It had only been his first mission, and Velos Rendhal was already near-death.
Velos' feet slammed running against the stone floor. Blood trickled from a jagged slash on his left arm, his hand clenched tightly around the wound as he sprinted through the crumbling halls of Castle Lautte. The stronghold had been abandoned for decades, repurposed as a camp for rookie slayers. Now it was nothing more than a shattered ruin, and Velos' so-called teammates were little more than lifeless bodies, littered across the battlefield.
The corpses of Tremyre the archer, Routland the farm boy, and the half-Drakari whose name Velos never caught lay scattered, hacked and slashed beyond recognition. They hadn’t listened when he told them they couldn’t take the creature on. He had known from the start.
His thoughts raced back to his childhood—images of the terror such a creature could bring.
And now, that thing was hunting him.
Velos dodged fallen rubble, weaving through narrow passages and collapsed pillars as he ran for his life. He barely spared a glance behind him, but he didn’t need to look to know what was coming. This was supposed to be a rudimentary mission to gather resources yet they found themselves ambushed by a monster far beyond their rank.
The grinding of the creature's claws echoed through the dark, crumbling corridors. Velos' mind raced as he recalled every detail he had learned about the beast. The Rasudra—a wyvern, razor-sharp and impossibly fast. Steel plating layered the creature’s body, gleaming under the dim light of the ruins, making it impervious to any weapon that the rookies were prepared with. Despite its size, it moved with deadly agility, and its tail... the very thing that had struck him earlier. The tail was a living blade, a horned weapon capable of cleaving through flesh and bone. The tail was what earned the creature its name: the Razortail Wyvern.
He stumbled over debris, his hand shaking as he tried to stifle the bleeding from his arm. Velos had to stay quiet. If the Rasudra caught his scent or heard even the faintest sound, it would be over. He had already spilled whatever remnants they had of supplies, hoping the scent of the rations might drive it away, but Velos’ blood had betrayed him. Iron-seekers, the Rasudra catch on quick to the scent that dripped from Velos’ wounds, and it was close.
If it weren’t for the two pillars collapsing Velos between Castle Lautte’s thick stone walls, the Rasudra would have already made visual on Velos’ given how much he stood out. Right now though, Velos is lucky, and cover sheltered him from the Rasudra sniffing about—even if only for a brief moment.
Ahead, in the dim shadows of the ruined castle, a light flickered—the faint glow of the exit. The doorway stood at the end of the hall like a beacon, his one way out. But the window of opportunity is thin. Velos could hear the faint scrape of claws behind him, the metallic ring of the Rasudra’s tail swiping against the walls.
The wyvern was too close.
Velos knew he had only one chance. He couldn’t hesitate. Quick, decisive, fearless.
With a burst of speed, he launched himself forward, his legs pumping with everything he had left. The exit was in sight. Freedom. He was almost there—
Then, it hit him.
A tremendous weight crashed into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground. The air was knocked right out of his lungs, and a piercing sensation jolted his stomach. The Rasudra’s claws had dug into his flesh, pinning him to the ground.
Velos could feel the heat of the creature’s breath against his neck, its fangs inches from his head. He had to do something. Anything.
But no amount of strength he could muster could break him loose from the Rasudra’s grip. Velos screamed, hoping for a miracle, but the Rasudra only further drove its claws into Velos’ organs, prompting him to cough up blood.
Death was here, and it arrived in steel-tipped wings.
The Rasudra rushed in to bite—
A thunderous explosion rocked the air, and the Rasudra's head snapped back as shards of its steel armor exploded in all directions. Velos, barely conscious, felt the weight on his back lift as the wyvern recoiled from the impact. It let out a piercing screech of pain and rage, thrashing wildly as a fresh volley of bolts slammed into its side, driving it further away.
Before he could process what was happening, another barrage of projectiles streaked through the air, each bolt striking the Rasudra with precision, forcing the beast further away from Velos. The door to Castle Lautte swung open with a thunderous slam, revealing a pair of slayers clad in armor forged under the Division. Leading them was a woman standing tall with a spear in hand, her voice cutting through the chaos with commanding clarity.
“Get the wounded out of here! Medics, now!” the woman’s barked, sharp and fierce.
Velos could feel his body being dragged across the stone floor, his limbs heavy and unresponsive as though drowning in a lifeless sea. His vision swam in and out of focus, but through the blur, he could make out the white badges of the medics swarming around him. The symbol of the Division’s specialized medical unit gleamed on their uniforms as they inspected his wounds, their hands moving quickly and methodically.
“Hold still,” one of the medics muttered, his voice calm but firm. A bottle was shoved into Velos’ trembling hands, and before he could object, the medic tilted his head back, pouring the liquid down his throat.
The moment the elixir hit his system, Velos felt a wave of warmth surge through him, but with it came an overwhelming flood of sensation. His body screamed in agony, every cut, bruise, and tear flaring to life as though someone had turned the volume on his pain up to the highest setting. He let out a strangled groan, his hands clawing at the ground, but the medics held him firm.
“Breathe, slow and steady,” another voice instructed. “The elixir is accelerating your healing. You’ll feel everything, but it’s working.”
And he could feel it. Beneath the white-hot pain, his body was mending itself. The gash on his arm slowly knitted together, and the bleeding in his abdomen slowed to a trickle as the ruptured skin began to seal. He could feel the needles and sutures as they worked, but the medics worked fast, and soon, the pain dulled as his body began to stabilize.
Through his foggy vision, Velos saw the woman who had given the orders, standing tall holding a massive spear in her hands. Her partner stood behind, lugging a massive, ornate cannon. The symbols on their badges gleamed in the light, revealing their rank: Three-mark (▲▲▲) slayers, dispatched at a moment’s notice. The pair were dressed in plated armor, green and golden respectively, unmistakably forged by the Division’s most prodigious smiths, crafted from the parts of the very creatures they had fought for a living dozens—if not hundred times over.
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The woman slammed her spear into the stone floor with such force that the ground beneath her cracked, the echo reverberating through the ruined hall. The weapon responded, growing in size until it towered nearly double her height. It was a massive thing, thick and heavy, adorned with a simple red ribbon fluttering in the air as if dancing to the wind of battle. Only slayers of one-mark or higher could wield such a weapon—requiring the kind of strength that Velos had only heard about in legends.
And now, he was about to witness it firsthand.
The Rasudra roared, its eyes locking onto the woman. With a sudden lunge, it darted forward, its steel-coated jaws snapping with deadly intent. But the woman was already in motion, vaulting high into the air using her spear as leverage. She somersaulted gracefully, landing on the wyvern’s armored back just as a volley of arrow-like projectiles rained down on the Rasudra from the slayer behind her.
With precise timing, she drove her spear toward the Rasudra’s back, but sparks erupted as the spear bounced off its steel plating. The bolts from her comrades had the same effect, ricocheting off the thick armor. Velos could see it now—this was all calculated. They weren’t trying to pierce the Rasudra's armor, not yet.
The wyvern hissed in anger, thrashing about as it attempted to shake the woman from its back. Its tail lashed out like a blade, sharp and precise, but she was faster, parrying each strike with precise and controlled movements. The Rasudra, however, was not done. It beat its wings, launching into the air despite the low ceiling of Castle Lautte. The woman gripped her spear, her eyes fixed on the creature as it attempted to slam her into the roof.
With a deafening crash, she slammed into the stone ceiling, sending hanging chandeliers plummeting to the ground. The Rasudra sensed an opportunity and, with a sharp twist, readied its tail for one final blow—a strike aimed directly at her vulnerable body. But before it could finish her off, a single projectile sliced through the air.
The bolt buried itself deep into the Rasudra’s exposed underbelly, the one place unshielded by its metallic armor. The wyvern staggered, and another bolt followed, plunging into its chest. The creature lost its balance mid-air, crashing to the ground with a thunderous impact.
The creature wasn’t dead yet. It let out a guttural snarl, dragging itself toward the man who had fired the bolts. He reacted just in time, lifting his weapon between himself and the wyvern’s jaws. The two forces collided in a brutal standoff, the Rasudra’s strength pressing down with relentless force. Yet, the slayer held his ground. His legs shook, but his strength—the trait of a three-mark slayer—kept him rooted.
The woman, bruised but undeterred, rushed forward. With a final, decisive strike, she drove her spear straight into the Rasudra’s eye. It pierced through the exposed gap in its armor, the weak point revealed from the earlier barrage. The wyvern let out one last agonized cry before collapsing in a lifeless heap.
The hall fell silent, save for the soft crackling of rubble and the faint echo of footsteps. The pair of slayers stood victorious, and Velos watched as they turned their backs to him, their mission complete. They were coordinated, sharp, and equipped with the tactical acumen required to survive. They had strength.
Strength that Velos did not have.
His body, overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion, could no longer keep him conscious.
—
Velos woke up to the dim light of a sterile room, his body heavy and sluggish. Groggy, he tried to move, but his limbs barely responded. His left arm, bandaged and suspended in a sling, ached dully. The memories of the Rasudra flashed in his mind—the chaos, the bloodshed, and the searing pain. He instinctively touched his side, but the wound was gone, replaced by smooth skin. The elixir and medical treatment had worked, patching up his injuries far quicker than any natural recovery could.
A healer, standing at the foot of his bed, noticed him stirring. “You’re awake,” she said gently. “You need more rest. The elixir’s not a miracle; it just speeds things up.”
Velos, still half-dazed, shifted to sit up, ignoring her. His eyes caught a glimpse of two figures by the exit. They were the slayers who had saved him, standing in the doorway, their backs turned as they prepared to leave. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, unsteady and stumbling.
“I said you need to rest!” The healer’s voice was stern now, but Velos ignored her. He stumbled toward the slayers, each step slow and painful, his arm suspended awkwardly by the fabric sling. He passed through the thin curtains of his room and emerged into the larger sick bay, where the sight of it stopped him dead in his tracks.
The sick bay stretched before him, rows of beds lined with injured slayers. Some were worse off than others—faces marred with burn marks, bodies wrapped in heavy bandages, the scent of blood and antiseptic heavy in the air. One slayer groaned in pain as a healer adjusted a cast on his leg. Another coughed, his skin tinged green from some vile poison. It was chaos, and Velos could feel a burden weighing on him as he took in the reality of being a slayer.
Velos willed himself calm as best he could, and pushed forward to speak with the slayers who had saved him. They were about to leave, stepping through the sick bay doors when he called out, his voice hoarse, “Wait.” The pair stopped, turning to face him. One was the woman with the spear, her face plain in confusion. The other was the man with the cannon, his face veiled underneath his helmet.
He took a breath. “I just… I wanted to thank you. You saved my life.”
The man crossed his arms, his face impassive. The woman regarded him with a mix of indifference and something bordering on pity. She could see Velos was trembling, focusing his eyes on the pair so he wouldn’t have to look at the awful sight behind him. The helmeted slayer glanced at the woman. He nodded.
The woman turned to face Velos, slowly lowering her gaze to meet his height. She could see him for what he was—young boy, scared, entering a world he had little to no knowledge of. He had seen rookies like him before. None of them lasted long.
“Rookie.” she spoke, “If what happened today bothers you,” she stopped. She glanced around, gathering her words and finding her tongue before finally deciding to cut loose.
She stared at Velos with a piercing gaze. "There’s no shame in walking away. Better to live a long, quiet life than die young in a fool’s game."
She tossed a wooden badge over to Velos. It was his. A wooden badge denoting a markless slayer who had yet to earn his rank. He had likely dropped it over at Castle Lautte during the skirmish, and the two slayers just happened to find it during clean-up.
“I think you dropped this,” the woman said, already turning away. The man followed without a word. The pair left, casually chatting about their next mission as though nothing had happened.
Velos stood there, gripping the badge tightly in his hand. He stared at it, running his thumb over the rough surface, every scar and crack telling the story of that one mission. He had thought it represented something—a badge of honor, a mark of courage.
But now, it felt like a mockery.
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Slayer's Notes
Property of Velos Rendhal
Rasudra (Rasudra ferrucaudia)
* Classification: Wyvern
* Rank: ▲▲▲ (three-mark)
The Rasudra, commonly referred to as the Razortail Wyvern, is a predator known for its formidable combination of strength, durability and speed. It is native to mountainous regions, but due to its versatility, the Rasudra can be found near human settlements, particularly where hunting territories overlap. A defining characteristic of the Rasudra is the biomineralization of natural steel plating that forms over the dorsal region. This plating grants exceptional defense against most physical attacks. The same features are presents in its horns, tail and claw, the tail in particular being its primary offensive tool against foes. The mineral required to form this armor necessitates the Rasudra to have an ore-rich diet, hence why the Rasudra can be found in mountains, caverns and even occasionally human settlements where any subterranean veins of ore can be present. I suppose that's why we found one in Castle Lautte; it was a stray that happened to be scavenging for minerals, given Castle Lautte's direct connection to mining locations. To think that it was just a stroke of bad luck makes me sick.