I turned my eyes to the horizon, humbled by the devastation before me. I had been tracking the creatures for months on end. It wasn’t difficult; their unnatural appearances and complete disregard for life made it impossible for them to pass unnoticed through this vibrant world. Thankfully, they didn’t travel very fast, which made my work slightly less tedious. If their callous, wanton acts of destruction and impressive contributions to humanity’s mortality rate weren’t enough evidence of their passing, I could always count on the inevitable looks of terror from local inhabitants as they recounted the experience with harrowing fervor. Although I no longer paid attention to the specifics of these feverish ramblings - the details always remained constant - it was worth taking note of the mental states of these unfortunate victims. A grand majority of them showed the same basic signs of having witnessed the dreadful creatures: disheveled appearance, wild eyes, uncontrollable jerking of the limbs, a crazed grin that quickly shifted to abject fear. They all describe the beasts in ostentatious terms, with every feature seemingly exaggerated beyond belief. No two accounts were ever the same, one of the many marks of madness caused by the eldritch beings.

Among the wild descriptions, however, were three distinct traits that remained consistent between recollections. The first was that the creatures never left behind footprints, markings, or concrete proof of any sort to indicate their physical presence. The second was the strange onset of fog wherever the beasts tread. No scientist alive or dead could explain the phenomenon, its mystery just as shrouded as the lands plagued by its truth. The third, and most defining trait, was the strange signs of destruction wherever the creatures met resistance, whether by nature or man. Huge sections of the landscape were torn asunder with uncanny precision, split apart by an unnatural weapon of heartless intent. According to witnesses, the beasts could call forth surges of otherworldly energy, lancing it outwards in chaotic streams of devastating accuracy. Whatever the beams struck was less destroyed and more erased, utterly and completely, which explains the extraordinary dismantling of the terrain.

Every so often, I would stumble across a rare outlier, a human who, instead of madness, was filled with admiration and awe. These select few discoveries were like drops of water to a man lost at sea, a delectable morsel in a banquet of bland normalities. I could not afford to entertain their shining fascinations for more than a few moments, as every second was precious to my quest, but I kept a mental note of them for future pursuits. Such findings were far and few between, and I would be damned if I let any slip from my mind. I have had to sacrifice many, less necessary vestiges of my long abandoned humanity during this arduous journey, so the occasional distraction was quite welcome.

Heading north, I followed the trail of recounts through an expansive redwood forest, now scarred with a jagged swathe of fallen trunks and missing earth, sure signs of the scorching discharges described by my findings. Ducking under the mighty trees, proud even in their collapse, I continued along the creatures’ unseen path, careful to leave no trace of my passing. Despite being surrounded by life, the atmosphere was heavy with silence and fog and the prospect of death, and I couldn’t help but feel judged by the verdant masses above, perched upon their lofty, auburn stilts. The very air itself seemed agitated, coiling into its own currents with mad hysteria, as if trying in vain to escape an invisible force predator to the atmosphere itself. The stillness of the air only bade me to move faster, encouraging me to press onwards with renewed vigor, if only to reach the next scene of inevitable carnage just a moment sooner.

The fog made it impossible to tell how far I had marched, and the dull, scarlet guardians around me repeated with unbearable monotony. It was only when the forest suddenly disappeared, and the fog cleared did I realize I had finally left the confines of the scorched woods. As the air around me seemed to gasp for life and redoubled its efforts to shake off the unyielding grip of madness, I could not help but widen my eyes at the scene before me.

I stood at the precipice of disaster’s aftermath. In front of me lay a battlefield, standing silently in somber resignation. It would seem the beasts had met yet another paltry retinue protecting stalwart ignorance. “Resistance” was the least applicable word to describe the confrontation that had occurred. Like a child throwing  aside its toys in ignorant disregard for their condition, bodies were strewn about the meadow in aberrant disarray, far too scattered to suggest any reasonable form of tactical positioning. No doubt a result of a monstrous force too great for any mortal vanguard to stand against. I felt the air with an outstretched hand, breathing in a palpable dread that I can only describe as a breath forcibly held beyond human limits. I scouted the expanse with a practiced eye forged in the crucible of morbidity, searching, scanning the area for survivors. My legs moved on their own, fueled by the familiarity of the situation, carrying me from one still body to the next. I darted between the fallen souls, finding each one claimed by the Far Beyond, and a peculiar feeling began to swell in my chest. Ordinarily, one may feel a rush of sorrow in response to this unnecessary loss of life, or perhaps anger at the unfairness of reality. But I had no need for these emotions, and they had been cast aside ages ago in a place forgotten by time. No, I felt no sadness nor fury, but rather relief. I felt relief in knowing these people had met their end after a life of worry and stress.

They had fulfilled their purpose.

A purpose that can only be truly realized at the onset of life’s final breath.

The ultimate purpose of all living things toiling in the unforgiving ironworks of reality.

For what truer purpose could life possibly have than to end?

Death is the final destination for all life, the purest and truest mark of a life well lived. At least, in death, these soldiers would no longer have to suffer. A morbid sense of peace, yes, but peace nonetheless.

I continued my search for any soul that could have been spared in the mindless slaughter, my grim suspicions only growing with each repetition of life’s annulment. It was only after the sun’s dying rays began casting their final vestiges of light upon the meadow did I finally let my breath go, sighing in resignation. Perhaps, against all odds, I would not be so fortunate this time. I prepared to leave this aftermath at the mercy of reality’s uncaring grasp, when a sudden movement caught my eye.

A grin spread across my lips, which I mentally catalogued.

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Time itself cannot count the number of similar instances I have experienced to hone my senses to such a veritable edge, and this grisly reenactment served to sharpen my mind once more to its extreme. Hope mixes with the adrenaline now coursing through my body, but I force myself to approach the source of the movement with an outward calm.

To say he was barely clinging to life was an overstatement. The soldier that lay before me was more dead than alive. Both of his legs were missing, as well as his right arm, eradicated by the same otherworldly energies that cut portions of the world from the fabric of existence. It didn’t take a practiced eye to see that every breath he took was a gift that wracked his already broken body with unspeakable pain. His spirit was gripping on to the fatal threshold of death’s door through sheer willpower alone, unwilling to abandon this mortal coil. His eyes reflected the darkening sky with equal progression as he grit his teeth against the waves of agony. His face was deathly pale as he struggled to fight against the inevitable, the sky’s dying light glistening off the exertion that ran down his cheeks. The only splash of color left on his pallid visage was the dried blood staining his lips. I stood near him for quite some time, admiring the stubborn tenacity humans were capable of. Sometimes, I forget just how defiant the will of man could truly be.

I allow a few more moments to pass, no doubt feeling like an eternity to the broken soldier, before I finally made my presence known. I didn’t say anything, not that there was anything I could have said, as I knelt down and placed my hand on his shoulder. At first, the man recoiled instinctively from the sudden sensation, a reflex that sent waves of pain anew through his shattered form, but after sensing my reassurance, he relaxed. Through grit teeth and between shallow breaths, the man spoke to me.

“Did we win?”

Again, despite my best efforts to cast it aside, I could not help but feel a sense of admiration for the man, and another smile betrayed my lips. Even on his deathbed, gasping his last, he chooses to spend his precious moments as a soldier. If every human possessed the zeal and dedication of this singular soul, humanity may stand a chance…

“Don’t answer. I already kn—”

The man stopped mid speech to cough violently, renewing the scarlet marks on his cracked lips. I quickly reached into my black jacket and pulled out an unlabeled flask of colorless liquid. Unscrewing the top, I gently propped up the man’s head, careful to minimize the scorching pain I was inadvertently causing, and lifted the flask to his lips. Instinctively, the man accepted the drink as I tilted it forward slowly, allowing him a few moments of liquid relief to ease his parched throat.

“Many thanks, stranger.”

I nodded silently as I replaced the flask’s cap and returned the precious container to its proper place in my jacket. The concoction worked quickly, sending waves of sweet relief throughout the man’s body, the welcome sensation echoing on his now relaxed face. I allowed myself another smile as the soldier’s breathing became calm and regular. After all, it wasn’t everyday I got to use my brew.

“They were shapeless. Large. Strong. Fast.”

He paused at the terrible memory.

“Too fast.”

A few, even breaths passed through his lips as he continued his report, although the recollections forced him to grimace in horrible remembrance.

“We tried to stop them. We were fools.”

His sightless eyes closed for a moment, and I could tell he was fighting back tears. A few moments passed as he collected his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he continued.

“Magicks from another world. It destroyed us—no, it annihilated us. We never stood a chance. Nothing would.”

Suddenly, with his remaining hand, he reached out to me, and grasped my jacket with a wild look of sheer terror in his now horror-stricken eyes. His face seemed to drain of color even further, if such a thing were possible, and his voice trembled with a mix of grim portent and barely suppressed dread.

“I beg of you, do not seek them out. It is a madman’s quest. We’ve heard tales, tales of a strange man dressed in foreign trappings. He trails the creatures with an unknown fervor. I warn you, pray you do not cross paths with him.”

His grip relaxed slightly as a dawning realization began spilling into the raging whirlpool of his psyche, slowly overtaking the sensation of his body’s returning agony. I watched as his face began contorting with renewed torment and painful awareness. The soldier’s eyes narrowed as his blood-flecked lips gaped open, like a fish gasping for water on the desolate soil, his torso convulsing with an unnatural rhythm alien to a human heart. A myriad of emotions shifted through his milky pupils: suspicion, resentment, understanding, fear. A sudden rush overtook my mind. Familiar, I had felt it countless times in the past, yet no number of repetitions could give its solidity a name, and I had long since thrown aside the key to unlocking its mystery. I silently chastised myself as a smile involuntarily crept to my lips.

Another one to add to the list.

The soldier struggled to say something as my precious flask completed its work, overwhelming him with the warmth of the Far Beyond. Out of unfettered curiosity, I too had drunk of the flask eons past, but even to this day my mind remembers quite vividly the resulting visions that ravaged my soul, and the overwhelming eldritch force that threatened to consume my very being. Granted, I managed to survive the ordeal, albeit narrowly, due to my unique heritage, but mere mortals had no such blood ties to shield their fragile existences. Emotionless, I waited patiently as the brew fulfilled its purpose. The fear in the soldier’s eyes eventually faded along with his death throes, and peace overtook his worried face. His body, weary with exertion and stress, became beautifully still and composed. He was finally at peace. I sighed with satisfaction as I gently closed his eyes and rose from his final resting place, my smile having passed along with his spirit. I allowed myself one more spot of admiration; this human was rather exceptional, having added four smiles to my collection. Shaking the last vestiges of duty from my mind, I walked away from the fallen soldier. My work here was done.

Another troubled soul now free of its shackles.

Another fragile mortal now bereft of its worries.

Another lost sheep now returned to its rightful caretaker.

I turned my eyes to the horizon, humbled by the devastation before me. I breathe in the crisp, cold night air, now still with the peace it was meant to protect. The peace I was meant to protect. My wolves will hunt, my sheep will run, the world will tremble.

And I have no choice but to continue my work, unending, for the foreseeable forever.