The creature let out a loud scream of agony that threatened to deafen his ears and burst his eardrums wide as he plunged his dagger deep into its neck. Its dying cries resembled those of a howling banshee, and its wolf-like jaws snapped at Tharos in a futile attempt to harm him, although it couldn’t bite into him. Just being this close to it made him feel ill as its breath smelled like death, and its drool was just as foul. He continued to drive the dagger deeper into the creature’s thick hide with all his might, 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. Just looking at it made him feel a certain level of revulsion he hadn’t felt in a while. Seeing the human form being twisted like this disgusted him to no end. As the creature writhed in pain and desperation in its final moments before finally succumbing to death and collapsing to the ground, Tharos pushed the creature’s body away and watched it land lifelessly with a small thud on the stone road in front of him. As he got up, cleaned himself off, and started to retrieve the dagger that was still lodged in its throat, he heard a faint hissing sound.
Not this again, he thought to himself as he heard yet another tired sigh escape his lips. This was becoming a rather common occurrence in these long days and nights.
As he withdrew the dagger, a sizzling sound could be heard from the blade as it 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 its hot and oily blood on his fingers was unpleasant, to say the least. 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. He had a theory that the blood only affected non-living materials, materials that were once alive or came from something that was alive. This theory was supported by the evidence of his broken bow, which remained intact except for the metal arrowheads, which upon impact of these creatures were disintegrating into rust. 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 also reminded him of a visit to a dwarf city in Sky Blood Mountain, where he met a dwarven forge master. He watched in awe as the forge master skilfully 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, he remembered this event rather fondly, and despite what had happened, he was still allowed back at Sky Blood Mountain.
I wonder if There are any dwarfs still up there at Sky Blood Mountain. Probably not.
Sky-Blood Mountain was located in one of the few mountain ranges that were close to Zarbar, before reaching the high northern mountains of Aria. If there were any Dwarfs still around in the area, they would have come, if not to figure out what happened to the people here, then at least to loot the many treasures held within the city. But there were no signs that any Dwarfs came, neither to save anyone nor to line their deep pockets.
After cleaning the blood off his battle-worn body and letting that thought set in, he noticed that his armour 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, with his left arm still clutching his deteriorating shield.
He paused for a moment to realise 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 fibres and blood vessels began to knit themselves back together, causing a stinging sensation in his arm. He grimaced as fresh blood flowed back into his limb, gradually restoring its vitality. After a few moments of silence, the sensation subsided, and he 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.
As he walked away from the latest battle scene and resumed 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 defences but also irreversibly damaged the city’s ley lines. In response to this, twisted creatures began appearing more frequently, emerging from the under city and catacombs. To compound 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 six 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 simply kept him imprisoned in the city and cut him off from his powers 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 maybe, with some luck, figure out the answers to questions that now plagued his heart.
However, a selfish thought had been nagging and worming its way into his head 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 civilisations 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 skilled in the arts of magic 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?
While Tharos was at his peak, he could do many things that maybe only some of the most skilled or advanced mages or chi art practitioners could pull off. However He accomplished these feats with the same amount of effort one puts into breathing, as for him, these feats were as easy as breathing to him. He could read the hearts of men like they were an open book. He could leap and soar over buildings, traverse great distances as if carried by great wings, move things with his mind, he would bring form to the immaterial, He could feel, touch, and even taste the ebbs and flow of life, and sometimes even see brief flashes of the future. While these advantages gave him an edge over others many times, not just in contests requiring his skill with a blade or in rhetoric and debate, but in almost every aspect of life up until this point, he didn’t think it would help him much in the great trial that lay ahead of him, even if he did possess all that he once had. At this present moment, even though he could feel his powers slowly returning to him, it felt weak and lesser than it once was, almost like when he was a child learning how to walk and first mastering his gifts. It was akin to a painter regaining their sight or a composer regaining their hearing after being blind or deaf. However, it wasn’t quite the same; it was like being reduced to a flickering candle when you once were a raging bonfire. For what was once lost can’t be regained, no matter if you get it back in one form or another.
As he climbed on top of an abandoned house to survey the city, he noticed movement in the distance outside the city. It looked like a massive dust cloud; however, this dust cloud ever so often would gleam and glimmer with the shine and sparkle of metal. As he focused his eyes, he started to see what was a large number of massive wagons being pulled by horses and slaves, accompanied by heavily armoured men armed with a wide assortment of blades, pole arms, and blunted weapons. The treasure hunters had returned, this time with a small army in tow. He realised that this time they were serious and determined to claim their prize, whatever it may be. Gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, a bitter smile crossed his face. Of course, this would happen, knowing his luck. Not only would he have to deal with the twisted creatures that sprung out of the city like weeds beneath the city, but now he also had to contend with a small army converging just outside the city gates. Well, at this point, he had already dedicated himself this far, why not push it a little further? As he looked on in horror at the scene unfolding before him, a single thought echoed in his mind.
Let the Hunt begin.
