[Enemy Identified]

Human Child [LVL 2]

The boy ran at Ethan, swinging his father’s broadsword with wild abandon. His strikes were erratic, the kind that came from pure desperation rather than skill. The sword’s blade scraped and clanged against the tough carapace of Ethan's Host, sending small sparks flying, but they caused little more than scratches.

The boy was sobbing as he swung, eyes red with rage and grief, his face twisted in a snarl that looked unnatural on someone so young. The trembling sword finally cut through, nicking Ethan’s arachnid leg, slicing into the chitin with the strength of pure adrenaline. The boy pressed forward, hacking away at Ethan’s lower body like a crazed animal.

Ethan barely felt the nicks against his Host’s skin. He saw the HP readouts tick down, one, two, three pips of damage, but his attention was elsewhere. The kid’s screams pierced the cool night air like needles. Each cry, each frantic strike was a dagger to the atmosphere, creating a dissonant contrast to the eerie silence that had followed the massacre of the plantation.

"Kid," Ethan said, his voice a low rumble. "Stop."

The boy didn’t hear him. He kept slicing away, eyes blurry with tears, his frail, dirt-covered body shaking, his skinned knees giving out as he struggled to stand. The smell of sweat, blood, and rain mixed in the air, a sour reminder of the boy's desperation.

"Kid?" Ethan tried again, louder this time, though there was no softness in his tone. His many eyes watched the child’s every move, catching the determination in his trembling hands and the fire in his tear-streaked face.

"Die!" the boy screamed, his voice cracking. "Die! Die! Die!"

Ethan felt an odd pang inside, not quite sympathy but something close enough. How many more of these “avengers” am I gonna run into? he thought, suddenly feeling exhausted by the scene unfolding before him. He had seen hatred, and fear, and desperation before, but there was something sharper about it when it came from a child.

With a flick of his claws, Ethan made his move.

The boy's sword flew from his hands with a metallic clang. It hit the dirt a few feet away, sliding across the ground, the sound oddly final. The boy stood there, empty-handed, staring at his wrist in shock as if expecting the blade to return to his grip.

Ethan's scimitar-claws gleamed in the dim light, still raised, ready for a more final strike. The boy's wild eyes darted between his limp wrist and the looming figure before him, terror and defiance warring in his gaze. Ethan could almost see the boy weighing his options, but there was no calculating way out of this.

And yet, despite the odds, the boy didn’t collapse. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he didn’t fall.

Instead, he scrambled toward the sword again, his bare feet slapping against the wet earth. Ethan watched with a strange kind of fascination, almost admiring the kid’s unshakable drive—though that didn’t mean it wasn’t pointless.

Just before the boy’s fingers brushed the hilt, Ethan spun a thread of webbing from his abdomen and lashed it out. The sticky silk shot forward, ensnaring the boy’s legs and halting his desperate charge mid-step. He stumbled and fell face-first into the dirt, arms flailing in front of him as he reached for the sword, still defiant despite the inevitable.

"Hey, kid," Ethan said, moving closer, his voice dripping with both annoyance and something else, perhaps pity. "Look, enough’s enough."

The boy twisted in the webbing, turning to face his enemy. His small, filthy face contorted as he took in the full sight of Ethan’s towering arachnid body, the hat perched atop his Host’s head, watching him with gleaming eyes.

"Archon..." the boy whispered, his voice barely audible above the soft crackling of the dying fires around them.

Ethan paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his mind. Ah shit... how the fuck do I handle this?

The rain picked up, drumming against the earth in heavy drops that spattered against the half-burnt remains of the plantation. Smoke still rose from the ashes of buildings, mixing with the fresh scent of rain. Above the forest, the smoke curled into the sky like black tendrils reaching for the heavens, their thick, acrid smell permeating the air as rain washed over the bloodied earth.

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Ethan could still hear Tara in the distance, her laughter mingling with the screams of the dying as she danced through what little remained of the human resistance. She moved like a ghost through the carnage, every strike of her stilettos precise and lethal. There was no mercy in her steps, only bloodlust and glee.

Ethan looked down at his claws, slick with the blood of the fallen. The rainwater mixed with the blood, running in thin red rivers down his limbs. He couldn’t help but glance past them, seeing the boy’s wide, unblinking eyes as he lay there, webbed and helpless, trying his best not to look at his father’s mangled corpse.

"You know what I am, then?" Ethan asked, though he knew the answer. The boy’s silence was reply enough.

"Fine," he said, his tone gruff. "Then you know that when that web wears off, you should run."

Ethan turned his back, figuring that was the end of it. He’d given the kid his chance. He didn’t have time for this, not when the storm of conflict still swirled around him.

"Monster..." the boy muttered under his breath.

Ethan’s muscles tensed. He wasn’t sure why, but the word hit him like a physical blow. It bounced around his head, like a sharp echo, digging deeper each time it came back.

Yeah, that’s what I am. Monster.

Whatever snarky comment Sys made was lost to him, muffled beneath the weight of that word—monster.

So, when he heard the boy’s next words, he stopped mid-stride, feeling that pang inside again.

"No," the boy said louder, more determined.

Ethan turned slowly, his many eyes narrowing. "What?"

"Don’t try and trick me!" the boy shouted, his voice gaining strength as he tore at the webbing, his small hands clawing at the sticky strands. "Come here and fight me! Like a real monster!"

Ethan sighed, rubbing his temples. The rain poured harder now, soaking through his Host’s exoskeleton, turning the battlefield into a quagmire of mud and blood. The boy kept writhing in the webbing, still trying to free himself.

How do I reach this kid... and why do I even care?

He should’ve killed him. Should’ve killed him right after his father, and yet here he was—facing down a child who wasn’t worth the effort. What did one more dead body mean in the grand scheme of things? Ethan had already left a trail of corpses across this land, and this kid was just another number.

But something about the fire in the boy’s eyes, the raw desperation, made him hesitate. He was supposed to be the villain of this world, wasn’t he? So why did sparing one life seem so important now?

The boy roared, his teeth gritted in rage as he bit into the webbing, tearing through the silk with his teeth like an animal. "I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!"

Ethan couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect. The kid had guts, that was for sure. Dumb as hell, but gutsy.

“Think about it, little dude—you’ll die before you ever get the cha—”

"I DON’T CARE!"

The boy’s voice cracked, the sheer force of his rage keeping him going even when his body should have given out.

Ethan stood there, watching the boy flail against the webbing like a trapped animal. Part of him wanted to put the kid out of his misery, but another part—an annoyingly growing part—wanted to let him live. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was some weird sense of responsibility, but it gnawed at him nonetheless.

"...this wasn’t... this isn’t anything personal. But... alright."

He stepped closer, lowering himself so that his face was level with the boy’s wild eyes. The kid’s chest heaved, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, his lips trembling as he glared up at the towering figure.

“Monsters... need to... die... All of you will... will—!”

With a sudden, swift movement, Ethan flicked his claw and knocked the boy’s head gently. The child’s eyes fluttered, and he slumped back into the mud, unconscious.

"I know you probably feel like you’ve got no choice but to come after me now," Ethan muttered, his voice low. "If you still feel like that when you wake up again, then I hope to meet you on the battlefield, one day."

He turned and walked away, his legs carrying him across the battlefield without looking back. Not this time.

"Monster..." the boy murmured weakly, his voice fading as he drifted into unconsciousness.

When he made his way back to the camp, he surveyed the destruction with a new set of eyes. He saw the wounded, the broken, the dying, and the dead. He saw Tara finishing off the wounded, bloodlust filling every stroke she made with her stilettos. He saw, too, the faces of his new servants—Hybrids who were already on their knees worshipping the ground he walked on—even a couple of children kicking at the fallen human Overseers.

All this didn’t bother him as much as his decision to spare the boy—and get away from here as soon as he could—did. The vague feeling knocking at his mind was that the kid—well—he never really had a choice, did he? He’d probably heard nothing but how evil the creatures that went bump in the night were from his parents and his society all his life. He’d probably been told that enslavement was a blessing for the creatures who dared walk on human soil like the hybrids. And now, his father had been slain in cold blood by one of them—the one who wasn’t just a monster, but the de facto villain of this entire world.

In the pools of blood he’d left behind him, Ethan saw himself for what he truly was, now.

Oh, please.

You’re only now realizing that you’re the big bad wolf here?

A little slow, aren’t we, Mr. Ethan?

Shut up, Sys, Ethan said.

That’s it?

No quippy comeback? No hint of sarcasm this time?

Not even a little meta-commentary to liven things up?

Ethan watched Tara raise the skull of the head-Overlord above her to the cheers of the freed Hybrids all around.

...Just... shut up.

He knew what would happen next. He'd have to face Klax and explain all this.

If the dogman was even willing to listen...