near the center of the field, each of them catching their breath, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief.
We did it
Whisker whispered, the weight of his own voice barely registering in his ears.
The battlefield was littered with the remains of the corrupted, their bodies twisted and broken, but now, they were slowly becoming recognizable again—returning to the broken, frail humans they once were. Yet, even as they returned to their original forms, something dark and cloying lingered in the air, a vile, invisible miasma that seemed to crawl under Whisker's skin and sit heavy in his lungs.
Captain Aric, his once-proud stance marred by blood and exhaustion, approached. His fox-like features, sharp and noble under normal circumstances, now seemed dulled, drawn tight with the weight of loss. But somehow, through the haze of blood and grime, a grim smile broke across his face. 'You fought well, Whisker. Better than I expected.”
Whisker blinked, the compliment barely registering as the weight of what had just happened settled over him. It wasn’t Aric’s words that filled his mind—it was the strange pull of power, the way his muscles had moved, the fluidity of his strikes that weren’t his own. His sword had mimicked Tanaka’s with such precision, it was as if he had spent years mastering the blade. But he hadn’t.
How did I do that?
The question gnawed at him, but there were no answers—not yet.
Aric’s eyes softened, their usual sharpness now tinged with a sorrow that ran deep. He scanned the battlefield, his gaze lingering on the fallen, the bodies of soldiers he had once called comrades. “These men… I trained some of them. They weren’t always like this,” he muttered, his voice heavy with grief, as though mourning the very souls that had been stolen from him.
“We couldn’t save them,” Whisker muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Aric shook his head, his expression somber. “No, but maybe we find what caused this, and can stop it from happening to others. We have to.”
Whisker nodded, though the words felt hollow in his chest. The battle was over, but the sense of dread that had settled over him hadn’t lifted. The corruption, the darkness that had twisted the soldiers—it wasn’t gone. It was still out there, lurking, waiting.
He glanced back at Tanaka, who was wiping the blood from his sword. He then glanced at Lucas. Their fluidity with which they fought, the precision—it all felt so familiar now, like Whisker had somehow absorbed the knowledge through sheer proximity of them both.
I copied them…
The thought was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Whisker had mimicked Tanaka’s movements during the fight, moving as if he had trained for years, even though he hadn’t. He had no explanation for it, no understanding of how he had done it. But it was there—a power he didn’t fully comprehend, yet it pulsed beneath his skin.
As the others gathered, checking their wounds and tending to the shaken refugees, Whisker remained where he was, staring at his hands, the remnants of energy still crackling faintly.
How is any of this possible?
The question echoed in his mind, louder now, impossible to ignore. He had been a raccoon—just a raccoon, scavenging for scraps in the shadows of Chicago. Now he was something else, something more. But what, exactly?
Before he could spiral deeper into the confusion, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Tanaka, his expression calm but firm.
“We survived,” Tanaka said, his voice steady. “That’s what matters.”
Whisker nodded, though the question still lingered. The battle was over, but the mystery of what he was—what they all were—had only just begun.
What are we?
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End of Chapter