The party of six made their stand around the bonfire, its light casting a hazy orange glow. It flickered in and out, followed by the crackling of burning wood. And with the light reaching only a few meters out and the treeline nowhere to be seen, it was only a matter of time until the fire died out. By then, daylight would break through the trees.

Until then, they must fight as no creature of the night would continue their assault when day came.

But to the party, that time until daybreak was no simple matter. They were tired and restless, they even seemed desperate. The control they had on the battlefield they showed before against the direwolf horde was gone, as they had been taken by surprise. They were slowly losing their ground; their defenses were on the verge of shattering away.

An insectoid scurried in the dark and climbed a tree overlooking the party of six. Its compound eyes glimmered under the dying fire, and its body was covered in a chitinous sheen. It aimed down, and retracted its three pairs of legs as tightly as it could, hiding power in its locomotive limbs. As soon as an indistinct snap rang out, it barreled down with extreme speed, its blades extended out.

Discal, with a paralyzed left leg and a numbed arm, saw the black object crashing down. He skipped to the side, dodging the blow. The creature then skidded on the ground, dragging grime and leaves into the air. Reaching the end of its flight, it stopped and turned to stare at the scholar.

Meeting its gaze, Discal readied himself and primed his sword. At the same moment, the creature retracted its legs once more. Something snapped. The creature disappeared from where it stood and lunged at him with enough force to break a dozen bones.

His eyes traced its flight and deeming it was the moment to strike, fell his sword with all his strength. But his blade cleaved nothing but the wind, his strike was too late. He hastily turned his body to the side before the creature slammed against him.

The fiend skidded once more. It stared at him, pacing its steps as if gloating him to continue on, knowing full well it would win in a battle of stamina.

Discal gnashed his teeth at the sight.

It’s too fast to hit it in midflight, he thought. And surely it won’t just stay still when I draw near. And even if I did... this damned leg!

His mind traveled to his left shoulder and limp leg. He could not feel anything down his left thigh, and his injured shoulder was starting to become numb. When he clenched his left hand, his fingers failed to ball into a fist. He repeated the same movement, and noticed he was losing sensation in his left arm. He stared back at the fiend in front..

Then, there’s only one way...

His eyes held a determined glow and bent his knees, laying as low as he could without keeling over. He tightened his grip and the insectoid retracted its legs for another bout. This time, he finally saw the strange rib-like protusions on its back, like it was a closed maw of a beast.

What are they? Discal thought, and a sense of danger overcame him as the gaps between each rib grew as if it was breathing.

It seemed to be preparing for something, he continued in his thoughts. His concentration was interrupted when a pained voice shouted behind him.

“Fuck these bugs!”

It must have been Ronald, he thought, but he did not have the luxury to turn to confirm his guess. He shook away the thought of helping him as he had a problem of his own.

The maw on the insectoid’s back opened with a crack, and the ribs separated to form narrow slits. What bursted forth then on was a thick substance that coalesced into a white viscous net. It flew through the air with blurring speed, aiming for where he stood.

Discal panicked for a moment before reclaiming his calm. He just had to move away from the net’s path.

He moved, and the web bolted past by his side. His forehead was damped with sweat, realizing he had barely escaped from being wrapped like a captured beast. He kept the elation at bay as the fight had not ended yet.

He went into a stance, with his knees bent low and turned to gaze again at the fiend. When he blinked, a snap flowed to his ears and the insectoid bolted through the air. He shifted his weight forward and rotated on his right heel, pulling his limp leg back. At the same moment, his numbed arm rushed underneath and tried to grab the creature by its underside. But its momentum was more than enough to escape his grasp, and his stance was not as perfect as he had wanted it to be.

He knew it was not enough.

If it was not enough, he just had to pay the right price.

His left half lagged, just enough to dodge the blades from tearing his vitals away. Knowing his left half was already on the path of becoming nothing more but dead weight, he acted with that knowledge.

Rather than engage in useless combat, better use what I still have...

His left shoulder flared in pain. It was pierced by two serrated blades.  He was pushed a few paces away from where he originally stood and almost fell over, his vision turning white. He let out a muffled groan before clutching the creature close.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

From afar, it looked like a deformed infant was cradled in his left arm.

His sight unsteady and his footing unstable, he willed his consciousness to stay afloat. His sight wandered into the night sky and spotted a blazing ball of light heading towarsd the east. It was where the outpost was. Curious on what the blazing ball was, his thoughts went astray.

He was jolted back to reality as the creature was on its way of escaping his hold. He gritted his teeth and regained a moment of clarity. He stabbed the creature right through and the blade escaped through its neck. It squirmed for a moment before turning slack in his arm.

He recovered the blade, now covered in viscous sizzling green blood. After which, his left shoulder slackened and dropped the corpse to the ground with a thud. His left arm dangled freely by his side. A sliver of white smoke then unknowingly flowed from the insectoid’s neck wound and burrowed into the center of his chest.

He stood still, a twitching corpse by his side. He seemed lifeless from afar. After a moment, he swept his gaze but his eyes held no will. He was on the verge of passing away in a deep sleep. But as if running on a simple-minded will, he took a step forward, dragging his limp leg alongside.

Sounds and voices reached his ears, but his mind was too tired to process the information into something comprehensible. He shook his head slightly and took a step once more. He staggered, aimlessly as he went and further away from the campfire’s light.

Have to fight... he thought

Trickles of drop fell from his wounds and seeped slowly into the ground below. His body felt light, and his vision was too fuzzy to see anything clearly. Was it because he had lost too much blood? Or had he extended too far out, where the fire did not reach?

When his eyelids became leaden and close to shutting the outside world away, an obsidian silhouette appeared in his sight. It was one more of their kind. It was clear on why it was here.

His reason lost, he swiveled left and right, each step bringing him closer to his new foe. He intended to drag all of them down, regardless the cost. He had to help, and not be a burden the party had to bring along.

He had to earn his place.

He stopped, though he himself did not know why. He bended his knees low. His body shivered intermittently, and seemed it would keel over any moment.

He raised his head, and his eyes landed on the obsidian figure ahead. It crouched as close to the ground, and it shook for a moment before becoming a blur in his sight. His instincts, or rather soundless voices, told him he was going to die. It told him to get out of the creature’s way, lest true darkness would consume him.

But when a sliver of will compelled him to listen to the voices, his two feet refused to follow his commands. He had lost all sensation of his lower half, and he did not know whether it was paralyzed or his body had given way.

The voices spoke and told him of his fate: he was to be among the lost souls of the dead. Fear pooled in the bottom of his heart. His eyes shook in despair. The creature drew near and the trembling of his eyes stopped.

He refused to die!

Burning the remaining fuel hidden deep within, his eyes widened with resolve. He raised his sword, tip pointed outward, in one swift move, and a familiar voice sounded out behind him.

“Discal!,” said the voice, shouting his name. As he began to process on who the voice belonged to, his sliver of will was lost in a sea of exhaustion. His body then followed his last will.

His sword stabbed out and suddenly grew heftier in his hands. He leaned forward from the added weight, breaking his posture. Before he fell over, something rammed against him, blasting him away. The joints in his right arm creaked from the impact as it then slammed against his chest, his sword hilt slamming first. His legs drew deep marks on the earth as he skidded a few inches from where he originally stood

His momentum stopped, and skewered on his blade was a twitching corpse which eyes glimmered with disbelief. It spasmed and blood began to flow from a new wound on his arm. One forelimb had pierced through his vambrace and right arm, while the other was an inch away from gouging out his left eye. But his pupils were blank and saw no such thing save the darkness of a deep sleep.

He stood still like that, green blood flowing along the grooves of the blade. His arm then gave way, dropping his sword. With a blade still embedded in his forearm, the creature’s fall pulled him down. He dropped to one knee with a thud, and then collapsed. A pool of blood, mixed with a tinge of green began to amass beneath him.

He laid there, unmoving. On his face was a slight smile. He had managed to bring down a handful of them and warned the party beforehand. He had earned his place.

But at what cost?

His complexion was bereft of blood, and wounds festered on his entire person, bleeding perpetually. His body’s bones were wreathed in cracks and some had fractured during some of his bouts. His organs did not fare any better as some had already started to fail.

He already had one foot in the grave and it would not be long until both his feet were buried beneath. A moment after his collapse, his breathing had stopped. His heart beated the last, and he was as still as a corpse.

But in his chest, silver tendrils revolved randomly around his dead heart. They turned and twisted, encircling his heart in a smoke-like cage. When his heart pulsed no more, the tendrils raged and increased the speed of their revolution.