It was a clear moonlit night in spite of being only under Phoebe and Nox, there in the middle of nowhere a group of travelers sat in a circle, their expressions weary and discontented, their voices filled with grumbles of dissatisfaction. Roshan, slouched beside them, listened to their complaints about the meager rations they had been surviving on for days.

"We need more food," one traveler whined, his stomach audibly rumbling. Roshan sighed, understanding their frustration. He glanced into the distance, in the direction he knew the nearest town was at.

"I think it's time one of us heads to the town," Roshan suggested, his voice cutting through the discontent.

The guards' faces immediately brightened, each one secretly longing to return to the comforts of urban life.

Pointing at a guard, Roshan declared, "You, Jahan, will go tomorrow. Restock our supplies and bring back news." The other travelers exchanged disappointed glances, their hopes of being chosen vanishing in an instant.

"Aw, I wanted to go too," one of the travelers pouted, his disappointment palpable.

Others chimed in, “Boss, why wouldn’t we go by group of three, or even two would be fine.”

“Yeah, it would be safer,” also replied another.

Roshan's expression hardened, his eyes fixed on them. "No," he said firmly. "It's too dangerous. We cannot afford to attract attention. Jahan will go alone."

Silence settled among the travelers as they nodded in understanding, recognizing the wisdom in Roshan's caution. The tense atmosphere hung heavy, begging for relief.

Seeking to lighten the mood, Roshan's gaze shifted to the flask of drink on the ground. "Pour me a drink, will you?" he requested, a playful smile dancing on his lips. The guard nearest to the flask chuckled softly. "Sorry, boss. We ran out of drinks. All we have left is milk."

Roshan's smile widened, a mix of amusement and resignation in his eyes. "Then pour me milk, dammit," he replied, a touch of mock exasperation in his voice.

He raised his cup and grinned mischievously, "Well, they say milk is the drink of champions, right? Guess we're all champions now!"

The travelers burst into laughter, the sound echoing across the campsite. Amidst the laughter, one of the mages, Aamir, couldn't resist the opportunity to contribute his own sarcastic remark, "Yes, because nothing says 'epic journey' like a cup of milk!"

Laughter erupted from the travelers as one of them fetched a jug of milk, filling Roshan's cup with the creamy liquid.

As they raised their makeshift cups in a toast, the bitterness of their situation momentarily forgotten, a sense of camaraderie washed over them. In that shared moment, Roshan found solace in the bond that held them together, their determination to weather the storm.

It was then several minutes after that momentary release when the travelers spoke up, his voice laced with hope, "Boss, when can we finally go back home?" Roshan's gaze flickered momentarily, and a melancholic smile tugged at his lips.

"I don't know," he replied, his voice laden with a mixture of weariness and determination. "But it will be as soon as things calm down. As soon as he calms down." Roshan's eyes momentarily betrayed his fear, his mind haunted by the relentless pursuer who had forced them into this life of hiding.

Muttering to himself, Roshan whispered, "There is no way the Rajs are just letting him maraud freely in his killing spree. They will put a stop to it, won't they? Why wouldn’t they? Hahaha after all, aren’t they as much involved in this mess as we are, haha," Roshan began laughing maniacally.

The travelers exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions shifting from confusion to concern.

Aware of the tension he had created, Roshan quickly composed himself and cleared his throat. "Forgive me, my friends," he stammered, attributing his words to exhaustion. "I haven't been sleeping well lately. It's playing tricks on my mind."

Sensing his need for solitude, Roshan rose from the circle, excusing himself. "I think it's time for me to find some rest," he announced softly, attempting to mask his inner turmoil. The travelers nodded understandingly.

“Good night, Boss.”

“Yeah, you guys too. Good night.”

As Roshan retreated to his designated sleeping area, a canvas tent lined with sparse bedding, he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. Memories flooded his mind—a good bed, the warmth of a fireplace, and a simpler life left behind. Regret lingered in his heart, knowing that he had unwittingly led his men into this mess.

In the stillness of the night, Roshan grappled with his fears and doubts, his mind filled with questions he couldn't answer. How long would they remain hidden? Could they ever truly escape the clutches of their relentless pursuer?

Yet, as despair threatened to consume him, a flicker of resilience ignited within Roshan's spirit. He would not let his weariness and self-doubt erode his determination. These trials would not break him nor his travelers.

With renewed strength, Roshan whispered to himself, “this is all going to be fine, for now I should rest.”

Roshan's eyelids grew heavy as sleep slowly claimed him, pulling him into the embrace of darkness. His body relaxed, and in slumber, his mind drifted away from the troubles that plagued him.

But as the night wore on, a persistent urge stirred within Roshan, an insistent call that cut through the depths of slumber. His eyes fluttered open, a groggy awareness washing over him. He sat up, his senses slowly sharpening, and his gaze scanned the camp.

Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by faint whispers exchanged among the few travelers on night duty. Their watchful eyes caught Roshan's movement, and they nodded in acknowledgment, their expressions masked with quiet vigilance. Roshan returned the nod and, with whispered assurances, signaled his intention to relieve himself to which they responded with a nod.

Stepping away from the camp, Roshan navigated through the darkness, his steps guided by familiarity and instinct. Behind a small elevation not far from the camp, he found a secluded spot. As he relieved himself, a momentary sense of tranquility washed over him, his thoughts briefly occupied with the simple act of bodily release.

However, just as he was about to finish, a sudden flash of light burst forth from behind him, illuminating the surrounding area with an eerie glow. Startled, Roshan turned his head, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes widened in disbelief as he witnessed what followed—an inexplicable bolt of lightning striking the ground, shattering the tranquility of the night.

Though there were clouds clouding the night sky, there were no storm clouds above, no natural explanation for such a phenomenon. Panic clawed its way up Roshan's throat, constricting his voice. "No, no, no, no," he whispered, a sinking feeling settling deep within his heart. Dread coiled around his senses, foreboding filling the air.

With a sense of urgency, Roshan quickly adjusted his clothing and sprinted towards the top of the nearby hill. As he reached its peak, he crouched low, blending into the shadows, his heart pounding in his ears.

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Peering down, his eyes widened with horror at the sight that unfolded before him.The scene that unfolded before him was nothing short of a nightmare. The tranquil haven they had established was now transformed into a fiery abyss, where chaos reigned and screams of terror pierced the darkness.

The air crackled with a morbid energy, and flashes of lightning zapped across the camp, illuminating the macabre tableau below. Roshan's breath caught in his throat as he watched in dreadful fascination. Bolts of electricity danced with deadly intent, leaving devastation in their wake.

Amidst the flashes of light, Roshan caught glimpses of familiar faces, their expressions contorted in pain and fear. Their desperate cries echoed through the night, mingling with the sound of crackling energy and the crackling of flames.

In the midst of the chaos, he noticed a small figure wreathed in elemental energy, their form a blur as they moved with uncanny speed and precision. Lightning arced around them, striking indiscriminately, silencing screams with each deadly impact.

Roshan's heart pounded in his chest, torn between the paralyzing fear, the desire to offer perhaps assistance to his comrades and the burning desire to run away from this sight, but his legs had already given him up. He was stuck there, forced to watch his comrades being silenced.

Crouched on the ground, Roshan willed himself to blend into the shadows, praying to remain unnoticed and forgotten amidst the chaos that had engulfed the camp. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a desperate plea for his concealment to hold.

Gradually, the frenzied storm of violence began to subside, replaced by an eerie calmness that hung in the air like a shroud. Roshan dared to hope that the worst was over. But just as he let out a cautious breath, a sudden movement from the camp caught his attention. A figure darted toward him, their steps fueled by desperation, their eyes wide with terror. Roshan's breath caught in his throat as recognition dawned upon him. It was Aamir, one of his trusted comrades.

Like a flicker of light amidst the darkness, hope flared within Roshan's chest as he saw one of them surviving. But before Aamir could reach safety, a surge of electro-elementalis crackled through the air, transforming the calm into a hellish inferno.

A searing bolt of lightning arced through the night, striking Aamir with unfathomable force. The sheer violence of the impact severed his upper half, snuffing out his life in an instant. Roshan's eyes widened in horror, a gut-wrenching mixture of shock and grief gripping his soul.

In that merciless onslaught, there was no room for mercy or compassion. The attack unleashed upon the camp was a display of pure and unadulterated violence, driven by a singular goal: to bring death upon its victims. Roshan understood all too well that if he were to be noticed, he would become the next target in the crosshairs of this malevolence.

As the clouds gradually shifted, parting to reveal the moon's radiant light, Roshan's gaze fixed upon the source of this unfolding nightmare. The figure stood before him, adorned with an otherworldly presence. Despite their small stature, they exuded an aura of grandeur and mystique. Roshan's mind raced with fragmented memories, recognizing the familiar frame of this mysterious assailant.

Adorning their head were magnificent golden antlers, a striking crown that accentuated their ethereal appearance. Under the gentle glow of the moonlight, one of their arms shimmered with a resplendent golden light, hinting at something beyond that of this continent's comprehension.

The sight of this small figure stirred a wave of conflicted emotions within Roshan, but it paled in comparison to what he felt when their eyes met—a pair of piercing blue eyes that locked onto his own. In that instant, the gaze conveyed a silent and chilling proclamation, a wordless sentence that condemned Roshan to his impending demise.

Fueled by an undeniable desire to survive, Roshan regained control of his legs, mustered his strength, and sprang to his feet. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, he propelled himself forward, his pounding footsteps marking his desperate escape.

“I can’t die here!”

As Roshan sprinted through the darkness, his heart raced in sync with his pounding footsteps. Fear and determination intertwined within him, pushing him to push his limits. Every muscle strained, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he propelled himself further away from the encroaching danger.

The world around him blurred, reduced to mere glimpses of moonlit landscape and the distant echoes of chaos behind. He dared not look back, knowing that any momentary lapse in focus could spell his doom. His only objective was to put as much distance as possible between himself and the relentless pursuer.

The terrain beneath his feet became treacherous, but Roshan pushed through, his senses honed to the task at hand. Branches whipped at his face, scratches and cuts decorating his skin, but he paid them no heed. The pain served as a stark reminder of the dire consequences awaiting him if he faltered.

In the depths of his mind, Roshan replayed the scene he had witnessed, the massacre that had unfolded before his eyes. The memory fueled his determination, stoking a burning resolve to survive, to find a way to somehow turn the tides and reclaim his freedom.

With each stride, Roshan's mind raced, seeking a plan, an escape route that would lead him to safety.

His surroundings appeared unrecognizable, the once-familiar landscape now transformed into an unfathomable labyrinth. However, Roshan adamantly refused to surrender to despair. He clung tenaciously to the flickering ember of hope, allowing it to serve as his guiding light through the abyss.

Minutes stretched into eternity as he ran, hope intermingling with dread in his heart. But that fragile hope began to crumble when a blinding bolt of lightning sliced through the air, crackling dangerously close to his body. In an instant, realization struck him like a physical blow as he saw his own arm severed by the electrifying force.

Agony surged through his entire being, the pain threatening to overwhelm him as fresh blood spilled from the open wound. Momentarily frozen in shock and disbelief, the survival instinct within him quickly reignited. With gritted teeth, he pushed through the searing pain, his mind racing to assess the gravity of his injury and devise a plan to ensure his survival.

Stubborn to the idea of not dying there in the middle of nowhere, Roshan made a resolute decision. As a mage, he realized he had to make a stand, to unleash the full extent of his pranakinesis. Tapping into the depths of his reserves, he channeled his prana, and conjured a torrent of electric energy. Shouting frantically, the words spilled from his lips, "Die!"

With a relentless pace, Roshan unleashed his electrifying elemental assault, but to his dismay, it took less than a minute for his reserves to deplete. Yet, there was no sight or sound to indicate that he had obliterated or even made contact with his relentless pursuer.

An ominous presentiment gripped Roshan's heart, confirming his worst fears as he caught sight of the figure charging towards him. Determined to make a final stand, he raised his hand, summoning the last remaining traces of prana within him to conjure a bolt of lightning. However, before he could release his desperate attack, the oncoming figure delivered a devastating blow.

The punch struck with the force of a charging horse, shattering the bones in Roshan's arm and propelling him backwards. The impact landed squarely on his chest, sending him reeling through the air, his body hurtling into the distance.

Pain seared through Roshan's broken form as he crashed to the ground, the world spinning around him. Gasping for air, he fought to regain his senses, struggling against the overwhelming agony that consumed him. The figure that had dealt the crushing blow loomed over him, his blue eyes looking down mercilessly at him.

"Ethereal... No, Alexe— wait, we can tal—" Roshan's words were abruptly cut off as a devastating punch, delivered with an unsettling casualness, viciously sent him crashing to the ground.

Struggling to regain his breath, Roshan looked up in disbelief, his voice trembling as he attempted to reason with his assailant. "There is nothing to talk about, Roshan. I have come for you, we have come for you," came the chilling response, void of any room for negotiation.

As those words echoed in the air, a chilling realization settled upon him. Like his comrades before him, he knew his fate was sealed. Deep down, Roshan couldn't accept the harsh reality, clinging to a sliver of hope that reality could be altered. But deep down, he understood that hope or denial wouldn't change what was destined to occur.

Death.

***

Bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight, the Rustler stood over what remained of Roshan. Casting a lingering gaze upon the broken figure beneath him, he took a few steps back, distancing himself from “it.”

Casting a pondering glance at his left arm, now bathed in a golden radiance under the moonlit night, the Rustler's gaze lingered upon the bloodstains that marred his once pristine skin. With a futile attempt to cleanse the tainted limb, he wiped it against his shirt, hoping to alleviate the disquieting sight. Yet, his efforts proved fruitless, for the fabric itself had become nearly as saturated with blood as his arm had.

“Truly a mess, isn’t it?”

Yeah. Truly.

“But at least that’s another name off the list.”

“Yes,” the Rustler mumbled almost to himself. “Soon they –every last one of them will all pay for what they did to us.”

“They will, we know they will,” She replied, approaching before reaching her hand to the Rustler’s, "but we should really do something about your clothes, they always end up in messes, how about next time you do it without them on?”

Turning to leave the scene, a smile took shape on the Rustler’s face, “I don’t think I can do that. In any case, I think it’s about time we come home, Ninjara.”