“Koslo! Wake up!” He slowly opened his eyes. “Why is everything so bright?” he thought to himself. Koslo’s vision was still blurry, and his senses were dull. Someone was bowing over his bed. “Did he oversleep?” The person kept repeating his name with urgency in her voice. Koslo finally realized what was going on. His mother was bowing over him, and the light wasn’t the morning sun but flames that were burning down their wooden house. He jumped out of his bed and looked at his mother.
“We have to hurry, Koslo. The tribe is being attacked by a weird creature, so we have to hide.” Even though his mother was known as the strongest female warrior in the tribe, rules dictated that women and children had to run away or hide in emergencies. Mother opened a hatch hidden beneath a carpet. “Get on my back, son,” she said. Koslo didn’t question her and did as she said.
His mother jumped down the hole, five times as deep as Koslo. She landed cleanly and started running through the sewers. The smell was disgusting, but Koslo had other things to focus on, so it didn’t bother him. “I wonder if dad is alright,” he said, his voice still cracking from just waking up. “Don’t worry about him, Koslo; he has been chosen as the next chief. It means that he’s the strongest person after the current chief.” The words comforted Koslo a little. Father was indeed very strong; he once slayed a young ice dragon.
Koslo’s mom, carrying him, stopped, then she turned around, her face as white as snow. “Are you okay, mom?” She looked Koslo dead in his eyes. He got scared and fell from her back. When he looked at his mother, he could see rage welling up in her. “Koslo, go ahead without me. I just received a message from the chief that your father is in danger. I’ll head out and lend a hand.”
After saying those words, she left faster than before. Koslo was confused. Why would dad be in danger? He decided that he would assist his mom in helping dad and started running back to his village. He arrived at the hatch and climbed his way up. The house he had grown up in was no more; only ashes remained. Koslo felt sad, but he knew that he would build the house again with his mom and dad. The thought of doing a family activity like that didn’t seem that bad. Koslo ran outside to look for his parents. He looked around the village but couldn’t see anything except for houses that were burned down like his. “Weird,” he said out loud, “why is the chief’s house burned down when it’s made out of stone?”
Koslo was about to do some research on it when he heard a battle cry coming from the village entrance. He ran as fast as he could and arrived at the place of battle. Shock, that was the only thing he felt. He was shocked that this scene was real, with dead bodies everywhere. Koslo’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the horrific sight before him. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of smoke and burning flesh. The ground was littered with the lifeless bodies of men, women, and children, their limbs twisted and ripped in unnatural angles, their eyes glazed over in a vacant stare. Blood pooled beneath their bodies, staining the ground a deep shade of crimson. The once vibrant colors of the village were now replaced with the sickening color of death. It was as if the very essence of life had been drained from the place, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread.
Koslo’s heart pounded in his chest as he desperately searched for any sign of his parents. His eyes darted over the lifeless forms, hoping to not catch glimpses of familiar faces among the sea of carnage. But he knew everyone who lived in the village, their lives were mercilessly stolen away. He could recognize close to everyone. Koslo couldn’t hold it and vomited on the ground. It took him a while to recover from it. His feet moved on their own accord, stepping over mangled bodies and severed limbs, each one a chilling reminder of the savagery that had taken place here. The clash of metal against metal echoed in the distance, intermingled with the agonized screams of the wounded. It was a symphony of violence that clawed at Koslo’s sanity.
As he rounded a corner, his eyes fell upon a scene that froze his blood. There, amidst the chaos, stood the creature responsible for this massacre. It was a horrifying sight to behold — a monstrous being, with seven pairs of wings ending in razor-sharp claws, and twisted features that seemed to defy any semblance of humanity. The thing seemed to radiate a golden light that was visible because the moon wasn’t out. Blood dripped from its serrated fangs as it tore through the remains of its victims, unfazed by Koslo’s presence. The creature’s was stained with blood as it reveled in the art it had painted upon the canvas of the village.
Unable to tear his gaze away from the macabre scene, Koslo’s heart sank as he noticed a familiar figure lying motionless on the ground. It was his father, his strong form now reduced to a lifeless hump of meat. Blood covered his body, painting a grim portrait of his final moments. Koslo ran towards him and knelt next to him. He was still alive, but this wouldn’t last for long.
“Koslo… take it … and leave.” He said it while blood dripped out of his mouth. Koslo’s eyes were filled with tears. He knew what his father was indicating, his sword. Koslo grabbed the one-handed sword and looked around. One more person was fighting the thing. Koslo came closer to the fight and noticed that it was his mother. She tried to cast our tribe’s special binding spell, but she was too slow.
“Watch out!” Koslo shouted. His mother noticed the attack too late. Two of the massive wings pierced her. She didn’t have a single chance of survival after that blow. Koslo lost his mind after seeing it. He grabbed his dad’s sword and tried to charge at the being. “Halt,” it said. Koslo’s body stopped on its own without his permission. “Is that you, Typhon? No, it must be your descendant. Hmmm, how weird that there’s still one of your kin alive. Boy, I’ll let you live, even though that goes against my holy order. You should be thankful for your ancestors.” The thing had a voice that spoke the language of nightmares. Koslo started sweating and shivering out of fear.
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“Just remember to never go against us Angels.” Koslo had lost it. He fell to the ground as the thing opened a green portal with a single sign of its wings. Koslo crawled towards his mother’s body and closed her eyes. He screamed his lungs out. He had lost everything he held dear. Cries filled the cold night; they were filled with so much pain that all of the nearby monsters lost the will to attack him. Koslo’s brain had lost the thing called emotions after feeling too much at once; he grabbed his mother’s important belongings and went towards the next warrior. He repeated this process more than fifty times. At last, he grabbed the chief’s dimensional ring, a rare artifact that could store items inside. Everything that used to be inside had been lost because it was bound to the man’s soul. Koslo placed the fifty-five swords and all the other important treasures like necklaces and gems inside the ring. After that, he left for the mountains next to the village. His family’s vacation house was there.
The journey to the vacation house lasted two days. Koslo had regained his senses and started to feel more than he wanted to: resentment, sadness, rage, but most of all, hate. It had come to the point that Koslo started to hate the angels so much that he decided to dedicate his life to eradicating their entire race. Images of the Angel’s dead body lying in front of him were common; he would only be happy after seeing the creature’s blood. Every night he had nightmares, consisting of his family calling him disgraceful for leaving them to die, or his childhood friends covered in blood asking why he didn’t save any of them.
After such gruesome dreams, he always woke up with sweat and tears around him. At last, he arrived at the destination: a wooden hut reinforced with stone. A small river with drinkable water flowed next to it. Their vacation house wasn’t that big, but it was more than enough for one person. Koslo was still traumatized, so settling in was hard on him. He became scared of every sudden sound or movement. And at night, he cried himself to sleep trying to find comfort.
The boy hunted for food during the day. The only prey he could catch were rabbits, birds, and fish. His father had taught him how to survive in the forests when he was ten. Koslo’s free time was spent reading books or by crying from regret. He had received four different books from the dead on the battlefield. Two of them were meant for entertainment, but the others were advanced arts. One was his mother’s treasured “Book Of 777 Spells”. The other was the chief’s “Shadow’s Sword Dance”. Koslo had heard about the book; it was supposed to be handed to the next chief, his father. The book contained a very powerful swordsmanship that was passed down for over two thousand years.
Koslo’s decision on revenge hadn’t changed. He would have two options: living after a victory or dying in the process of striving for it. He had a plan that would make him very strong, but he would have to prepare for years to achieve it. Today, Koslo planned to study the most important magical art called identify. It was an ancient spell that the heroes from the past had created. The knowledge wasn’t known amongst the other races, which gave Koslo’s one a huge advantage. His mom had taught him the basics of magic a month ago, so he knew what he should do.
The boy didn’t give up, no matter what. He studied the art for three days straight without any breaks. He knew that this was his first step towards revenge, so there was no such thing as quitting. Not only that, but he grasped the hang of it after three days; he didn’t have to touch the chosen object, he just had to focus on it and then chant identify in his head. If everything went the right way, he would get a light blue magic screen to appear in front of him. The screen told him how strong the item was and if it had any boosts to his strength (str), intelligence (int), or dexterity (dex).
His father had told him that when a child reaches the age of sixteen, a magical blessing thing called the status window would appear. This was a private overview that would reflect one’s strengths and skills. Koslo still had to wait four years until he would be able to see it. His father had also told him that swords and other items could boost these so-called stats. Koslo didn’t hesitate to get all the swords out of his ring and identify them. Fifty out of the fifty-five swords were the same standard combat sword. Only his parents’ swords, the chief’s one, and the twin blades were different from the rest.
Koslo sorted the swords from weakest to strongest. The weakest sword had 7 str and 2 dex, while the strongest sword, which belonged to Koslo’s father, was called “The Frozen Trophy”. All five of the special swords had a short description and better stats than the rest, but this sword stood out the most. It had 18 str, 9 dex, and 15 int. But this wasn’t the best part about the sword; it had a skill engraved on it called dragon’s rage. Koslo didn’t know what it did, but it sounded powerful. If he wanted to defeat the Angels, he would need a better sword, so he decided to test his luck with the grindstone.
The grindstone in this house was quite different from others; it could merge two swords into one. You had to place two swords inside, one as the base and the other as the power source. You have a certain chance to succeed in transferring a third of one of the stats over to the base. Koslo found out about this after inspecting the grindstone. It took him a lot of time to decide on doing it, not because of the small odds, but because these swords were the last things he had from his family and friends. Koslo decided to keep two swords, those of his parents. He wanted to become a dual sword wielder because they had the strongest attack force. He would keep the swords from his parents because they were by far the best.
Koslo started by upgrading the sword belonging to his mother. He used twenty-five of the normal swords and the two twin swords on her sword. Seven succeeded in transferring, which made the sword a lot stronger. Koslo inspected it, 21 str, 13 dex, 9 int it said. It also gained a skill called “Last Blessing”. Koslo did the same for the other sword, but only four succeeded. The sword now had 23 str, 12 dex, and 18 int. This was the first time since the fall of his tribe that Koslo had felt something close to satisfaction. He tried to swing the sword, but his arm was restricted. A blue window popped up, and it said: “User needs to have awakened to be able to use magic equipment.”
Koslo immediately knew what this meant; he’d have to wait four years before he would be able to use the swords. He placed the swords in his ring and went to sleep for the first time in a few days.
He woke up early and decided to make two wooden swords that looked and weighed the same as his parents’ swords. After that, he’d train with them until he mastered the shadow’s sword dance.