Thick clouds of smoke blackened the street.

“Fire, fire, fire” A local boy ran around shouting the obvious.

There was chaos half the neighbourhood was ablaze. The few mages were casting a rain spell to control the fires, others joined the line passing the water buckets from one man to the other.

Johna, however, despite the thick smoke and danger was running to the epicentre of the blaze. He was worried sick, a terrible feeling was bugging him. He ran pressing a damp cloth to his face, he was almost there. He looked for the house but there were only charred wood and smouldering debris. It had burned down completely.

He coughed at the acrid smoke. He knew it was foolish of him to be here. His friends had obviously evacuated and were helping to put the fires somewhere. Yet still, the worry didn’t leave him. He had to be sure. Johna kicked at the burned piece of what once was a rafter, a thing resembling a hand poked out. It was blackened and burnt to a crisp, barely recognisable as a hand. He pulled, revealing the charred corpse of his friend. The world began to spin, and he felt sick. Hurriedly he began to look between the charred remains of the house.

“Why, why?” Various questions invaded his mind. Why didn't they leave the burning house?

He found his other friend, also burnt to a crisp. He continued looking in wild abandon.

“Clarrissa!” He kicked the hot coals away. “Clarrissa!”

Something terrible must have happened. Then he remembered that his party were expecting some guests. Johna, however, couldn't attend, he was looking after his sick mother today. He looked at the remains, Mateo’s armour had a hole in it. He had a hunch of what had happened. Were his other friends alive? Still, chasing the perpetrators?

He looked for clues but nothing could be found, the fire destroyed it. So he searched the street for a sign of fighting, a sign of blood. And there it was, a dried droplet of crimson, and then another. Foe or friend he didn’t know but regardless he followed the trail.

The blood trail was not easy to follow and he had to backtrack multiple times. The dim light of the lantern was of little help to dispel the darkness of the night. Regardless, he was confident in his tracking abilities, Clarrissa had taught him well.

In the end, the trail ended at the inn deep inside the beastkin district.

“Open up!” He banged the door demanding entry.

He kept at it drawing attention. They will not be able to ignore him for long. Finally, he was let in by an annoyed innkeeper. Johna didn't even bother interrogating the man, he would lie anyway. Instead, he threatened the innkeeper with a loaded crossbow.

“Show me your rooms. All of them.”

“Thug! Get out!” The innkeeper protested.

Johna pointed the crossbow right to inn keeper’s head. “I’m not here to play games, you understand?”

The man’s face paled. “You won’t get away with this.”

They went from room to room bothering the residents. Anyway, they weren’t sleeping, not after all the noise, Johna had made. The residents, of course, were angered by a hostile man invading their privacy. No one liked to meet a crossbow face first just as they opened the door. The men and women he questioned were either oblivious or too terrified to give honest answers. But in the end, the people here were just that, normal people. He didn’t find the trouble he was looking for.

“Fuck!” Johna swore.

If there were enemies here they would have made a move. Despite that, he kept checking the rooms hoping to find anything or anyone out of place. One room, the largest one here was suspicious. The floorboards were still damp and the air smelled of soap.

“Why is it so clean?”

“This is my best room. Of course, we clean it regularly.” The innkeeper replied flatly.

“I know you are hiding something!”

“What would I hide?”

Johna sighted. He was sure the blood trail ended here. But whoever it was were long gone. He showed the innkeeper out of the way and dashed outside.

“I will report you, you bastard!” The innkeeper grumbled angrily before letting out a sigh of relief. “Another crazy psycho tried to kill me…” He stood up fixing his wrinkled sleepwear. “Fuck this! I’m not cut for shit like this.” He sighed again.

…

With a new day came new challenges, Grey looked again at the poor scribble and sighted. Was this supposed to be a map? It was so bad he couldn't tell up from the bottom, but then again, he wasn’t good at reading maps. He headed in the rough direction where the bandit camp was supposed to be; a quest he had picked up from the Guild. It was somewhere deep in the forest. It was a bit odd, why did they make a camp so far away from any road? And how about the monsters? A lot of things weren't adding up.

Anyways, this wasn’t something he could refuse as a ‘peacekeeper’. Apparently, quite a few adventurers went missing in this area and only recently a scout reported a wooden camp somewhere nearby. If only that scout was good at drawing maps. Grey crumpled up the ‘map’ and threw it away. If there were bandits he will stumble upon their tracks sooner or later.

Grey sniffed the air for scents. If he was lucky there will be a snack or two within the bandit camp. He began to fantasize about the wild bandit woman. Rough and feral, her meat flavoured by the forest bounty, her juices full of zest and vigour only a hard life of wildlands could provide.

He brushed the dripping saliva from his chin. The area seemed familiar, and there were scents of monsters and something else, then he remembered about the green men he had eaten. It was their smell which was the most powerful in the current fragrance wafting from the forest growth.

Grey frowned recalling their taste, his dreams about pleasantly chewy bandit women – shattered.

Anyways, he knew where he was heading and surely enough he found himself peeking out of behind the tree into the clearing. Indeed there was the camp, no, it was an encampment. A wooden palisade surrounded its perimeter, there was even a watchtower. All in all not bad for a bunch of bandits if they were bandits at all.

Various mixed scents lingered in the air, the dominant one being that of an ork. Grey put one and two together, this was a raid party. Likely attracted by the upcoming monster incursion. They are obviously hoping to invade the city just after it will be weakened by the monsters.

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“Should I go back and report this?” Grey thought about it for a moment. “Nah.”

Instead, he started to sprint towards the encampment. A panicked ork was shouting something. Grey didn’t bother to listen, instead, he smashed his heavy body into the wall. The wood creaked and gave way to a shower of splinters. How did they avoid apex monsters here with such shoddy construction was a mystery.

Grey threw his spear at the nearest ork, reclaimed it quickly and skewered another green bastard. Orks were still dumbfounded being caught unaware. Grey laughed making quick work of two others. A battle ensued. He fought like a wild beast, pulling no punches. His spear thrusts had grown more precise and with his strength, one jab was enough to kill his opponent.

Enraged orks charged him one after the other without plan or organisation. They too fought like wild beats. Unfortunately for them, Grey was stronger. In a matter of minutes, he was standing in a pool of blood surrounded by corpses. The enemies still coming to him, surprisingly, were now weaker and smaller in stature. There were even hints of fear and doubt in their eyes.

“Aww, did I take all you warriors out?” He mocked. “Too bad.” He killed another wave just as quickly.

There was only fear now.

Or so he thought. A green orb of light hit him square in the chest. His flesh began to bubble and melt. Whatever it was – it was painful. Grey gritted his teeth not to scream in pain, unwilling to give his enemy that satisfaction. He looked hurriedly for whoever did this to him.

Of course, there had to be a magic caster! A shaman was standing behind a gathering of orks with a bone staff in their hands. Grey couldn't tell if that was a woman or a man behind all the bone accessories and piercings. Another green orb was already forming at the tip of the staff.

“No, you don’t!” Grey charged toward the shaman.

The scrawny orks jumped between the Grey and their shaman, blocking Grey’s path. He was able to smash through the wooden palisade a few ork kids weren’t going to stop him.

They didn’t need to stop him, only to slow him down as another orb whirled towards Grey.

“Fuck!” He swore hurriedly casting his magic shield.

The green orb, like water, splattered on the hexagonal magic protection Grey had deployed splashing the nearby orks with the remains of a countered spell. A cacophony of screams filled the camp. The orks grabbed for their faces, chests and arms, clutching their melting flesh.

Grey scowled at the shaman and the weakness of these orks. The spell was disrupted, at worst the damage they received was only on a surface level, not worse than a bad burn, these orks were overreacting. The shaman was preparing another charge already. Grey kicked at the group crowding him, it was a shame he couldn't deploy his magic shield and run at the same time. Also, he didn’t want to waste his precious mana, so he threw his trusty spear at the shaman.

The green orb fizzled out with the wave of the staff and another spell took its place. A gust of wind blew past the shaman knocking the spear off course.

“Bastard!” Grey cursed him.

He had missed but managed to get closer to the shaman. The few remaining orks were laying on the ground injured or too afraid to get in Grey’s way. He continued his sprint. However, Grey was irked by how quickly this shaman was able to cast his spells. In a matter of seconds, he will be hit by another flesh-melting orb if he does not stop and deploy his shield. He couldn’t allow a battle of attrition to take place. What if the shaman had a mana potion or other trump card?

“Should I evaporate him with my blast?” Grey wondered out loud.

An orb was already flying towards him. Grey grabbed a nearby laying ork, he was lucky to kick this one here previously. The orb splashed on the ork’s already battered body, flesh dripped like viscous oil exposing the ribcage. What a nasty spell.

Grey didn’t want to empty his mana core just yet, not then there were other options. So he dropped the melting corpse and began to run again. He was close to the shaman but he won't be close enough. Unwilling to stop and cast a magic shield Grey took a risk playing a dodgy gambit. He ripped out the half-molten bone plate out of his chest, a part of his body, blood oozed out of the wound, and then he flung it at the shaman.

The plate spun in the air like a frisbee spraying the remaining blood and molten flesh off its surface. It didn't hit the shaman but it did hit his staff at the last moment knocking it sideways. The orb flew up into the air completely off course.

The shaman shouted one or the other profanity at Grey right before the fist collided with the shaman’s skull helmet. The helmet shattered but somehow the shaman was alright.

“What?!” Grey didn’t expect them to survive the blow.

Then he realised that this foul green thing has had casted an enchantment of sorts. Their skin, even if still green had the look of tree bark. And judging by the fact that there wasn't even a bruise on the shaman’s face it was a sturdy enhancement. By the way, since the skull helmet was destroyed it was clear the shaman was a woman. A very old and ugly woman. But a mage was a mage, and her flesh will give him mana.

Also, enchantment or not, Grey had ways to punch through such things. So he threw another blow at her face. The woman was a sturdy one and weathered it. She grasped at Grey’s arm with both of her hands. An extreme pain shot up from where she was touching. It felt like burning.

“Withering touch!” She shouted.

Grey recoiled from the shaman looking at his arm. It wasn’t withered, the imprint of the shaman’s palms was burned into his flesh. It was more painful than damaging.

Using the time Grey gave her, the shaman distanced herself once again and cast another spell. Grey expected another flesh-melting ball but instead, her bone staff crumbled in her hands leaving only dust. All her bone accessories followed suit. He looked at the event dumbfounded. Did her equipment fail from strain, can it happen, was he really this lucky? – of course, he wasn’t.

The shaman’s skin changed colour to white. The wrinkles disappeared and it was smooth and shiny, she looked like a porcelain doll. Even pretty for an ork. Grey wasn’t here to gawk at the transformation, so he kicked at the shaman trying to shatter her ribs. She took the blow and slid back a few metres, her feet firmly planted on the ground.

Yeah, there was no damage. And yeah this was a mistake. Mages weren't melee fighters, so she wasn’t going to jump at him for a brawl; she turned and began to run.

“Come back!” Grey chased after the shaman.

Of course, he was quicker than her. But then he hit her from the back she would just brush off the blow and continue running. The cat and mouse game continued for a while. They were already out of the camp and close to the forest. He should have grasped her into a bind from the beginning, but then again, she had that Withering Touch.

Anyway, it was clear she was aiming for the forest and Grey could not allow her to escape, not after all the foul things she did to him. So he jumped on top of her, knocking her down. She tried to crawl away in a rush, but her attempts were futile. Yes, this was the way to do it – to catch and bind the prey. While on her belly she couldn’t reach for Grey easily with her hands. This didn’t mean she didn't try, each time her fingers found even a patch of his flesh, they burned it to a crisp.

Grey clutched his hands together and began hitting the back of her head, again and again. This enchantment of hers was stupidly powerful. Well, he had her bound and could wait for it to expire, but this would mean she was out of mana and he kinda needed that. Firstly to heal his destroyed chest and then to recover the mana he had spent for the magic shield. It was unlikely she will have enough juice for both so he had to hurry.

Grey gritted his teeth ignoring the pain from Withering Touch and kept pummeling the shaman. There was only so much punishment the enchantment could take and with the latest blow, her head literally shattered into a hundred fragments. With the ork dead the skin lost its porcelain look returning to wrinkled green leather.

“Finally!” Grey shook his numb fingers, it had felt like he was hitting a rock.

Then he bit down into the shaman engorging himself. The meal was unpleasant and hardly worth the work. She was very chewy and there was almost no mana left in her blood. Usually, after the meal, his wounds would heal, but this time only his chest was repaired, and only slightly. At least he was no longer bleeding.

Grey let out his iconic sigh filled with disappointment. There were no juicy bandit women to engorge upon, only pain and hardship. Attacking this camp was a huge mistake, now he understands this.

He returned to camp. Worst comes to worst he can still feed on dead orks, which should help him heal. He did just so. He tried to eat only the women as his palate demanded, but it was hard to tell the difference; the two sexes didn't smell all too different and he didn’t want to bother feeling for their bits under the loincloth. It was gamey but filling and despite all that only his chest had healed, except for spots inflicted with Withering Touch. Those refused to mend.

He would try to eat some more but he was already full. Instead, he decided to inspect the abandoned encampment, after all, the camp was littered with ork tents presumably filled with plunder. The best stuff should be in the biggest tent, so Grey-headed right there.