+++++

“Great.” Frank grunted, his voice thick with sarcasm.

John threw him a drained glance, hesitated for a second and when he was just about to quip the retort died on his lips. The whole group was sufficiently tired with the unending battles under the charge of their particular superior officer, finding a bitter surprise on the supposed-to-be tranquil travel back to home gave the blabbermouth enough right to go all the way on the dark, and loud, descent of depression and satire.

Frank was a man with among the shortest men of the troop, but no doubt the gods saw fit to give him a mouth big enough to compensate.

“Just what we needed…” Frank continued his soliloquy, taking the consenting growls here and there as approval. Had Frank been in a different state of mind and he would have noticed in hurried but somber march, the resigned eyes and the spent breaths, that most of the ‘support’ he garnered was mostly based on exhaustion than actual consent.

“I mean, not only we get the Demon, and by the king, who would guess the rumors were actually light-handed in comparison with the real person, we too have to weather through 5 months of a new definition of survival, but no!” Frank spewed with increased speed as if in a hysterical hurry to talk, barely taking a pause to inhale angrily. “That wasn’t enough! ‘We got to fuck the mess out of old little Frankie’.” A bellow and an imitation of a funny old man voice later left Frank fuming.

“Well, good job. On my terms a FUCKING OGRE is more than enough-”

“Shut up. I don’t care if you are worn out. I don’t care if you feel abandoned by your gods. I don’t care if you despair. Shut your mouth and keep your body moving.” Fortunately for John, a strong voice cut through the irate speech of the shorter man. John sent an appreciative gaze towards Percias, the giant and intimidating man that interrupted Frank.

“Agh” grunted the dark-haired midget. “C’mon Ted. Are you telling me you don’t feel even a little bit displeased with this?” Frank gestured to his sides, as if physically signalizing what he was talking about.

Teal eyes framed by a feral face gazed back at brown ones. It wasn’t right to judge a book by its cover, but it was fairly easy to see who would buckle first.

“Fine. Fine. You win, bear-man.”

The taller man didn’t seem to relinquish on the victory, just keeping his silence and doing as he roughly told to Frank a few moments ago.

“Consider yourself lucky. Another man would have handed your ass to you the second you gave them a nickname like ‘Ted’.” John whispered to Frank, hitting his elbow lightly on his ribs.

Frank scoffed. It wasn’t his fault, who would have thought the almost-2-meter-high man knew how to sew. The moniker was all but set when he found out the green-eyed man ‘upgrading’ a teddy bear for his daughter. Thankfully he hadn’t to rein in his mouth a lot as Percias didn’t seem to mind the name.

Further speaking of him, the giant himself didn’t notice, but John caught the grateful glances the man and women in the squad were sending his way, everyone was sufficiently exhausted to waste further energies and time to wallow in self-pity and pessimism. Ted had a quiet way of leading that was amazing, even when not the first man in line in regular combat, when trouble came he was the vanguard voice, the first to advance in the unknown when the rest were doubting themselves or others, John thought that this shining manner that burned with light in their worst moments was the quality of a leader, despite the fact the silent soldier shared their rank.

Peace returned to their surroundings, and amidst the cold woods the rhythmic music accompanying their fast-paced movement was that of the frigid currents and the crunching snow.

But among the quiet wizards marching, one of them called for John’s attention, as his silence wasn’t the mechanical, as if keeping the mind blank in preparation for what was coming, still type that Percias helped establishing, but more of the bleak grisly variation that seemed one step away from getting his owner to start plucking his hair out of his roots.

“Lughus, don’t worry, they’ll be fine, Odifiska’s militia were trained for this, and according to the messenger they sent the civilians were being evacuated successfully.” John reassured, patting the shoulders, past his blue hair, of the brooding soldier.

“I don’t know John.” Lughus whispered unsure, his hands quickly paling in their clenching as if to better match the frozen ground. “I don’t mean to sound like Frank, but…An ogre? We are fifty magicians, and we are undermanned to affront that thing, I don’t even want to venture into the odds of 3 or 4 wizards against that Unreal Beast species.” Lughus gazed back at John, to see if the bearded young man understood, finding a reassuring look on his friend’s face he went on. “I just can’t help but to worry for my family.”

No matter how much blood he had spill, how many horrors of war he had seen, each time he thought on his family and subconsciously superimposed their images in his memories and, Agh.

He could only pray his wife and son were okay. If something, if anything occurred to them…

“C’mon, no need to be so anxious. Your hometown may be a little roughed up after the ‘casual’ encounter, but I am sure all the townspeople will have it rebuilt sturdier in a month or so.” John jokingly told the older man in attempt to free him of his glum.

Yes. His hometown. His chest felt a few sizes smaller when he recognized that he didn’t account the rest of the people on Odifiska on his worries. Lughus bit his lips drawing blood from them when the thought emerged.

“Breath.” When Lughus regained his bearings, he noticed that John and him had fallen behind the others, the younger man encouragingly patting his back. Wordlessly, he complied, slowly sending more air to his lungs.

“Thanks.” Lughus whispered when he felt he had recovered enough.

Now more in control of his body and mind the older man felt how unbecoming was his wild panic. If nothing, they had a Demon of their own to test its might against the other monster. That would at least ensure the safe retreat of the population of Odifiska.

“No problem.” John offhandedly assured with a wave of hands.

“No, really.” The blue-headed accentuated. “Thank you.”

“Move, you lovebirds!” The fiery, but ultimately authoritative voice sent them in a hurried run to catch up to the others.

In instants the whole group was ramrod straight, gazing at their immediate superior, John more than anybody seemed hypnotized by her visage. The white uniform inlaid with golden threads hugging her slender form, blonde almost silver hair cascading down a ponytail. The fire on her voice enraptured him.

“We are approaching to the clearing. I will now give your positions and orders.” Lanrid commanded.

Of course, every man and woman, especially the men, stood at attention with her call. It was madness in the magical community to underestimate a female, even more in this troop, the rule had been firmly rooted. John himself had been witness to some of the teaching up-close and he had thoroughly engraved them on his heart.

She was as strict as a governess, which soured many people fantasies about the beautiful female. Instead, for John, her valiant manner had been stealing hours from himself every single day, lost in thoughts about the blonde.

Only a casual glance at her clear blue eyes would send him wondering if they were as blue as they seemed…right now, because apparently, he had been caught staring.

“Soldier, do you have anything to add?” Lanrid questioned in a no-nonsense tone, one of her brow going upwards in inquiry.

John fumbled with his words for a moment, and before he took too long to warrant the impatience of his superior and consequent yell he had his voice again. “No Madam.” John asserted in tad too loud but still disciplined inflection.

He won a few background and scattered snickers instead, before they were drowned on their own.

Lanrid nodded satisfied and John almost passed out right there when he saw what he assumed was the closer expression to a smile on his idol’s face. An undistinguishable twist on her lips.

“You will be divided in 1 lesser team and 9 normal ones. Anyone who is sufficiently adept with curses is to join the lesser team…” Now back to referring to the whole contingent of magicians Lanrid listed out.

Lughus was surprised, they were yet too far from Odifiska, perhaps ‘she’ had a plan to attack the beast from this distance?

Unbeknown to him, a set of eyes watched him closely.

.....

Erica was the only daughter and heir of the Count Richard, as a member of the nobility of Bylmir her competence in any field, either political, military o magical was natural. It was a world where, regardless of genre or age, family, compatriots and friends devoured each other. Someone’s existence, specially one in the higher spheres of power, was many times limited to the simple and repeated precept of consuming or being consumed. In other words, you couldn’t trust anybody.

Even in this kind of world built on elites, Viscountness Erica Ashgate-Durham was special. Born in a family with ancient magic lineage and history, besides of being one of the houses that supported Bylmir on its foundations, it was also recognized for protecting it from the first Mirror Gates.

It showed too on her features. Her purples eyes observed inexpressionedly to the front while her black raven hair flowing down her back billowed with the frigid wind. Her figure clothed in the military uniform was just like that of war princess in fairy tale, if something stood at attention on her, it was her general impression. Cold, inhuman, more like a doll in human’s clothing. In particular her orbs, strangely both dark and brilliant, made the recipients of her gaze feel like subjects about to be dissectioned.

But even if in his mind he called her Erica, most people (not even her peers) didn’t refer to her by her name. This didn’t originate of simple contempt; the cause was something further beyond. Uncomplicatedly, her nicknames were more famous.

‘Demon’, for claiming over a thousand lives in a battle against twice that amount of Illisian soldiers without using magic, while commanding no more than only two hundred magicians and being barely 13 old. People said that the one the princes of the southern Illisia lost consciousness when hearing the news.

‘Patricia’, for the old story a greedy woman willing to anything who sold her emotions and soul in exchange of more riches than any country could spend.

And the more known. ‘Invicta’, given by the Virketh-Croccia Empire’s wizards themselves, when they were mercilessly crushed by Erica’s smooth handling of the battlefield and her unorthodox strategies, becoming another medal in her unblemished score of only victories.

Why such a young child, now woman, had to live most of her teen years hopping in between blood fests was unknown, although some disturbing rumors about the Earl was what the majority believed.

Even on this moment of quiet pondering, no one understood what she was thinking, what mind-defying scenarios was her mind conjuring, what enemies was she seeing vanquished on her mind, himself included. Harold ruminated as his brown ones captured her movement atop a grey horse.

Instead of what Harold guessed, she was not developing grand strategies or reviewing preview battles, she was thinking of her worst enemy. Her father.

The man she loathed, the rock obstructing her way. The shameless man that had the gall to impede Erica on her crusade, trying to keep her away from the battlefield.

This time, she had to do a routine and ‘cleaning’ patrol in the south-east area, the Unreal Beasts were having an increasing apparition rate over there. It also served the double purpose of an examination towards Kundra’s movements, their neighbors in that direction, who the higher-ups suspected had something to do with this abnormality.

Erica and her army were heeded to Tyjod, on their travel they were supposed to pause at Odifiska, a little border town they had to do a minor detour to get to. It was necessary as they had to at least rest a day before resuming their journey. That way not only the regular soldiers, but also the officers could take care of some of their fatigue.

Thinking on her higher ranked subordinates brought a face to her mind. The high and tight cheekbones of the individual made him see older than he was, he had short-trimmed light brown hair and darker brown eyes with a tint of disdain. Popular with the ladies and resented by other men, the noble magician as young as her gave the impression of an ego-centrical politician, reminding him of her father. This reminiscence made her amethyst eyes encounter brown ones gazing at hers before the individual broke the stare contest ignoring what Erica was thinking of him.

Of course, when a wounded messenger reached her with news of an Ogre approaching their destination, plans had to change, and she could no longer permit herself to be lost in thoughts.

Her brain called for the information about the Unreal Beast in a flash. The thick skin and magical defense of the monster merited over a hundred red-chambered magicians to kill it, their currents numbers we best suited to help evacuate the civilians and buy time while they escaped.

‘Then, we better hurry.’ Erica thought to herself calmly.

.....

Anastasia didn’t think this day would get like this when she awoke this morning. And while it was obvious nobody expected disaster to strike when it did, the idea lingered on her mind with stubborn persistence as she weaved through the panicked masses of people.

“Peter!”

A few minutes ago, the mayor of the town informed that scouts had spotted an ogre on his way to their homes. Together with announcement was the instruction of following the mundane guards that would escort them out of the city while the magic-wielding sentinels, or Protectors, would cover the rear.

Of course, although some of the people wasted their time in curses and lamentations, even they quickly joined the rest in their preparations to abandon Odifiska. She was a but mother amidst others searching for his son on the last place he was, his school.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Peter! Where are you!?” Once again, she joined the oceans of yells. Each trying to rise the highest and find a familiar face responding.

It was a maelstrom of violence and anxiousness, people raging like a turbulent river. They pushed, clawed forward and ran over each other.

It was chaos.

The townspeople having just barely minutes to grab the most basic things required to travel were in a hurry to join the caravan towards Tyjod.

But her mind wasn’t on those details right now. Each passing second in the school thinking where her Peter was made her hands even clammier and constricted her throat.

“Peter!!”

She kept calling his name, screaming, looking for him. But no matter what she couldn’t find him.

White suddenly bordered her vision as the sounds in the tumult grew faint, like she was getting further and further away Anastasia felt her legs failing to support her own weight.

Her worry transformed her stomach into lead and the urge to throw up, to vomit all the acid things that were currently sickening her, was only retained with strenuous effort from her.

Questions, questions and more questions were the only thing her mind offered as her consciousness waned, inquiries that didn’t have any sense answering, but at the same time seemed only proper to do at this kind of moment. As her body fell to ground Anastasia closed her eyes and for a moment imagined his son.

The son who spent his weekly allowance buying candies to the poor kids with a smile on his face and satisfaction on his caramel eyes.

Her heart thumped painfully, trying to get out with each beat as it rammed violently against her chest.

Her boy.

The same kid who had many tears for a sickly stranger he met for the first time.

Their boy.

It was when the last vestiges of rationality were leaving her that she heard a voice.

“Mother!”

And then, she was awake of the nightmare of her own calling.

.....

‘Because he wished so.’ That wasn’t the reason why he found himself in his current employment.

Who wouldn’t like being recognized? Winning more money? Having a better life?

It wasn’t his choice. It never was.

He too, as many others, wanted his achievements publicly acknowledged, to abandon those days being referred as ‘novice’ or Red-Chamber Magician and pass through to the next orange chamber, or perhaps, even better, if he invested enough effort, sitting proudly with the other ‘yellows’.

Those foolish dreams were long behind him as he cursed and damned the naïve and young mind that dared fabricate them. Perhaps if he had worked hard since the beginning. If he didn’t were drinking and having fun when ‘he’ studied.

It hurts to be left behind. The fact he started first, yet ended eating ‘his’ dust, burned him a way he couldn’t begin to describe.

“Stop daydreaming. Did you pee you pants without even seeing the beast, lad?” a gruff voice paired with loud slap in the back derailed his train of thoughts.

“McLarth, Dammit! Stop doing that” Yelping in pain, Kranos turned and sent a hateful glare to the owner of the lumberjack-thick hands.

The offender just burst out laughing in the boisterous way only he knew how to do.

“Wipe that I-just-a-plate-full-of-shit face. That’s not the way younglings should be.” McLarth cackled, his wrinkles seeming deeper with the expressed mirth.

“And that’s not the way old men should be!” Kranos thought he knew better, but apparently, he couldn’t resist the comeback. After all, the veteran magician was over 60 years old, well past the age he acted, always loud and energetic.

“ME!? Old? Foolishness.” The veteran gasped in mock surprise before fully showcasing the strong muscles on his body as he settled his hands on Kranos’s shoulders and looked straight ahead at his deadpan yellow eys. “I am barely older than you.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Kranos relented, not wanting to give more fuel to the blonde grandfather-like man.

“Don’t be getting your head full of stupid ideas. We got no time for that. We couldn’t even use ‘courier’ to ask for reinforcements. We must reunite with rest of the Protectors.” All trace of previous jest were suddenly absent on the veteran as he declared the urgency of the matter, setting Kranos on edge.

And the old man was right. Not noticing how his mood improved with the arrival of the only person that made him bicker until he was breathless he nodded once to show his approval. His childhood friend was still inside the city after all.

As the chain of bitter memories associated with her image came in like a tide, once again he was interrupted from a descent into dark thoughts from a source he didn’t even that was doing it.

“Good. Perhaps Mary will ask your hand in marriage if you show her your dashing form.”

Fuming and trying to elaborate a response to another joke of the veteran protector about the bakery girl just made him sink further in his guilt towards the poor girl. She didn’t have anything wrong, as matter of fact, Kranos didn’t deserve her love or warm attentions. But…He couldn’t just forget the little girl of his infancy, Anastasia. And god, to this day he loved her, even after she married the man who defeated him in every aspect.

He could have told off McLarth. And he would have done it, if the screams that made both their spines tremble with dread didn’t had reached their superhuman senses first.

Faster than anyone could see both disappeared in gust of winds and leaving craters on the grounds with their mad dash towards the source.

.....

“What!?” Lughus croaked disbelieving, unaware of the cold sweat on his forehead.

His voice made the others cringe, but the person facing the talker remained impassive. As if no one had had said anything from the beginning.

A voice on his mind was told him that this was not joke, but his conscious thinking simply couldn’t keep it up with what his body communicated.

“You can’t be serious…” Lughus whispered with a grimace. “My town…please” The blue-haired pleaded. He was willing to do anything. He could die for the mission, but not this.

“Not this.”

He couldn’t accept this madness. He thought he knew his leader better after 5 months, but he was wrong. That couldn’t be human, that could only be a-

“Demon” Lughus murmured.

Like a key, the word unlocked something inside him. That something slowly transformed the ice in his veins into fire, and contradictorily, used his fear for his family to temporally elevate him to a stage of courage. The gears on the mind Lughus turned as fast as possible, drawing a plan he would literally have to ‘wing it.’ In order to accomplish.

No thoughts and his security were expended as the man with a purpose, to save his family and hometown, stepped forward, his muscles tensed and his jaw set firmly in a show of resolution.

“I will not allow this.”

Ignorant of wishes, a shadow crashed unto him and deprived the blue-haired from his consciousness with a hit on the back of his head and the activation of a simple spell.

.....

“As you said, Lughus Lach had to be detained. Ji-Min Nang disabled him harmlessly with wave to his brain.” He informed as he tried as strongly as possible to harden his heart.

She nodded. “Good, tell him and the other 2 to keep a close vigilance on Cyrtten, Logmar and Willes.”

“As you say.” Harold said doubtfully.

He couldn’t see a special reason why there was a need to make preparations to subdue those there specifically. Lughus he could understand, after all, it was his home the one that was in danger.

Erica saw the vacillation on her right hand man, but didn’t saw fit to explain her motives. She knew every one of those men and women better that they gave her credit for.

.....

Life was hell. It always was, the dilemma was wherever you realized or not. And of course, it wasn’t as f they cruel mistress didn’t adored hands-on demonstrations, thought Kranos.

Dozens of creatures growled, glaring at their prey, the powerless humans and ready to taste their meat within their mouths.

Between the moving flow of people and the army of the wolves-like Vargs just one thing separated them.

As if to further validate his train of thought Kranos remembered how they got there in the first place.

After McLarth and him ran to the commotion they found out their other two companions fighting a mass group of Vargs.

The creatures were extremely similar to the common wolves, if it wasn’t for their enormously augmented characteristics, and two heads, of course. The danger they posed wasn’t because their individual power, the real punch they packed was due to their numbers and the pack mentality it accompanied them. While they hunted, a part of the group would distract the prey, while the other would swiftly ambush the unaware victim for its blind spots.

The situation was made worst by the fact that they already had an Ogre hot in their tails (his steps echoing from a while ago) and the quadrupled monsters attacked the exit the townspeople were going to use to escape. Before they could arrive, the mundane soldiers couldn’t do anything but to be glorified sitting ducks against the onslaught, consequently, a fifth of the total population was lost already when the protectors got there.

The wizards had to assault the monsters while reuniting the people and guards to protect them. And now, as the people advanced slowly, not too far not too close were they.

Like a shield 4 men stood each in a cardinal direction, eyes firmly set on one point, forward. The line draw by their positions seemed fragile, tens of eyes set for each protector and the insides of the circular formation containing the stream of people walking forward under their cover.

The air was pregnant with a heavy silence that weighed on every man’s heart.

The surroundings all but erupted with the charge of every single Unreal Beast in the area.

“Eldr.” From the north the atmosphere heated abnormally as it vibrated with power, less than a second later 2 scythes of roaring fires spat forth from a giant sword hitting a pair of misfortune Vargs.

“Hmm… I like more medium meat, but I guess I will have to settle with ‘overcooked’ this time.” Kranos smiled as he pivoted a twohanded sword bigger than him.

The rest of the pack howled with anger as they moved faster than any normal human could see. Their stampede the ground cracked as their images disappeared surrounding the human that made the mistake of attacking them. Intelligence normally favored was discarded in pro of rushing tactics and dominating with numbers.

Not that the method wasn’t effective mused the magician, sending more Ash to the sword and activating another rune etched in the blade to decapitate a pouncing wolf about to shred his right arm.

‘Ten more to go.’

His weapon had 4 active runes on it, by engraving them on the object he saved quite a bit of Ash from his reserves at the time of employing those specific spells, the ease of use was even more enhanced by the fact that Runic magic was fairly simple. All the types of magic were considered at least in some form or aspect a kind of language. The magic left from the forefathers was special in the sense that while others systems required complex rules to their rituals runes just asked for precise input.

Kranos settled his weight as one Varg lunged at him. A well-timed slap sent it crashing away. Quickly bringing his weapon closer the yellow-eyed protector split in two another wolf, gushing a fountain a blood. The swing left him wide open for third beast that rushed for his shoulder. Now over-extended and with third set of fangs coming for his shoulder Kranos just let the sword fall towards the ground.

“Bifask.” The largest rune on the giant piece of steel activated with a hissing.

The earth exploded and sent projectiles that made two other running wolves fall back from the impact. Meanwhile the young protector bit back a grunt of pain as the fangs of the unreal beast he let pass impaled his shoulder. Before the monster could do further damage a blue light flashed from his coat and the beast burned.

This was getting harder for him, he couldn’t even spare a moment to see how his companion were doing. As if to mock him frantic yells resounded at his back, ‘where the circle of people is’ grimly thought Kranos. If one side was being attacked, probably one of the other protectors was dead. The image of an old man flash on his mind.

With urgency, he was about to turn back when a voice stopped him.

“Lad, I have this!”

Kranos had to use every ounce of willpower to comply. McLarth bellow sounded like… gurgling. Just by his warning he knew that the jester was drowning on his own blood. He grimaced. He couldn’t take his sight away from his current fight.

Slash! Rip! Slash!

His sword bludgeoned, chopped and crushed the almost invisible forms dashing towards him using mere instinct.

Without realizing he had offered his whole soul and body to this collision of bloodlust.

Their fight changed the surroundings with each clash, burning, tearing and cracking the very earth under their feet.

He surrendered his flesh and blood in exchange of taking one more life in the mad dance of death.

The crowd washed fascinated the show of gore.

One arm for a Varg’s cranium pulverized, an eye for two burned bodies. But no amount of wounds could stop him, nor the other protectors, fighting just as fiercely.

.....

The clouds in the sky rumbling with thunder amalgamated together, drawing a sinister grey roof as if they were hiding something from the heavens. Strangely, they couldn’t hear the beast anymore, perhaps something or someone killed it… it certainly didn’t made him feel better.

“R-Run.”

His parched throat strained to get a croak out. It was the thing the protectors could barely get. And how costly was, he thought bitterly.

Not far from him the body of one of his comrades lied, his form ravished and unrecognizable. He wasn’t even in one piece, as his organs were strewn in the ground. Graller. Ever the taciturn man, now he would never talk again. He felt useless.

What about Oska? The little genius wasn’t spared even a body as he blew himself up to stop the last wolves on his side. The boy with a whole life in front of him. How could he face his mother, the very same who entrusted him the boy that hadn’t even seen 16 winters.

McLarth…didn’t he say he was still young? Why did he had to perish? Kneeling, his sole arm punched the ground with animal fury as tears riveted down his cheeks.

What a protector he was…he couldn’t even stop two thirds of the townspeople from dying too. Their bodies soaked the ground red with blood. In particular one set of eyes, those belonging to a mother covering her a tiny form stared right at him. As if mocking him, as if reminding him of the failure he was.

Why?

How?

Did they deserve this?

Why so cruelly? And why…among the capable magicians only he had to survive.

He sobbed alone surrounded by corpse, just wishing to join them.

Meanwhile the scarred survivors didn’t have the leisure to mourn, they had to keep moving, they had to. So, they could protect the meaning of the sacrifices made today. In that bleak mood they trotted, crying, screaming, but nevertheless advancing towards the now cleared exit. He caught more than a few worried glances in the group, a female pair of them paining him in different ways, but he had no intention of following for now.

He would do the proper burial of his friends, his townspeople, it was something he wanted to do before anything else. He couldn’t precisely see or move very well, but for the task at hand it was more than enough.

.....

The existence of the gods wasn’t particularly doubted, their disasters, their miracles, their champions, it served more than enough proof, especially when the individuals, must of them suffering from acute boredom, loved to intervene on this plane.

Perhaps the tempestuous weather was work of gods too, maybe a merciful god felt sorry for the puny humans in the ground and couldn’t bear to keep looking.

It made sense even more when a giant shadow soared over the sky and fell to the ground.

VROOOOOOOOOOM

The earth trembled with blind terror as an abomination of more than 40 meters crashed unto it, disfiguring the surface in a crater proper for it humongous size.

His body was humanoid, a pair of legs supporting his frame together with a pair of arms stabbed in the ground product of his descent. The dark red of his skin was a tone between blood and rust.

“Ogre!”

“¿How did it get here!? Ogres don’t fly!”

“Run!!!”

“God”

To say people was panicking was an understament. Madness itself possessed the remaining population of Odifiska as they gazed at the Unreal Beast that should have been kilometers away. Instead, Kranos was simply baffled.

The Unreal Species were showing an unusual cooperation, and it seemed specially prepared for this town. First, an ogre is spotted advancing from southwest, then, minutes later an enormous pack of wolves used the surrounding woods in the direction to rush an attack to the north exit they were using to evacuate the civilians. After a gruesome fight and liberating the gate, the previously mentioned ogre freaking fell from the sky…right in front of the north entrance.

The world didn’t even have allowed for him to cry.

“Don’t!” Pleaded the woman whose love he didn’t deserve.

“Wait! There has to be another way.” Begged the woman whose love he never had.

He was weaponless, bleeding out, missing an arm and an eye, his spirits crushed and spitted upon it. His ragged clothes lost all the functions as armor and his body could barely be called alive.

As he stood up, he dragged back the scream of pain that tried to claw the way out of his throat. Kranos checked how much Ash he still had on him, groaning in defiance of his unwilling Chains and Blaze. He spat the taste of blood in his mouth as a glob, glaring at the red monstrosity. The protector refused to abstain from giving honor to the title.

For a single moment his eyes abandoned the beast’s form and fixed them on the blue ones he knew so much. In that brief instant a thousand thoughts whirled through his mind.

He regretted the night she, hurt from the betrayal of her husband, came looking for physical comfort on him. He regretted keeping her away that single day. He regretted never telling her how he felt, even as he slowly watched falling in love with another man and eventually marry him.

Against insurmountable odds, a lone man stood.

He had lost his family a long time ago, many of his friends today, and even more people who had entrusted their safety to him. It was selfish of him, but the reason that made it possible for him to break further his body, to be warrior when he should be corpse…wasn’t vengeance for lost past.

It was for the sake of protecting his most precious’s future.

“May we meet again.” Was all he said as he flared his Blaze to burn, hotter, brighter and more fiercely than ever.

However, as stunned into silence people watched him facing their nightmare, his dazzling figure was baptized on their minds with a single word. Hero.

Slowly they clapped.

The rhythm picked up aggressively, without anyone knowing when, they vociferated daringly and made his name heard to the heavens.

A war cry exited his mouth.

It wasn’t simply an animal demonstration of challenge.

It was a flag.

It was the start of the battle.

.....

“Noooooooo!” Lughus clawed and squirmed, crying as he did. “Someone!! A-Anyone!!” He looked around, looking, begging for single human being that helped him, but every pair of eyes that met his, couldn’t face the desperation in them, instead, with shame they hid from his gaze “Please…don’t!!” His request was ignored too, sending more acid to his heart and stomach. “Please…s-s-save them.” As his voice broke down in prayer a hand pressed the back of his head and the world returned to the blackness it was before he unknowingly disrupted the magic that made him lose consciousness earlier.

.....

Far away, a Protector reunited with a certain bakery girl and the wife of a soldier in the stomach of the now dead ogre.