In a quiet town to the far south, children laughed and played, their voices echoing through the streets without a care in the world. It was among these children, a young girl, no older than five or six, her eyes a mix of bright brown and fierce red, resembling her passion for everything she set her mind to. Her name was Nia, Nia Varyara, an orphan like many others, who spent her days within an orphanage.
This was the place she called her home, the orphanage, like many others, was rather simple, overseen by the church who had always taken in children like her, those who were abandoned as soon as they set foot in this world.
The clergy had taken a special interest in Nia. Their gazes always set on her as she played amongst her friends. She remained unaware at the time; however, Nia had been chosen by the hand of fate itself. She was destined to become the new Hero, marked from birth with a destiny far greater than anyone else. When the church came to discover this, there was no celebration. Rather, hushed whispers spread like wildfire, passing through halls, echoing from one priest to another.
A Hero hadn't been born in hundreds of years. This was an uncommon occurrence.
One afternoon, as Nia continued to play like any other day, a priest, garbed in white robes, approached her. His face was kind, but his expression dark. "Come with me, child," he said softly with a smile.
holding her hand, he pulled her away from the group. Nia hesitated, glancing back at her friends, but they were so lost in their game that they did not realize she was being taken. She was a good girl, obedient even, far too trusting.
She was led to the church, and through its grand halls, she passed towering statues of heroes of old. Yet the guide didn't end there.
He took her beneath the church, down twisted staircases carved from hard stone. The air was cold, their path only visible by faint torchlight. They arrived before a heavy iron door, and with a push, the gate opened after groaning against the ground.
This was the catacombs, a place none dared to trespass, but they pressed forward.
The catacombs did not always serve as a final resting grounds, for once it was a underground garrison, with a massive training facility within it. Hundreds of rooms to house soldiers. With the fighting over, the undergrounds were converted to what they were now.
At the end of a long hallway, three grand priests were conversing atop an altar. Nia walked behind the man, but he tugged on her arm, forcing her to quicken her pace.
"The girl remains only a child. There is no need to force this upon her now," one of the grand priestesses argued. "I'm against this. I will not force an innocent for our own political struggles."
The other priests looked to each other and then to her. "It is for the betterment of the realm itself. She exists with a purpose, a divine right of hers to become a Hero. Would you have her stripped of that?"
"To what ends?" the priestess argued. "We no longer have to fight the demons of old. Using the Hero in such a way would be an affront to the very gods."
Their gazes shifted to Nia, who approached with the clergy. "They're here," the man said.
Nia and the clergy arrived before them, with the priest bowing his head slightly. "Bishop Maxwell, I bring her to you as you've instructed."
The bishop descended the steps to the altar and grabbed Nia's face, examining her closely. "Yes... She is destined to be a powerful warrior. That look in her eyes, I know it too well."
He let go of her, slightly pushing her back as he did, turning around to face the others. "We'll turn her into a weapon. I will not hear any objections."
The priestess remained silent, and the other bishop nodded. Maxwell turned to Nia and the clergy. "The girl—take her to the cells for now. Begin training her body."
The priestess almost yelled. "You can't! That's far too brutal for someone like her!"
Maxwell's eyes turned to her. "Lady Melis, you're here only because of your contributions to the head of the church. Do not forget your place."
"I will not contribute if the church deems it necessary to—"
Before she could finish, the bishop behind her drove a dagger through her back. She gasped, her breath escaping her as the bishop stabbed her multiple times. Nia's eyes widened in horror as the priestess fell to the ground, blood pooling around her. Maxwell had a faint smile on his face. He turned to Nia, "Fret not, child. Her time had come."
Maxwell stood and commanded the clergy to wait. He approached Nia, who remained frightened. "Do you know what you are, my child?"
Nia shook her head, her wide eyes searching for answers. With a faint smile, Maxwell added, "Of course not."
"Walk with me," Maxwell said.
He took the lead, Nia following behind. "You are the Hero of this world, child. That is a power many will come to fear, for this world now has no need for Heroes."
Nia listened but did not fully understand. "Incompetence is a tool of evil, and we will not succumb to its whispers. You are to learn to fight. We will make you strong, like the Heroes of old, so you can protect humanity."
"Protect humanity?"
Nia didn’t understand these words either. She was confused. Maxwell, however, smiled as he bent to his knee to meet her gaze. "My child, I am sorry for what I must do... Please forgive me."
Before Nia realized it, her vision blurred, and her consciousness faded into darkness.
----------------------------------------
When she awoke, she found herself locked away in the darkness.
She spent what felt like an eternity in the cells, though no one could say exactly how many years had passed. Day after day, Nia endured unspeakable cruelty. She was whipped, strangled, and tortured in ways no human should ever experience. Inhumane acts of brutality were forced upon her, each one designed to break her spirit. The light in her once vibrant eyes had long since dimmed. She remained shackled against the cold, stone walls of her cell—a space so small and filthy it could hardly be called such. The bodies of three others, long dead, who shared the same confined space with her, victims of the same hellish training, though her suffering had been far worse than theirs.
Yet somehow, Nia endured. Her resilience was unfathomable, even as she teetered on the brink of death. Food was shoved down her throat by force, just enough to keep her alive. She no longer knew how old she was—days had blurred into weeks, weeks into years. She was thirteen now, but time had lost all meaning in the darkness. When she wasn't being tortured, she was dragged to an arena of sorts where she was forced to kill. The enemies were varied—humans, elves, and creatures she could not even name.
And she was good at it. Too good.
Even in her battered, half-starved state, Nia moved like an animal, her instincts sharpened by years of torment. She had become a relentless killer, taking down exceptional fighters and vicious beasts alike. There was no hesitation, no mercy. She was simply trying to survive, having forgotten even how to speak. The brutality of the arena was her only reality.
Sometimes, they would tell her stories. Stories of how previous Heroes had saved the world. Then they would tell her stories of an ancient demon known only as the Great Hungerer, a monstrous being who had slaughtered armies of elves and men alike. They said it was the Hungerer’s existence that had given rise to the Hero in the first place, for only a Hero could stop him. The stories varied, with each tale offering a different account of how the last Hero had fallen—betrayed, outwitted, or overwhelmed—but no one knew the true cause.
It was this demon—the Hungerer—that became the focus of her hatred. She could barely understand the feeling, but it consumed her, gnawing at her mind in the quiet darkness of her cell. Every thought, every breath, was fueled by that burning rage. The priests had planted the seeds of her hate, and now it grew, spreading through her very soul.
After each story, Nia would be thrown back into her cell, the door slamming shut behind her. She would be left alone again, with only the corpses for company. Days passed, then weeks, then months. Time became meaningless as she was locked away in the suffocating darkness. Seconds turned into hours, hours into days, and days stretched into years.
----------------------------------------
Her aimless torture continued for two more years. Her meaningless survival. It got worse before it got any better. There were those who would take... sexual gratification, groping her and such as she grew older, but things did not escalate too far, for if they did, the church would have all of their heads. She hated them, she hated everyone. The fire in her eyes grew like raging flames, seeking to slaughter them all.
But she could never break free. The chains on her grew stronger as she did, magical restraints meant to keep her in check. It was hell living with them. She began to participate less in the fighting, purposefully throwing away her weapon so that she herself would be killed. Seeing that she would no longer fight, they kept her in the prisons, without food or water for many days.
Yet things were not going to remain as they were.
On one fateful day, there were sounds of fighting outside. Thunderous sounds and shaking echoed through the cavernous underground, as if an earthquake had struck. There were men garbed in red robes, with dark daggers enchanted with magic, fighting the white robed priests. Outside, banners of red were raised in the air, and horns and drums rang across the fields and hills.
Goblins and orcs, wolves and giant bats, spiders of incredible size and proportions, ravaged through the underground, fighting alongside the red forces. These were the forces of evil, the very same from the stories she had been told. The fighting continued, and the whites were on the losing side. Hundreds of priests were slaughtered, with countless innocents. The fight moved from one corridor to the next, from one cell to the next. They were a force unstoppable.
When the fighting came near her, a clergyman ran to her cell. Just across from them, a giant spider had entrapped dozens of priests. He breathed frantically, unlocking her chains. She fell to her knees, looking up at him. He threw a sword to her, pointing at the spider. "Go! Go kill that thing!"
Nia looked at the sword, her eyes trembling, grabbing it firmly. But now she saw an opportunity. With it, she slashed her sword across, decapitating the clergyman's head from his shoulders. His head fell with a thud, his lifeless body dropping beside it. Her eyes followed, only hatred burning within them.
He was one of the men who tortured her.
This was not the first time she had taken a life; she was used to it. She was hardened. With her sword, she stepped outside, swarmed by goblins all around. She spun quickly, decimating the goblins with ease. They ran in fear of her, and her sights shifted to the giant spider.
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
The giant spider charged at her, but Nia leaped into the air with all her might, bringing down her blunt sword onto the spider's head, cutting through its body in one fell swoop. Its slimy blood spewed onto her, covering her in a black-like goo. The priests, entrapped in the spider's webs, cheered for her, but she marched toward them and slaughtered the lot of them.
Her expression began to crack; there was bloodshed all around her, and she was enjoying herself. This was a feeling unlike any other, pure adrenaline surging through her brain and body. From one foe to the next, Nia continued to cut down everyone in her way, lost in a blood rage. The reds began to retreat, for they knew they did not stand a chance against her might.
The battle was over.
----------------------------------------
There was one peculiar voice that guided her, and that voice was hatred. After weeks of searching, Nia had finally managed to find an escape route from the underground prison that had been her home for so long. She emerged from the darkness and, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she saw sunlight again. The light was strange, unfamiliar.
Her eyes instinctively diverted from its glow, but the warmth it radiated was something she had forgotten. It touched her skin, and a flood of emotions overwhelmed her. Tears began to stream down her face, though she did not fully understand why. Her sword, stained with the blood of those she had slain, remained clenched in her hand.
Before her was a town scorched in the aftermath of the fighting. The homes were burnt, rubble, the people, corpses as far as her eyes could see. From atop the hill, she made her way through the streets. She passed by the corpses of her childhood friends, but, she could scarcely remember them, and so, she did not recognize their loss.
The toll of the attack, it was absolute devastation. The walls of the city were laid in ruins, and so to everything with it. Was this all because she was there?
There were no answers to her questions, but one thing remained clear.
She was free.
----------------------------------------
Nia traveled day and night, following the road until she stumbled upon a city. She had stolen a dark cloak from a corpse to cover herself, slipping into the town unnoticed. She didn’t understand how things worked here, but she knew she needed food, a place to stay—all of which required something foreign to her: money.
She quickly learned that to obtain money, she could take jobs. The local guild, an organization offering work to adventurers, provided ample opportunities for fighters such as herself. When they assessed her abilities, they were shocked to discover she was a Hero.
Nia was far too powerful for any of the tasks they had available, but she accepted them without hesitation. As time passed, the rewards she received began to dwindle. The guild, realizing that she did not comprehend the value money, gave her the bare minimum, maximizing their own profits.
Initially, she worked with allies with a common goal, but soon, they would come to realize her skills. She wasn't just good at fighting, she was a monster who killed EVERYTHING in her path. When they saw first-hand of her brutality, they refused to work with her, and rumors spread.
It was in the very streets of the town where Nia often overheard the whispers of the townspeople.
"She's the Hero... isn't she?"
"More like a demon if you ask me."
"Yeah, don't look at her. I've heard she's a killer."
"A shame that a Hero is such a brute," another muttered.
"It's unbecoming of a Hero to dress like that."
"I heard she took down another hundred goblins in the Misty Woods."
"She's nothing more than a killing machine. They say she fights like an animal."
"She's not welcome here, that's for sure."
"I hope they do kill her," someone else added.
"Hush! She'll hear you," another warned.
As she walked through the streets, a bystander hurled a tomato at her, striking her to the side of her head, covering her messy brown hair with sticky red juice. "Go away, you killer! We have no need for you!" the man shouted.
Another person threw an egg, missing by an inch.
Nia turned toward them, her heart aching. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t. She stood there, her eyes scanning the crowd, seeing only disdain and hatred etched on their faces. She was despised. This world, which had no need for a Hero, rejected her. She existed without a purpose.
"Why...?"
The city guards gripped their swords, anticipating a violent response from her. But Nia did not lash out. Instead, she looked down, her spirit sinking further into despair. What purpose did she have? Why was she still alive? Why was everyone so cruel to her?
She left.
----------------------------------------
She spent her days at a local inn, coming back each night exhausted. When she did, she would curl up in the corner of her bed, crying softly, her tears soaking the worn sheets. She no longer knew any kindness. Vague memories of her childhood and the friends she once had would occasionally surface, but even those images were beginning to fade, crumbling like sand through her fingers.
The only solace she found was in reading. She had taken to stealing books from the town’s library—books that seemed to hold little value to anyone else. Within those pages, she found history, and more importantly, information about demons.
There were countless named demons, but a few stood out to her: The Plunderer, The Glutton, The Ravager. All were powerful in their own right, but the one that captivated her most was the Hungerer, the very demon she had heard tales of before. As she read more, she learned that the Hungerer was responsible for the downfall of the demon race itself. He had killed the Glutton King, single-handedly defeated the armies of the Ravager, and claimed his head for his own. The Hungerer was a demon of immense power, far beyond her reach.
It was said he held many names, often taking the names of his victims. As his name suggested, he was an incredibly vicious, dangerous, and greedy demon, the pinnacle of his race. Some even equated him to the highest order of creation—or perhaps something beyond that. He was unlike any other, his powers and influence vast.
There was a term that described him perfectly. Cataclysm.
Something about him made her admire, and even envy him. But he was dead. And with his death, so too had her purpose faded.
----------------------------------------
Nia gathered her things, her decision was clear. The town... she wanted to leave it behind. She had a map in her possession, one that showed the world in its entirety. After reading so much about the battle between the Hungerer and the Hero, she had decided to seek out the truth for herself. Her only clue lay in the forbidden forests of the elven realm, where the demon was last seen.
With that, she set off to find the answers she so desperately sought.
----------------------------------------
Her journey took three long years—three years of traveling on foot, moving from one town to the next. In each place, she was met with the same disdainful looks, the same sneers and whispered insults.
"We have no need of a hero!"
"Sorry, but we can't offer jobs to someone as strong as you."
"Please, just leave our town alone."
"Oh yeah? Who're you gonna protect us from?"
"Hero? More like Zero."
The insults were relentless, but after a time, Nia grew numb to them. She no longer paid attention, no longer cared about the words thrown at her. She ignored the townspeople entirely. No one dared to offer her shelter, so she often slept in the wilderness, alone under the stars. Food was scarce, but she had grown accustomed to hunger. It was a familiar companion, much like the hatred that simmered quietly in her chest.
Her journey was one of isolation, not just from the people she encountered but from any sense of purpose or belonging. Yet, she pressed on, driven by a single goal—to find the truth about the Hungerer.
----------------------------------------
The closer Nia got to the truth, the more enemies she began to face. At first, she encountered a camp of deranged lunatics, whom she brutally slaughtered without hesitation. They fought back, but it was as if she couldn’t feel pain. Arrows pierced her body, yet she didn’t even flinch—a consequence of the torture she had endured over the years.
Taking such hits were cumbersome. Nia decided it would be best to get armor. The guards in towns had them, but there was no way she could ask for one. She held no money to purchase one. She rummaged through the corpses and their belongings, and to her surprise, there were quite a few lunatics who wore iron plated armor beneath their robes. She took the one which had taken the least damage and wore it on herself.
Next, she crossed paths with vast armies of the undead in the cold mountains. She slaughtered every last one of them, emerging unscathed, without suffering a single injury. Her armor had a part to play in her success.
Then she came across a peaceful town of lizardmen. But even though they remained neutral towards her, she herself had grown to hate. Without hesitation or remorse, she massacred the entire town and set it ablaze. The rumors of the atrocity spread across the realm, but most believed it to be the work of the lunatics, not her.
The lunatics did however know the truth, and as such, they had grown to like her in secret. Her name would be passed between them, and her infamy had grown.
With each battle, she grew stronger, yet nowhere close to the tales she had once heard. This world had grown soft, and with it, the enemies that lurked.
----------------------------------------
Now, the Elven Realm was close, and Nia, at the age of nineteen, was fully aware of how the world functioned. By now, her infamy had grown across the realm. The lunatics called her the Red Lion, a nickname given to her for how her bloodlust took hold of her. All knew of her existence somewhere in the world, but none bothered nor dared to reach out.
On the day she crossed into the elven lands, she encountered another camp of lunatics. This time, however, they were unarmed. This struck Nia as odd, so she decided to approach them. Oddly enough, they were kind to her. They offered her food and water. She was famished, and so she accepted, drinking to her heart's content. They spoke with her openly, showing no hatred toward her, even when she revealed she was the Hero.
"I see, so you're also after our master?" one of them asked.
She had finished eating her meal, her eyes set on the two lunatics. "But he's dead. Why do you continue to search for him?"
"On the contrary," another said, "we believe he may still be alive."
"Impossible," Nia dismissed the idea without hesitation.
"The stories often told do not hold answers, only vague explanations of what happened. We're here to investigate the truth. But the elven scouts kill us whenever we try, making it perilous to continue."
"They're hiding something," one of the lunatics added.
Nia thought for a moment as they continued talking. If a demon had survived, the world would be in danger. But was a world this far gone even worth saving? A world that had shut its doors to her at every turn, simply because it had no use for a Hero?
Standing up from her seat, Nia made her decision. "I'll look into the matter myself. And if he is alive, I will bring him to the justice he deserves."
Despite her blatant threat, the lunatics simply smiled at her. Their calm, unnerving expressions told her that they believed she would fail, no matter how strong she was. As she prepared to leave, one of the lunatics stood up with her. "Hero, we want you to take this with you."
Nia turned, surprised by their words. She watched as they brought out a massive two-handed blade from one of the wagons. It was covered in cloth, but the unmistakable shape and size of the weapon made her heart race. They removed the cloth, revealing a giant blade etched with unique runes that glowed a pale white. "We present to you, Jinvicht, an artifact from an old era. We hope this blade will serve you," one of them said.
Nia’s eyes locked onto the sword. It seemed to call to her. Instinctively, she stepped forward and grasped the blade. At first, it was heavy in her hands, but it gradually became lighter, almost as if it were alive with magic.
"The blade has taken a liking to you."
For the first time, Nia was offered something. She looked at them, feeling a sense of gratitude. Her own blade had become dull over the years, and this sword felt like a gift, though she remained wary. "Is this the blade of a demon?"
"A runeblade, no less," one replied. "Whom it served in the past is of no consequence. It serves you now."
"Why give this to me?" she asked, her guard still up.
"It would be a shame for the blade to go without a master, even if you are our enemy," they answered.
For the first time in years, a faint smile crossed her face. She was thankful, for her weapon had been worn and weak for far too long. "I see. Thank you."
"We wish you success in your adventure, young Hero. And if the day comes, we will gladly die at your hands."
Without warning, Nia swung Jinvicht, cutting the lunatics down where they stood. The blade tore through their flesh like paper, and in a matter of moments, they lay lifeless at her feet. She stood atop their bodies, her boots sinking into the blood-soaked ground as she stared at the sword in her hands.
This weapon, much like herself, was made for killing.
With a forceful motion of her blade, she removed the blood staining her sword with one fell swoop. A tear ran down her eye as she looked to their corpses. "I'm sorry that It had to end this way..."
With one last lingering gaze, Nia set off into the woods.