Anthony pressed his back against the trunk of the tree. The branches, thick with light green needles, shielded him from view, while a heavy coat of mud, spread hastily across his skin, masked his scent. The pine needles, and the bit of wet dirt, were the only things keeping the boy alive, as the gigantic fiend, just a few meters away, pinned his mother’s brutalized body to the ground.

Morbidly fat with pale leathery skin that glistened from the thick layer of oily filth covering it, the ogre stood no less than twenty feet tall. The flesh on its arms stretched taut from the incredible mass of muscle and fat packed tightly underneath, leaving stretch marks as wide as Anthony’s legs criss-crossing its ugly exterior.

The woman wheezed, struggling to breathe, as the unbearable weight caused blood to bubble out from her mouth and drip down her chin. The creature’s grin widened, revealing its rotten teeth as it shifted more of its weight onto her.

His mother’s blood-shot eyes searched for him even while she was being tortured.  A trembling finger rising to her lips as she used the last moments of her life to urge the boy to stay quiet. Anthony clamped his hands tightly over his mouth to stop himself from crying out, lines of moisture carving muddy tracks down his face as his tear soaked eyes stared in horror at the unfolding tragedy.

She tried to scream, but all the air had been pressed from her lungs. With one final pitiless crunch of its inhuman foot, the woman's small ribcage gave way to the unbearable pressure, sending a thick surge of blood and flesh across the forest floor.

“NOOOO!!!”

Anthony reached out toward her, screaming with all his might, but as he did, the brightly lit forest around him was suddenly replaced by the dreary darkness of his bedroom, as his childish voice deepened into one of a much older boy. His hand grasped at nothing as his sweat-soaked eyelids sprang the rest of the way open.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Shut the hell up in there!”

The muffled voice sounded through the wall as Anthony’s gaze darted around, the terror slowly clearing from his face. He looked toward the wall separating him from his stepfather’s room, then buried his face in his hands as his shoulders trembled. Clenching his fists, he took a few deep breaths before rising from the bed and quickly pulling his ragged clothes over his well built frame. Walking outside the small cabin, he put up one arm to block the bright rays of morning sun as he leaned over the barrel of rain water by the front door.

The face reflected in the water was no longer that of the small child who had helplessly watched his mother’s brutal murder. Anthony was almost a man now—sixteen years old, nearly six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a well-defined physique.

He splashed water across his face and took a deep breath before dropping to the ground with his arms stretched out in front of him. Anthony had learned long ago that physical pain was the best cure for mental anguish.

Over the next forty five minutes, he completed his morning workout routine: 100 push-ups, 150 sit-ups, 100 squats with a heavy rock over each shoulder, and a light jog to the river and back.

He wiped the sweat from his body with a piece of dirty clothing, then grabbed a relatively clean top to pull over his body. Taking an apple from the table, a light breakfast for the journey to town ahead of him, he slowly approached the tightly locked door to his stepfather’s bedroom.

Anthony raised his hand to knock, but his knuckles paused just shy of the old wood. His gaze fell to the ground as his jaw clenched tightly for a few seconds before he let out a quiet breath. Shaking his head slowly, he turned away from the door without saying a word.

As he stepped through the cabin’s threshold, the bedroom door swung open, revealing his stepfather, a short man with heavy black bags beneath each eye. The man had clearly been up late gambling away what little money he had left once again.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Where do you think you’re going? I told you, you can’t join the mercenaries! I don’t care if you’re sixteen, dammit! You’re going to end up crushed under the boot of some monster like your—”

CRASH!

The man’s eyes widened as the apple smashed into the wall just inches from his head, spraying pieces of apple and juice down the side of his face. The man looked back up as he wiped the fruit away, just in time to see Anthony’s figure sprinting down the long dirt lane toward town.

“Get back here! Anthony!”

Today was Anthony’s sixteenth birthday. He was finally old enough to join the small mercenary team that came to his village twice a year to take on missions. There was no army this deep in the mountains, so his only path to martial strength was to become a hunter or throw his lot in with Edgar’s team of sellswords.

The hunters were strong in their own right, but their focus was on supplying the village with a stable supply of meat, not on honing martial power. For Anthony, that path was a dead end. Even all the hunters in the village combined would struggle to kill an ogre, especially one as freakishly large as the one he sought to slay.

Anthony didn’t head straight to the village. First, he needed to visit his grandmother—the only other relative he had left. She lived with a group of women who sewed clothing for a small fee and harvested wild vegetables to make ends meet, ten old widows crammed together in a single tiny shack.

As he jogged towards the building, he saw smoke rising from the chimney. Closer still, he noticed a modest sized elderly woman sitting on a block of wood near the front door. The resemblance she bore to his deceased mother was striking, and it was the reason he avoided spending as much time with her as she deserved.

He felt ashamed of himself for being so weak. Just looking at his grandmother’s face made him feel like a helpless child again, waiting for certain death with nothing but pine needles for protection.

This is probably the last time you’ll see her, Anthony. Don’t be a coward.

He scolded himself as he walked forward, guilt spreading through his chest when he saw the eager smile lighting up her face.

“Come here, boy! Let me wrap these old arms around you.”

The woman ushered him forward, placing her thin, wrinkled arms around his broad shoulders and squeezing him tight.

“I know you have bad spirits inside you,” she said softly beside his ear as she held him tightly, “but I still can’t help but ask you once more: won’t you stay? I don’t have many years left in this world. You wouldn’t have to wait very long; once I’m gone you can do as you please.”

Anthony felt the thick calluses covering her palms as she took his hands in her own after releasing him from her embrace. He couldn’t bear to look into the hopeful expression filling her face at the moment, instead glancing down toward her hands as he responded.

“I have to do this, Nana. Please don’t try to stop me anymore. Every day I stay here feels worse than the last. Like I’m betraying myself and the people around me by not doing what I know I have to. Whatever hope I had inside me of living a peaceful life was killed—right alongside my mother.”

A hint of moisture glistened in the old woman’s eyes, but she quickly shook her head and rose to her feet, patting Anthony on the arm as she gestured toward a large wooden chest beside her.

She fumbled with the latch for a few moments before finally managing to lift the lid, revealing a dull shortsword with rust around the grip, a sheath attached to a belt, and a piece of worn leather armor.

She pursed her lips at the eager look on Anthony’s face and pointed toward the equipment with her wrinkled hand.

“Hmph. I could’ve sold all this junk and bought myself enough food to fill my belly for half a year.”

Her bitter expression softened as she looked up at the sky, the moisture returning to her foggy eyes.

“Your grandfather knew this day would come. The moment those hunters brought you back from the mountains, he knew. When the pneumonia had nearly taken him, he made me promise not to sell these things after he died. I told him to hush up and rest, but he called my name in a tone like I’d never heard from him before. He said he’d never forgive me if I didn’t listen.”

Anthony picked up the leather armor, running his hands across its many scrapes and lacerations—the only lingering traces of adventures long past. He pulled the armor over his head, tying the leather straps tightly on both sides before looping the sheath around his waist.

He drew the old sword, holding it out in front of him as the morning sun glinted off the blade. It bore almost as many nicks as the armor, but with some sharpening and a little loving care, it would be a reliable companion once again.

“Thank you, Nana. I’m sorry I haven’t been a better grandson. I’ll send back some money once I finish my first job.”

The old woman gave him another long hug, sighing deeply as she let him go for the last time.

“Don’t worry about that, boy. Just keep yourself safe. I can’t bear to lose another one to an early death.”