The bright, scorching sun beat down mercilessly on the lone figure laboring in the garden. Each swing of his farming tool was accompanied by a grunt, a rhythm of toil and endurance beneath the unrelenting heat. Sweat stung his eyes, and when he finally stopped, he wiped the moisture from his brow with a calloused hand and shuffled over to the moss-covered stone wall that framed the garden's edge.
Dropping onto the cool stone, he exhaled deeply, a mix of relief and quiet pride washing over him. This patch of earth—once a tangle of jagged rocks and hardened soil, scarred by years of heavy travel through the forest—had transformed under his care into a small oasis of life. His cracked lips barely tasted the faint sweetness of fresh bread drifting from the small house nearby; the dry air and dust still clung stubbornly to his senses.
Sweat dripped down his amber beard, mingling with dirt and weariness. His long hair, once tightly bound in a bun, had loosened into tangled strands that fell unevenly over his shoulders. He glanced toward an untouched patch of soil beyond the garden, dread prickling at his gut. The thought of starting all over again was heavy and disheartening—but then, a simple joy welled up inside him, bright and fierce, chasing the shadow away.
He smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin, and started walking toward the house, whistling a tune from a distant past. Memories, bittersweet and tender, flooded his mind—filling him with a warmth that made his grin grow into a full smile.
Then, like a sudden chill running through his bones, a sense of danger snapped him back to the present. He spun around.
Three figures stood before him, each radiating a solemn and formidable presence. A white-furred Leonoid with piercing blue eyes gripped a gilded glaive, his golden mane braided with rings that gleamed in the sun. Beside him, a dark-skinned human man clad in polished armor held his glowing hands aloft, arcane runes swirling around his fingers. Towering over them both was an enormous Elofolk, his shield and mace—wreathed in spikes and jagged metal—ready for battle. All three wore shimmering golden armor and bore holy symbols around their necks.
Behind them, a colossal armored figure loomed, adorned with flickering candles on shoulders and back. Their face was hidden behind an ornate death-mask helmet, shrouded by a dark hood. In their massive hands rested a heavy tome, ancient and powerful.
The man's heart hammered in his chest. They were not here to bless or preach. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end. He glanced toward the house, calculating the distance in desperate hope. It clicked—he wouldn't reach her in time. He needed to warn her.
Summoning every ounce of courage, his voice rang out steady and serious, "What is it that you want? Why have you come here?!"
No answer came at first, only silence. Then the armored giant's voice boomed, low and authoritative: "We have come to deal with a dark, vile creature born from the bowels of hell itself—an evil that matches your description."
The Leonoid gripped his glaive tightly and crouched into an attacking stance, the weapon held firmly before him. The Elofolk raised his shield protectively. The human's hands glowed brighter, runes spinning faster.
The man's chest tightened. This was a fight for survival.
"Please, don't do this," he pleaded, desperation sharpening his words. "I have done nothing wrong, nor do I intend to—"
A sudden burst of blinding light erupted behind the group, slicing through the midday glare. The brilliance stretched wide, pausing just feet beyond the man, then vanished as quickly as it had come. The three warriors blinked, exchanging confused glances before turning to the armored giant for guidance.
"This one is far stronger than the last we faced," the giant said grimly. "Do not fear. We carry the holy light and the faith of the Most High. He does not stand a chance."
The man's breath hitched as he summoned a medium-sized blast of force energy, slamming it against the Elofolk's shield and pushing it backward. The Leonoid charged, leaping through the air with deadly intent.
The man rolled left, steadying himself on his right leg, then countered with a solid right hook to the Leonoid's cheek. The sharp impact sent a jolt through both men. He followed with a left knee aimed at the chin, but the Leonoid dodged deftly, swinging his glaive overhead in a brutal arc.
Pain flared as the blade slashed across the man's chest. He jumped back, gripping the wound, relief washing over him that it wasn't deeper.
Suddenly, fire exploded from the human's hands, burning his left arm. He dropped his arm to clutch the searing flesh, rolling into a kneeling position. The caster's eyes locked onto him, preparing another spell.
The Leonoid attacked again, swinging in a fierce cross and reverse motion. The man twisted and rolled on the ground, barely escaping the deadly strikes.
The earth trembled beneath them. The Leonoid grinned, flipping backward as the Elofolk surged forward with his massive mace.
The man threw himself aside just in time—the heavy weapon crashed into the ground where he'd been seconds before, leaving a deep dent.
Trying to steady his breath, another firebolt scorched down his left side and leg. He collapsed to the earth, gasping for air.
When he tried to rise, the Leonoid's glaive cut across his face, carving a long gash from temple to chin. Blood mixed with sweat and dirt, stinging his eyes and mouth.
Pain seared through his body, a chaotic symphony of agony and adrenaline that rattled his mind. But he forced himself to stillness, drawing a deep, steadying breath.
His fingers clawed into a fistful of dirt, flinging it into the Leonoid's eyes. The sudden blindness gave him a chance—he delivered a powerful uppercut, sending the Leonoid flying backward.
The glaive slipped from the Leonoid's hand, but the man spun swiftly, catching it midair and leaping toward the Elofolk.
The massive warrior was taken aback by the man's sudden resurgence, battered and bleeding though he was. He raised his shield, bracing for the relentless assault.
The human began weaving a more potent spell, hands glowing fiercely.
But the man pressed on, striking with a speed and ferocity that seemed impossible given his wounds. The Elofolk's shield was knocked aside.
Face to face now, the Elofolk saw the gash on the man's face healing before his eyes, the burns fading. The man's expression was hollow, focused—a mask of cold determination.
He swung overhead, but the glaive was pulled from his grasp at the last second, flying back to the Leonoid's side.
With a triumphant grin, the Leonoid pointed behind the man. Turning, the man was met with a brutal headbutt from the Elofolk, shattering his nose. Pain exploded through his face as he clutched it with one hand.
"Sorry for this," he whispered, raising his other arm.
A ring of fire and molten rock erupted beneath the Elofolk in a roaring blaze.
The great warrior screamed in agony.
The Leonoid lunged, slashing the man across the back. He crumpled to the ground, the crushing weight of defeat pressing down on his heart.
The fire died, leaving the Elofolk scorched and smoking. He slammed his shield into the man's back again, driving him to the dirt.
"BLASTED DEMON!" the Elofolk roared. "DO YOU THINK YOUR POWER IS STRONG ENOUGH TO DEFEAT THE HIGH ONE'S CHOSEN KNIGHTS?!"
"Be calm, Sir Richard," the armored giant said, stepping forward with calm authority. "Do not let this dark creature drag you into rage. Its demonic power is nothing compared to those who hold faith in the Most High."
"Yes, Grandmaster Talon," Sir Richard replied.
Talon knelt and grasped the man's face, lifting it so their eyes met. For a brief moment, the man saw past the death mask into the soul beneath—a storm of rage and pride.
With a chilling cheerfulness, Talon declared, "This is one of the Dark Lord's lieutenants. You have done well to bring this foul creature to justice."
He dropped the man unceremoniously and turned to the human.
"Sir Stonewall, hold this demon while I prepare the banishment."
Stonewall bowed, dispelling the glowing runes around his hands. "Yes, Grandmaster Talon."
Stonewall twisted his wrists, tightening invisible bonds around the man. The man gasped, struggling against the bindings, desperation thick in his voice.
"You're making a grave mistake," he pleaded. "I'm no demon, nor a lieutenant of the Dark Lord. I'm a retired soldier from the Western Wars. Don't do this."
"Do not listen to the lies of this evil thing," Talon commanded, turning to the Leonoid. "Sir Abdalla, silence this creature."
"It would be an honor, Grandmaster," Abdalla said, pressing his claws firmly against the man's mouth, digging into his cheeks.
The man struggled, but it was useless.
Talon flipped through the massive tome, stopping on a page with a flourish that blocked Stonewall's view.
Raising his hand, Talon intoned, "The spell is ready. Step back."
He placed his heavy metal hand on the man's face and recited:
"Oh He Who Is Most High, our Father and Creator, banish this dark devil back to the depths of hell from which he was born—
from the vile pits where accursed monsters dwell in the Dark Lord's domain, where his minions breed uncontrollably. Bless us, your mortals, who do the work you have laid before us. We thank you for your love and blessings to come."
With a searing flash, the man vanished, leaving only the crushed grass behind.
The four holy warriors bowed their heads in silent prayer—until a small rock suddenly struck them.
They turned to see a boy and a girl yelling, fury and grief burning in their voices.
"You monsters! He wasn't a demon!" the girl cried. "How dare you come to my farm and gang up on him like that?" the boy shouted.
A woman rushed out, clasping their mouths to silence them. "Hush now. You don't know who you speak to," she whispered fiercely.
Another older woman fell to her knees, hands raised in despair.
The knights approached. The mother's voice trembled as she pleaded, "Please, I'm sorry. We meant no offense. I'll take any punishment, but please don't hurt my children."
Talon grabbed hold of the woman's face, her fear trembled throughout her body. Talon peered into her eyes, through the tears that built.
Talon studied her for a long moment. "She is human. Not a demon," he said, releasing her.
Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, "Thank you, my lord. May the gods bless the holy—"
But Talon's gaze hardened as he turned to the children.
"But it appears the demon has lain with this woman, siring half-bred spawns of evil. See how they roar and attack those who do the Most High's work. For this, they must be killed—along with their mother and anyone who associates with a devil."
The women's screams filled the air—anguish and horror mingled in every sound.
Sir Abdalla and Sir Richard followed behind the women as they ran toward the house.
Stonewall stepped forward, voice low and steady. "Grandmaster, they are not half-breeds, no more than unruly children. If that man was truly a demon, my fire would not have harmed him."
"Do you question the holy work of He Who Is Most High?" Talon snapped.
"No, Grandmaster. I only seek to better understand—"
"Then do the work he has laid before you, and do not question him again!" Talon barked.
Collecting himself, Talon added coldly, "I do not speak out of anger, but out of concern for your faith's foundation. Repent your doubts."
Humming the same mournful tune as the man, Talon approached the small house. He laid his hand on the blockade set by Abdalla and Richard and ignited it, flames roaring to life.
He turned and led the three holy warriors down the road.
The fire climbed high, smoke billowing into the once-clear sky. The screams and cries from the burning house echoed, a haunting dirge to a lost innocence.