Prologue Start
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His world was fire.
Every step he took was done through searing pain. Every breath was labored and short. He couldn’t think clearly, and the only thing he felt were the flames torching his skin.
They came with the morning sun, over the sounds of crowing roosters and chirping birds, as though spitting on the legends told about them, legends that always said they came during the night. Those same legends told of their terrifying visage, of the atrocities they committed as an outward reflection of their vile, dark hearts. He learned that they were, in fact, nothing at all like the legends described them: They were worse; far, far worse.
They could not be reasoned with. They could not be intimidated by arms, nor did they slow for fear of death. They were as ravenous as hungry beasts, with all the intelligence and cunning of a human. Their howls chilled the bone; their claws tore through chainmail with ease. Platemail was similarly useless – for what they could not tear through, they simply crushed, with strength that defied reason. Blades could not pierce their hides, spells bounced off of them pathetically, and attempts to burn them alive backfired – not only did they not slow, they also spread the flames throughout the village. The small militia assembled to hold them off could not even serve as a distraction, and were slaughtered with contemptuous ease.
They came in different sizes; some where no bigger than a child, others stood as tall as the burning hovels they once called home. One in particular towered over them all, as tall as ten men standing shoulder to shoulder. Each and every one possessed three pairs of gleaming red eyes.
And then there was their skin: coal black and encrusted in dirt, with pulsating yellow veins stretching exposed across their body. A long patch of thin, dry hair grew across their back, extending until it covered their bodies like a mantle of gray straw.
Their name was justly earned: Asuwa – the Night Demons, Devils of the Red Earth, given physical form, and nightmare to all living things.
In the midst of the chaos, some managed to flee. He was a part of those who volunteered to keep them at bay, while the rest were evacuated. It was a suicidal task, and no one who volunteered expected to come back alive.
“Go Eli!”
He watched her leave, riding with the last set of evacuees in hastily assembled carts. He wished he could go with her, but held fast, even as his legs shook with the knowledge that his end was near.
“Brother you have to live! You can’t die!”
Her parting words: a desperate wish, made against impossible odds. Suddenly, his legs stopped shaking, and he found his voice:
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“I promise. I’ll live. I’ll live and I’ll find you, wherever you are, no matter what stands in my way!”
His promise: rash, unlikely, and hopeless, but his body was filled with will. Fear of death was replaced with those words. It was a promise no longer, but had become something greater: a reason for living.
And then he fought. Others died. He lived, continued living, and he lived in pain.
The fires caressed his skin, a tempting invite to the home of the God of Death. The hole over his shoulder and the deep gashes across his chest were his body’s way of telling him his time was up, and that it was time to rest. The crackle of charred bodies whispered constantly in his ear, reminding him that death was more preferable to this twisted version of living.
But he had promised.
Live.
Step.
Live.
Step.
Live!
Each step was a reminder that he still lived, despite the odds. Each step told him that he had a promise to fulfill. Each step told him that there was something awaiting him beyond the pain, beyond the embrace of death no matter how comforting it might be. Each step filled him with the knowledge that there was a chance, no matter how slim, that they would be reunited.
And that knowledge was more than enough to keep him going. For that promise, he would stall death for as long as it took.
He didn’t know how far he had gone or for how long he had walked, he only knew that he had made it out of the village, and that he was still alive.
Eventually, his injuries caught up to him, and he collapsed against the bark of a nearby tree. His vision blurred, and he was vaguely aware of the sun coming up. The early morning sun bathed him in its warm glow, in contrast to the flames that came close to ending his life, providing some level of comfort for his tired body.
“Sister . . . wait . . . for . . . me . . .”
The last thing he saw before everything slipped into darkness was the sensation of a pair of soft hands cradling his face.
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Prologue End
So here’s my first story on the site. To cut things short, its setting is a typical reincarnation story, with summoned or reincarnated heroes and whatever – but it’s told through the perspective of a local – a local who seriously cares for his missing sister.
Definitely R18; contains sexual content, gratuitous scenes of violence and lack of plumbing.