Still clasping his ears, Astraeus formed a sign with his fingers. It sort of resembled … a cross. The beast nastily distorted its neck, continuing his roar of victory and defiance. You won’t cheer for long, bastard. This threat however had little essence and was rather dull since Astraeus’ mind began to become dizzy, feeling light-headed and the prominent stinging in his heart was introducing itself once again.

The monster looked at Astraeus, witnessing a steady increase in the boy’s magical aura and decided to fight him to prevent another major spell. It stomped into the village again, crushing dozens of buildings and burying children and adults alike beneath its foot. Another step and it could crush the young Domitor who was still on the ground clutching his ears and clenching his teeth to fight the excruciating pain.

As the Kashmar began its second step, Astraeus looked up sharply and his eyes darted around. The explosion of his magic aura signalised the beast that something was imminent. It prepared for the worst and tried to defend itself.

Acting as detectors, it spread out its tentacles to observe the proximity and warn itself of incoming objects in foresight.

But all of its preparations were futile. Astraeus was out for blood, he was in no mood to toy with the beast. It was smart enough to understand its inevitable doom. Years of death and hunting have taught it to show adequate fear to Astraeus, its hereditary enemy. Crushing most of the town beneath its heel, the beast’s second step was completed and a cry of rage emerged from Astraeus’ throat animating the silence of his reality.

Hundreds of people must have died. All because I am too weak, he clasped his face, tearing at it, as if to rip away the illusion he always tried to keep. He was responsible for their deaths. No one else. No one to blame. No one to make himself feel better by denouncing someone else.

Pitiful … but at least he tried. With a shout of rage, he exerted his vengeance on the beast whose sensors were all detecting something approaching them. Something gigantic was falling from the sky. It was singing down the beast’s tentacles, so great was the heat the invisible object emitted. The beast’s eyes left the position where it deemed the object to be and searched the tiny-looking landscape beneath for its executor. It found him looking at it, its remarkable eyes able to see his expression. Death was the only thing it could analyse from the look in the human’s eyes.

As Astraeus looked at the beast, he remembered how much he hated them, the Kashmar. They were the reason all those people died. They were the archnemesis of him, his task was to eliminate them all. They were the ones who caused destruction in the mortal realm. They were invaders, they didn’t belong on earth.

Yet, he was the one who summoned them. No … rather who allowed them to enter this world. All because he was careless. NOO! Astraeus, stop. Stop it. Stop. Stop! Crying?

Asked Astraeus who was pulled out of his misery by the crying of a little boy. His gaze followed the noise and he soon witnessed a young boy crying, carrying a severed blood-covered arm, yelling: “Mother!” with a voice which hurt Astraeus who himself had seen pain and suffering throughout his life. It was too painful, too full of sorrow and grief for someone so young.

“Please Mother! Save Korus! Ple-” he noticed Astraeus. “Please save my brother. Please save my brother. PLEASE! I-I beg of you. Please …” He sounded as if in trance, a mere shell of the boy who previously inhabited this bulk of flesh, skin and bones.

Why did he ask a random person, another child, to save his brother in the apocalypse occuring in Bereticum? Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was hope. Or maybe … It was instinct. Or a divine sign … Because the poor boy reminded Astraeus of something.

It reminded him of his promise to Irus. I will save humans. I swore on my mother’s name. With a newfound determination, his expression changed completely. No longer contorted by rage and hate, his face was … it was … kind of heroic.

He didn’t smile but he emitted something new. A new aura of resolve cladding him in salvation. Gathering his full attention, Astraeus focused on the object he summoned, the giant comet which should exterminate the Kashmar and recalled it, simply terminating its existence in his current realm.

Immediately as the comet disappeared Astraeus moved as if he wanted to throw a spear, arm darting behind his back, stretching far, his muscles groaning, cheering him on, then shooting forward until at the end of its trajectory, shooting down and with the momentum, behind his back again.

The monster hadn’t quite realised that the comet was already gone but when it did, focused its attention in the sky, inspecting whether its sensors were malfunctioning or if the comet simply vanished into nothingness.

If it weren’t for the titanic monster obscuring them, the white clouds mixed with the grey smoke were fascinating, maybe even an inspiration for an artist. But they didn’t matter to the Kashmar nor to Astraeus but both were looking at them. But these clouds were slowly leaving the monster’s vision … but it didn’t move its head.

Only when it felt the excruciating pain a second later as if it had been delayed or its nerves weren’t transmitting the information fast enough, did it realise that its head had been severed and was currently slithering down its exposed, black blood-leaking neck. Both its arms as well as the tentacles shot up to catch the tumbling head or to stabilise it, to prevent it from fully falling.

As those arms shot up, the Kashmar realised that it was losing control over them. It seemed as if they weren’t listening to the monster’s commands. Some of the monster’s eyes looked at the places where its arms weren’t reacting anymore and only when it once again felt terrible pain, did it realise that its arms were gone.

Not exactly gone but separated from its body, rapidly descending towards the ground. One of its main eyes looked at Astraeus who was visibly panting and shivering but his expression had changed. A big smile was plastered over his face. He was grinning. Obviously not at the unnecessary deaths of the villagers nor at the destruction of Bereticum but at the pain and misery the beast was feeling. Its torment and suffering amused him …

More and more arms were being cut off, the tremendous regeneration ability of the small Kashmar unable to fully cope with the amount of damage it received from the beast-slayer Astraeus Domitor. The smile on the boy’s face disappeared again, only to return a second later. Another big wave of magic aura emanated from the small boy’s body, revealing the Kashmar’s doom in foresight, allowing it to prepare for its return home.

But its memories, its pain, its joy, its existence would vanish alongside its presence in the mortal realm. All of it … gone. All the death it caused … for naught. Innocent villagers, young kids whose dreams were extinguished the moment they saw the beast looming over their small town, the moment when their parents were stomped into the ground before their eyes. Old men whose eyes had already lost their light. All dying with the knowledge that all the work they’ve done had been futile, useless … insignificant.

But its executioner did not care at all. For him, it was a job. He was a mage. It was a monster. Society demanded that the danger should be exterminated immediately … and Astraeus happily obliged. Punching through the air thrice, Astraeus finished his spell and waited patiently until his deeds bore fruit.

Looking the Kashmar into his eye, his one major eye, which simultaneously acted as the gateway to its soul, Astraeus was greeted by an immense fear and fright. Its eyes gleamed of it, overflowed with a hope to live, with a terror of death. However his eyes gleamed of nothing but contempt. He was still smiling … yet it resembled nothing. Only an etiquette studied and rehearsed countless times to please the rotten, corrupted nobility of Fides, his home city. If you could call it a home since anywhere in the city made him feel uncomfortable and out of place, disgusted him and twisted his stomach. This cursed smile plastered the boy’s face. Even though he felt relief that the Kashmar would die, the young boy couldn’t be happy. Too many people had died. All because of him. He was a murderer. No, I am no murderer. I PROTECTED them. I SAVED them from the beast. I-I-I … I am no murderer

The rumbling ground tore Astraeus out of his misery, focusing his attention back on the still very alive beast. It had been hit by his attacks, but for what price? It had taken another step back, burying half of Bereticum beneath its heel, killing dozens if not hundreds in a single movement.

Astraeus dreaded and feared to know the truth. He felt responsible. No, I killed it. It’s dissipating into dust. It’s dead. It’s over. I … I saved them. Yes, I did. “I saved them. I SAVED them,” cried Astraeus towards the indeed dissolving Kashmar. Its black body, torn apart by Astraeus’ numerous attacks, was first melting to a black viscous goo, before turning to dust and flowing into the air until the dust eventually turned into something even darker. So dark that it consumed the sunlight, that it obscured the sky, that it sucked in all of the colours, leaving a pitch black fire. Yes, the dust incinerated itself, burning until it evaporated, wiped off this reality.

Astraeus’ cheering ceased when he slightly turned his head, realising that the boy from before was still standing in his vicinity. The look on the poor orphan was unforgettable for Astraeus. Disgust, disbelief, anger, hate, confusion, pain … betrayal.

The boy looked at Astraeus as if he’d been stabbed into his heart. The man, who he thought to be his town’s saviour, cheered.

His parents, probably dead … and the responsible mage cheered.

With a slow step, the boy began his path to Astraeus, his mother’s cut off arm still in his hands. Closing in on the evil mage, the boy began to cry and shout accusations at Astraeus whose hearing was dull, causing him to register nearly nothing.

If it was a subconscious action of his mind and soul or if the fatigue prohibited his organs from working. When the boy was in hitting range and took a swing filled with hate and rage, Astraeus simply fled. It was too much for him. He saved them. Why did they attack him? Why did they betray him? Why did humans act so idiotic? Were all questions which raced through his mind, as he dashed through the snow towards Bereticum, or rather … the ruins which were left of it. Gnawing flames and cries of pain and sorrow greeted the young Domitor upon reaching the town. Or wasteland …

He had saved the world. Why was it still so terrible?

Due to his exerting fight against the Kashmar, he panted and gasped heavily, inhaling the cold air. The stench of blood, piss and shit were included in the previously fresh air. It disgusted him … caused him to barf onto the ground.

This nauseous feeling only increased when he witnessed the corpses splattered across the town. Torn torsos, ripped limbs, crushed skulls and flattened pools of blood, previously known as humans, as normal living human beings, were only a few atrocities to name.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Just then, Astraeus realised the excruciating headache he suffered. Cursing himself for allowing the beast to enter the mortal realm, he continued his way into the village, past the broken gates.

One of the guards which had greeted him on his first visit to Bereticum was piled onto a metal pillar, which pierced his stomach, protruding into the air with a crimson shine as if to exclaim: “Look, I’ve killed him. Be proud of me!”

He sorrowfully inspected the corpse for a moment before deciding that it would only deteriorate his mental and emotional situation if he grieved for people who he didn’t even know. Remember Elusia’s words! Remember them, Astraeus! People die in war. Few die for the many! Few … die for the many …

This calming idea was immediately discarded and forced out of Astraeus’ mind when he witnessed the true horrors of his battle. People. Living people, witnesses of his weakness, of his failure, of his inability to live up to everyone’s expectations. People who actually suffered from the deaths of the so-called “few,” as the broken boy called them.

Children, men, women … were all similarly mourning above the corpses of their friends, their family, their loved ones. With eyes devoid of any hope, filled only with grief and sorrow, the villagers looked at their deceased friends, kneeling beside them in the dirty mud.

In some places even wet ground … the blood had tainted the ground on multiple locations, wetting it with the life nectar of precious humans. Not precious to Astraeus, but to the people who he had made an orphan, who he had made a widow, who he had made childless …

While the people’s eyes were hopeless and grieving, Astraeus’ were empty. They were simply empty. At this very moment, he was unable to feel anything. As if in trance, as if in a dream, Astraeus walked over towards the group of crying people, only faintly registering the angry shouts and insults.

How could adults insult a child which may have got nothing to do with the incident? They were scared. They had lost someone. Everyone had. They were humans, no emotionless machines, unlike Astraeus who still walked on without uttering a single word, denying a reply to the accusatory cries.

His vision was blurred from exhaust, his feet hurt from running, his heart emptied from death. His feet had received a dozen cuts when he was sprinting across the woodlands. His arms were limp since his magic reserves were nearly depleted. His head … didn’t function. It didn’t want to.

It only wanted to hide, to run, to flee from all this pain, from all these responsibilities and expectations that society assigned him with. He just wanted to die. I wonder if that little girl survived … probably not.

His false self-forced thoughts and optimism was slightly lower than usual but as he was wondering about the fate of the few people that he’s met in Bereticum, he suddenly bumped into something hard which was slightly pushed away by him. His blurred vision focused on the thing he ran into and upon realising that it was the scrawny marquis, his hope plummeted.

The noble glared at the boy with an expression contorted by grief and rage. “YOU,” he yelled, accentuating it by ramming a finger into the boy’s chest. “You did this. YOU did this!” He repeated.

“I tried to save you, I could have-”, tried to justify Astraeus but he was interrupted: “WHAT did you try?” the older man pronounced the last word mockingly. “Everyone’s dead,” he swung his arm, pointing at the hundreds of corpses, blood stains and torn pieces of cloth.

“And those who aren’t, wish to be,” tears began to stream down the man’s cheeks. “My wives …” he began but stopped when sorrow became too much to bear and he was forced to wipe off his tears.

The boy’s gaze left the pathetic man and wandered across the remains of the town, only stopping for a short time at the marquis’ manor. Or rather at the void which filled the space where it had been.

“The whole town could have been destroyed,” Astraeus saw this as a justification for his actions. “I minimised the casualties by not evaporating the town as the usual formality would demand from me.”

The crying man looked up, perplexity reforming his face.

“Look around, boy. There is nothing formal or … nothing is here. Nothing remains. Don’t you understand that your fight with it destroyed our town, ended all those human lives, all those hopes and dreams?”

Astraeus indeed understood. But it was too dream-like for him. No, not dream-like, it was rather a nightmare.

“The only thing my father taught me was fighting. That’s why I constantly fight. It’s what I’m best at. I only fought the beast to protect you from it. Could you have fought it?” “NO, but it-it-it … wouldn’t have come if it weren’t for you!”

Both men panted, staring each other in the eye, one’s expression full of emotions, the other’s blank … dead, hopeless, joyless. All the enthusiasm from before had vanished. Reality had caught up with the poor Astraeus.

Suddenly Astraeus’ head spinned. Why is my head so dizzy? When his vision returned to normal he witnessed an intimidated woman before him, her hand shaking, its position odd for a normal standing position.

Has she hit me? … Why? “You-You’re a mon-monster! A demon! You’re even worse than that beast of yours!”

It isn’t mine. I killed it. I saved you. Thank me. Why aren’t you thanking me?

“Because of you, my daughter is dead. My husband. DEAD! Do you understand what that is, boy? They won’t return! Don’t think that just because you-you’re a-a Domitor, a f-fucking mage, that the law doesn’t apply to you!”

Stop it! Stop screaming!

“It has been your fault. Solely your fault. You … You’re a murderer. A bloody, cold-hearted murderer! I despise you! DIE MONSTER!”

Another slap. Once again, Astraeus remained defenceless, not raising his magic aura nor his hand.

The words of the woman started to sound convincing even though they shouldn’t. Or should they? He was broken. Neither knowing if or how he summoned the Kashmar, he was the only viable villain in this story.

Why hadn’t he stopped the beast from emerging entirely? Why hadn’t he been strong enough and slain it with his first attack, preventing the deaths of hundreds. Too many whats and ifs.

But for a young boy who only wanted to escape the horrors and atrocities of his false home, this guilt was too much. Without saying a word, without justifying, without denying the false truth that society implanted in his mind, without defending himself, without keeping his hope … he turned around and walked away.

No one should see him … crying rivers into the bloodied ground. No one should see him suffer … for he wanted to be their hero … but ended up being their villain.

Each step he took through the destruction which he caused felt like a stab through the heart.

Each breath smelling like his victim’s blood and death, felt like acid in his lungs.

Each picture of the ruins became a new nightmare to rob him of sleep.

They engraved themselves in his mind, tearing at his sanity, reminding him of his guilt, his detested responsibility, his weakness.

Refocusing his gaze onto the ground, his hope arose from the ashes before dying completely.

Before him was one of those pictures which struck his heart with dread.

Strands of blonde hair and a sullied, dirty stuffed animal. One of its eyes plucked out by a raven, its fur stained red with blood. “You can save no one, if you can’t even protect yourself! Stand up! FIGHT!” No, don’t think about that! “FIGHT!” NO! “AGAIN! FIGHT! AGAIN! BAD! BAD! BAD!” Leave!

Silence …

Astraeus had reclaimed his thoughts, killing his own shadow, his dark side. The person who he never wanted to see again.

The experiences and memories he had locked up in the deepest prison, never to be freed again.

The girl! Reminded Astraeus himself of his task. He dashed across the street, searching both sides for any remains or clue to her location. He had a purpose. He finally had a goal. No longer lingering around, travelling clueless through the world.

Finally he could have a purpose. Something which was both prohibited to him and which was conveyed onto him too greatly. Running around, he frantically flipped over debris and rubble, desperately searching for the girl which he had doomed … even though she was innocent, she had a long life in front of her. He had taken it from her …

More and more cursed pictures engraved into Astraeus’ mind: Ruins, chaos, death, blood, intestines, organs, eye-picking crows, flesh-eating insects, food, foot, chopped-off heads, sucked-dry corpses. Foot!

It looked just the size of a child. As Astraeus rushed to the blonde girl, he felt a wave of relief sweep over him. He had found her. He had found her … Why was he feeling a bit sad? Was it because he had lost his holy cause? His purpose to exist? Was he vacant of someone who depended on him? Of love?

Nonetheless, he ran towards his hope and upon reaching it … fate crushed it ultimately. Before him, in the dirty filthy ground, lay the poor girl’s lithe corpse. Her face pale as her innocent soul, her clothes still flawless.

So the Kashmar sucked out her mortal energy … Without changing his expression, Astraeus stared at her, buckled over, barfed on the ground, and turned around, leaving the broken house she would be laying in forever.

After a couple of steps, Astraeus looked at his hand. It was bloody, all of it. Too much blood had been spilled because of him. He had been the reason for all this death.

Lifting his hands to his face, he started to wander across it with his dirty fingers, feeling whether it had all just been a bad dream, whether he was real, whether he had truly …

I killed her. I killed HER! I killed all of them! If it weren’t for me, the Kashmar wouldn’t have appeared at all. But I spared them, I prevented their obliteration. But I still killed them, did I? No! I didn‘t. I couldn‘t. Mother said I wouldn‘t. She forbade me from turning into a monster. I’m no monster … I only wanted to be good. I wanted to help, the poor boy sobbed and cried, wiping away the tears.

The people couldn’t see him crying. Not the perfect strong heir of the Domitors. Expectations. A curse placed on people by their loved ones, who only mean good but in the end suffocate the cursed.

They suffocated him. But he tried his best. He wiped the tears away, he had killed the Kashmar and erased the threat. He had saved the village. Why was it not enough? How much more must he do to gain the recognition he deserved? “Kill me!” NO! I won’t. I haven’t. Astraeus anxiously looked around, ruins and death greeting him openly. No one was there. No one would see his suffering. No one would know what he felt. But maybe that was good … maybe it wasn’t

The poor boy couldn’t even grieve right for another threat was emerging. Literally at that, since Astraeus felt minor vibrations in the ground and looked down on the earth, finally noticing a piece which wasn’t tainted with blood, he was greeted by a hot red glow.

He was looking into an inferno of fire. And it was aiming right at him, incinerating him to the degree that no one would even know that he had died. Maybe it would be best if Astraeus Domitor died, was the thought which he had had seconds prior.

But the moment he saw the fire approaching him, his will to live returned. Astraeus Domitor wasn’t dead nor broken nor insane. He was Astraeus Domitor. He was expected to fight … since as he himself said, without it he’d be nothing … insignificant.

How far did humanity fall to break a young child like that? Force it to depend its worth on expectations and success rather than joy and happiness.

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Never feel worthless for not fulfilling your own ambitions and goals. Worth isn’t determined by your actions or your successes or even your failures. Worth originates from the heart. Have a good heart, be just and help people. But only if you want to, that is. Don’t let society dictate your worth. Don’t let other people’s dreams and expectations dictate your worth. Don’t let yourself dictate your worth for you may deem yourself as useless and guilty but remember: deep down, you will always find your own personal perfection. Because perfection is beauty, because imperfection is beauty and everyone is beautiful