BOOM!
An explosion tore through the horizon, flames sweeping the forest like a violent tsunami.
A Cracking sound pierced the sky like drums on wheels.
The sound of runing animals filtered into the world like a running river.
Treetops snapped and collapsed, consumed by the inferno as fire licked their trunks.
It was horrifying.
At the center of this blazing chaos lay a village—its fate already sealed.
Flames leapt from rooftop to rooftop, devouring homes as villagers ran screaming in terror.
"Get to the bridge!" a voice commanded over the chaos. A man—likely the village chief—stood firm amidst the panic, ushering his people toward the only path of escape.
But as the villagers fled, he turned, staring at the origin of their destruction.
Only a shadow could be seen, towering against the backdrop of fire, distorted by smoke and flame.
It was massive—indescribably so—but the fire distorted the image too much to make out details.
It growled, smoke puffing from its nostrils, gripping a blood-soaked battle axe in one hand.
Its feet rested atop the bodies of fallen villagers, their blood flowing like crimson rivers beneath it.
Then it smiled—an eerie, satisfied grin—and its tongue slowly dragged across its lips.
It had seen a child.
A small girl, trembling behind a crumbling building.
The creature advanced, dragging its axe across the ground with a metallic scrape that chilled the soul.
Ah!
The girl trembled in fear.
She had seen it—seen the beast slaughter those people.
Now it was her turn.
But she didn't move.
Why?
The chief noticed her. Heart racing, he ran, his fear dwarfed by determination.
She couldn't move. Her leg—her left leg—had been sliced. She couldn't stand, let alone run.
The monster loomed closer, and for the first time, its form became clear.
An ogre—but not a common one.
This was a leader. Twice the size of a normal ogre, it radiated authority and bloodlust.
It snarled, lifting its axe with both hands.
The chief pushed his legs harder—he wouldn't let her die.
Not again.
Bang!
He tripped.
His foot caught on something—someone.
A dying woman reached weakly toward the girl, her mouth barely forming words.
"Mi...Mira..." she rasped, blood coating her lips.
The chief struggled to free himself, fighting the dead weight of her body.
Ahhh!
A scream.
He turned.
The beast was already upon her.
The axe rose high.
"No!"
Slash!
But the axe didn't fall on the girl.
The ogre stopped mid-swing.
Its grip loosened. The axe tumbled to the ground with a heavy thud.
Then—Bang!
The creature fell, collapsing like a toppled statue.
Dead.
Thud.
Standing on top of its corpse was a figure shrouded in mystery, cloaked in black. The flames framed him like a painting, the dagger in his hand gleaming in the flickering light.
The chief stared, stunned.
The girl winced, clutching her damaged leg as pain surged through her small body.
The figure leapt down, landing gently before her.
She tried to back away, unsure whether to fear him.
He hesitated.
Then slowly, he stretched out a hand.
She looked at it—no claws, no blood. Just a steady, calm gesture.
Cautiously, she reached out.
He gently grasped her hand and placed his other hand on her wound.
"Heal."
A soft, green glow surrounded her body. She flinched, eyes shutting tight, but the warmth of the light eased her pain.
"You're alright now," he said softly, patting her head.
Her leg—it had healed completely. The wound vanished as though it had never been there.
She stared at it in disbelief.
The chief looked on, speechless.
The figure turned to the wounded woman and the chief. The girl wobbled to her feet and hobbled after him.
"Mama!" she cried, rushing to the woman's side.
The chief had already stepped back, giving them space.
Once again, the figure knelt, performing the same spell.
Green light shimmered.
The woman gasped, bolting upright and inspecting her healed body with disbelief. Her daughter threw herself into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
The figure smiled faintly, then turned to the chief.
But the chief reached out, stopping him.
"My people…" he said, voice raw.
"Please... save them..." He pointed toward the road leading to the bridge.
The figure's gaze followed. Ogre tracks lined the path.
They had fled that way—but they hadn't gone alone.
Without a word, the figure stood straight.
He prepared to run—
Tug.
His cloak jerked back.
He looked down.
The little girl held onto it tightly, eyes wide with fear.
She trembled, voice barely a whisper.
"Please…"
He blinked.
"Please… come back alive," she said, tears brimming in her eyes.
For a moment, her form shimmered in his mind—her image replaced by that of a young boy with brown hair, smiling as he said the same thing.
He reached out and tapped her on the head. She winced at the light touch.
"Don't worry," he said gently. "I won't get hurt."
"And I promise to come back."
"Not just me," he added, his voice firm. "I'll bring the others back too."
The chief watched silently, leaning on a staff as the woman helped him stand.
He stepped forward and bowed.
The woman followed suit.
"Please… our lives depend on you."
"Please save us!" the chief cried out.
The figure smirked, then looked to the girl, who now stared at him with the gaze of someone seeing a hero.
He turned and leapt.
With one bound, he cleared the broken village fence.
Ogres emerged from the forest.
Slash!
One down.
Slash!
Another.
Each strike of his blade was instant and final.
He landed silently, his cloak now stained at the edges with ogre blood.
He shook it once, flinging the blood onto the corpses.
"Pathetic," he muttered.
But he wasn't surprised.
It had always been like this.
He turned his gaze to the forest. Smoke curled toward the sky, fire still burning on the horizon.
He dropped the dagger and drew his sword.
Its edge glinted like moonlight.
Then he ran.
Into the burning forest, toward the bridge, toward fate.