The creature let out a scream of agony as Tharos plunged his dagger into its neck. Its dying cries resembled those of a banshee, and its wolf-like jaws snapped at Tharos in a futile attempt to harm him. Tharos continued to drive the dagger deeper into the creature’s thick hide, causing black blood to spray out and cover both him and the stone road beneath them. The creature’s form contorted, a grotesque mix of a wolf and a deformed human. It writhed in its final moments before finally succumbing to death and collapsing to the ground. Tharos pushed the creature’s body away, cleaned himself off, and retrieved the dagger still lodged in its throat.
As he withdrew the dagger, a sizzling sound could be heard as the blade began to rust and crumble into dust. Tharos’ expression twisted into a faint, bitter smile as he wiped the blood off himself. The sensation of the hot, oily blood on his fingers was unpleasant. His sleeves and arm greaves emitted a faint sizzling noise and a strong smell of rust. The blood of these creatures could easily corrode metal or stone, but had difficulty affecting materials like wood, cotton, and silk that made up his clothing. Tharos had a theory that the blood only affected non-living materials, supported by the evidence of his broken bow, which remained intact except for the metal arrowheads. It was just a theory for now, but one with some backing evidence, as he observed the state of his bow in pieces.
The smell of rust reminded him of a visit to a dwarf city on Sky Blood Mountain, where he met a dwarven forge Master. He watched in awe as the forge Master skillfully shaped metals like clay. Tharos, in his youth, asked the forge Master to teach him, but the response and subsequent events were hazy in his memory. The phrase “diplomatic incident” was mentioned in the king’s chamber after the incident. The dwarfs were traditional and reluctant to share their secrets with outsiders. Despite the social faux pas, Tharos fondly remembered the event.
After cleaning off the blood from his battle-worn body, Tharos noticed that his Armor had acquired new dents and cuts, which were beginning to rust. His once-tattered cloak now resembled more of a rag than a garment. With his amber eyes scanning the scene of destruction around him, he observed the twisted bodies of various creatures, along with a gruesome display of blood, organs, and limbs. The stonework surrounding him also bore signs of the savage battle, including pieces of his own flesh, including his left arm still clutching his deteriorating shield.
He paused for a moment to realize that he had lost his left arm in the midst of the fighting, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. Losing limbs and body parts was a common occurrence for him, so he considered it a minor inconvenience. As he picked up his left arm from the ground and reattached it to his elbow, he noticed small strings of flesh resembling wriggling worms. The muscle fibers and blood vessels began to knit themselves back together, causing a stinging sensation in his arm. Tharos grimaced as fresh blood flowed back into his limb, gradually restoring its vitality. After a few moments of silence, the sensation subsided, and Tharos felt the life returning to his arm. He flexed his hand and fingers, feeling the renewed strength coursing through them. With a slight creaking and cracking of bones, he formed a fist with his left hand.
Tharos would walk away from the latest battle scene and resume his daily patrol. It had been a month since the sorcerer tower explosion, and the situation had deteriorated. The explosion not only destroyed the city’s magical defenses but also damaged the city’s ley lines irreversibly. In response to this, twisted creatures began appearing more frequently, emerging from the undercity and catacombs.
To add to the already dire situation, the seal that had been containing the creature within the city was gradually weakening. It wouldn’t be long before it broke free. Tharos estimated that it would happen within the next 6 months to a year, but he knew that this was a hopeful and optimistic guess at best. He sensed that time was running out, like an hourglass with sand slipping away to its inevitable end. However, there was a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness – the seal that had kept him imprisoned in the city was also weakening. He could feel the weight slowly lifting off his shoulders. Soon, he would be free to leave the city, venture beyond its crumbling walls, traverse the yellow sands, explore distant lands unseen by mortal eyes, and reclaim his lost powers.
A selfish thought had been nagging at Tharos’ mind during the past few days since learning this information. What was his motivation to care about the current era and its people? Why should he bother protecting individuals he didn’t know or who would be insignificant in his eternal existence? The creature may cause destruction and chaos, potentially wiping out civilizations before being stopped by a hero or divine intervention. But in the end, Tharos would remain unchanged and timeless, standing as he always has for what felt like countless centuries. However, such thoughts didn’t sit well with him. He felt it was a betrayal of something from long ago, something important that he had forgotten. He shook his head in frustration, his messy black hair flicking away the tiny snowflakes resting gently on his head. Even if he stayed to fight the creature, with his powers slowly returning and the magical items stored in the archives, would it be enough to win?
I’m not sure if my powers would even work on the creature, let alone harm it. I’m neither a mage nor a user of Chi arts.”
“It required the most powerful sorcerers of that time to restrain that entity, so what hope do I have?“
As he climbed on top of an abandoned house to survey the city, he noticed movement in the distance outside the city. As he focused his eyes, he saw a large number of massive wagons being pulled by horses and slaves, accompanied by heavily armored men armed with axes, spears, and swords. The treasure hunters had returned, this time with a small army in tow. Tharos realized they were serious and determined to claim their prize. Gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, a bitter smile crossed his face.
“Let the Hunt begin.“
