I don't look back.
Branches whip past, Scratching against my armor, catching in my hair. Bean clutches my chest instinctively, a tiny growl slipping out as I leap over a fallen log.
The wind tears at my face as I run—faster than I've ever moved since arriving in Oaissios. The forest blurs around us.
Another boom. Louder. Closer.
The smoke is a dark smudge in the sky, curling above the trees like a claw reaching for the clouds.
No—no, no, no.
The clearing breaks open, and my boots skid against dirt and ash as I slide to a stop. The village is in sight—and it's burning.
I have to find Hayle, and get her and bean away from here.
Roofs collapsed, timber blackened and splintered. The inn is half-gone, a blaze chewing through its second floor. Screams echo between the buildings—scattered, hoarse, and fading. Figures run in panic. Some fall. Some don't get up.
I dart behind a low wall, lowering Bean behind it gently. "Stay here," I whisper. The cub's golden eyes are wide, but it nods once. Brave, despite the fear. I pat bean on the head "Ill make this quick"
[Insight]
The world slows for a breath.
[The Blood Takers. A lower-tier mercenary cult infamous for their brutality and unpredictable raids. Known to torture and kill to force information out of villagers. No formal hierarchy, but they follow strength. They are searching for someone.]
The words vanish. I already know who they're looking for. But their about to be in for a nasty awakening.
My fingers twitch against the sword's grip. The haze of {Bloodlust} still clings to the edge of my mind—distant, but ready. Waiting for permission. I shouldn't hold back but trying a new skill without practice might be too risky.
Hearing screams my attention turns towards the center of the village.
At the center of the village is a massacre in motion. The townsfolk—those who survived the first wave of destruction—are being corralled into a circle.
A woman screams as she's shoved forward, clutching a child to her chest. A man, clearly a blacksmith, lies motionless near the well, throat slit. His hammer still in hand.
A life gone trying to protect others a painful sight.
Four men stand over the villagers. Leather armor patched with blood, jagged weapons stained fresh. One of them laughs, pointing the tip of his spear at a young boy no older than six.
"Tell us where he went," one of them barks, "or we start killing in pairs."
No one speaks.
Godsdamn them. Brave, foolish people. I can't hesitate not now, not Ever again.
The leader lifts his weapon.
I don't think.
I move.
They don't even see me coming. My sword arcs through the smoke like judgment itself. The man closest to the boy falls first, the tip of my blade connecting with his neck sliding downwards. His spine torn open as blood sprays the dirt.
Someone shouts. The leader turns, his face twisted with rage—then confusion.
I step into view, letting the firelight catch on my armor.
"Looking for me?" I say while readying my blade for the next attack
His mouth opens. Too slow.
My blade drives through his gut and out the other side, catching bone. I wrench it free, kicking him aside. Two left. They hesitate. I can see the moment it hits them—I'm not just another villager. Not even close.
"It's — It's him—!"
I don't let him finish.
I bring my sword down this time missing slightly as the blade connects with the mans jaw spashing blood onto the floor.
As he stumbles from the wound, I bring the sword back up from the ground this time piercing through his throat finishing him.
One remains now. He stumbles back, trips over the blacksmith's corpse, begging.
"I-I didn't know! They didn't tell me—please, I was just—just following orders—"
My sword halts an inch from his throat.
I stare looking into his eyes, his body trembling.
I notice that I'm shaking to. Not from fear.
From restraint.
Taking a deep breath I turn towards the villagers.
Then I pivot, bringing my gauntlet down smashing his head into the ground and as he bounces of the floor. He crumples, unconscious.
The villagers stare. Silent. Eyes wide.
I turn, blood painting my armor.
"Is anyone hurt?" I ask with a sharp tone. "Where's the girl I came with?"
They don't respond.
Then a small voice speaks up.
"The... the innkeeper—he's still inside—!"
Without another word, I run.
The door breaks open beneath my boot as I smash into the inn, smoke billowing out like a beast exhaling its final breath.
The heat slams into me—waves of it—blistering, suffocating. The flames lick along the walls and ceiling, chewing through wood and memory alike.
I charge forward through the wreckage searching for Hayle and the innkeeper.
The staircase has half-collapsed, charred planks sagging with each step. I leap the last few, landing hard on the second floor.
A crash echoes from down the hall.
Then—shouting. I can hear the clashing of steel against steel.
No hesitation.
The hallway bends, and I burst into what remains of a room—maybe once the innkeeper's quarters.
It's a battlefield now.
The innkeeper—old, broad-shouldered, limping—stands between Hayle and two Blood Takers. His axe drips blood, his arm trembling. One eye is swollen shut. His chest rises and falls in ragged, labored gasps.
Yet he's still standing.
Hayle lies slumped behind him, back against the wall, a burn across her shoulder. Her bow is broken. Her eyes flicker open as I enter, dazed but aware. A tear trails down her cheek as she grabs her burnt shoulder.