I break through the dense brush to reveal a valley filled with ferns, mosses, and the occasional rock. Turning back, my mind is occupied by how Sinscreak so quickly falls to a grassland region. The change is drastic and almost immediate, from mud and swamp to grass and dirt.
Beside me, Blake takes a moment to rest on the grassy floor, falling onto her back with a relieved sigh now that we are out of the mud.
Jostling my head, I stride onward, my eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger, and I find some. In the distance, tiny colors move underneath my sight of chains. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a scope from a broken lever action and raise it to my eyes. The dusty lens doesn't reveal much to me other than my eyes hold true, the figures slightly larger in sight.
"Shit. Be right back, Blake. I see some things in the distance. Stay low. If Jonnny comes through, tell him the same."
Cursing internally that I should have learned Farsight, I push forward, leaving Blake as I creep toward a boulder in the distance to watch the unknown creatures. I'm no master at tracking, but I've spent enough time with Virgil to know what not to do. Staying in an open field is definitely not the best practice. Ether clouds my body in Stealth and Shadowed as I am aided by the substance internally and externally. Like a ghost, I encroach on the boulder to use it for cover, careful that what I'm looking for might have better eyes.
I carefully position myself behind a weathered boulder, the old scope in my hands serving as my window into the vast expanse of Vallens, the region dominated by farmland, grassland, and low valleys. And the valley before me stretches far, a rugged terrain painted in the golden hues of the setting sun. Soon, it'll be dark. A perfect time to move for Virgil and me. Right now is for preliminary scouting. I need to know what we're dealing with.
And so, focus on the figures I saw earlier, the light of their chains the only reason I noticed them. Barely glowing figures emerge from the infrequent shadows of the valley, their movements deliberate and filled with an air of secrecy.
Through the lens of the scope, I focus my attention on the figures, only to notice they are going in the opposite direction as me. And looking closer with a Tempered gaze that sacrifices my smell, taste, and touch, I realize what they are as they pause in their movement for a moment. They aren't demons or humans; their forms are diminutive and thin. They are Pygmies, a race renowned for their craftsmanship and Ether control. Clad in peculiar armor that seems to blend seamlessly with the rugged landscape, they possess an aura of mystery and purpose.
Each Pygmy carries an assortment of weapons across their bodies, their designs as difficult to discern as the beings themselves from this distance. I can't help but let out a low whistle at all the gear they carry. Even from here, I can make out guns of unconventional shapes and sizes hanging at their sides. Curious contraptions dangle from their belts as well, each a mystery to me. Perhaps Earl would know more, but I am clueless.
Silent and stealthy, the Pygmies navigate the treacherous terrain, their every step calculated to avoid detection. They skulk along the shadows, moving with the utmost caution as they weave toward their target. I can't see the target, but I know the only thing it can be.
Bent.
Their intent is clear - to launch a surprise ambush, exploiting the element of surprise to their advantage. They seek to overthrow the indomitable through unsavory means. Clever.
The fortress stands as a beacon of strength and resilience, a formidable obstacle for any would-be invaders of the rest of the Territories through the south or southwest. None want to traverse Sinscreak or Lawless Lake to reach the rest of humanity, so they usually prefer to strike through Vallens. That is until Marshall built his wall. It lies far away, proudly standing somewhere in the distance amidst the plains landscape, its imposing presence visible to anyone who steps deeply into Vallens. Another ten miles or so, and its walls should appear on the horizon. But the Pygmies, aware of its formidable defenses, have chosen the long and arduous path, taking care to remain undetected as they approach.
As I observe the Pygmies through the lens, a mixture of curiosity and concern fills my mind. What drives them to undertake such an endeavor? Don't they know Marshall and his soldiers will kill them ruthlessly? I doubt they will succeed; if Bent could fall to such underhanded methods, it would have collapsed long ago. But it could always just be a game of inches. Enough straw can break any house.
With each passing moment, the Pygmies draw nearer to their destination, their movements purposeful and swift. And as they move, they shrink in my lens, their bodies gradually becoming more challenging to catch. They fade in and out here or there as they enter hiding spots before reappearing as they move from shadow to shadow. I find myself both intrigued and wary of their intentions, aware of the potential dangers that lie ahead. Their Ether is the only reason I can continuously find them, the chains of their Sigils showcasing them to me.
The sun sinks lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the valley. Darkness begins to envelop the land, shrouding the Pygmies in an eerie cloak of secrecy. Their footsteps, muffled by the wilderness, echo with anticipation and the promise of impending conflict.
Through the lens of the scope, I continue to observe their progress, captivated by the dance between stealth and strategy. The Pygmies move with the precision of seasoned warriors, but simultaneously, I notice them use their devices to significant effect. One seems to slink away into the ground as a coyote, or wolf, not sure which, passes by, remaining undetected as others use other tools like a cape that has them fade from even my sight.
Time passes, and I remain watching them as they skulk, the sun setting relaxedly behind me, cloaking the Pygmies in shadow before me. And as I watch, I discover more and more of them. At first, earlier, I thought there were five or so. Now, I'm sure there are at least ten.
The Pygmies, driven by their ambition and prowess, inch closer to their target. I can simply imagine what catastrophe would befall them should Marshall or his soldiers find them. But at the same time, they could inconvenience the General. Best if we help both, one from a grisly fate and the other from wasting energy.
A hand touches my shoulder as I observe the shorter people, and I practically jump as I'm so concentrated on not losing sight of any of their fading figures. Turning, I see Virgil's dark shadowed face that fast reveals his face under the moonlight as he pulls it back.
"Heard you saw something. The others are on the edge, waiting for what is out there. So, what'd you see?"
I let him in on the Pygmies that I was watching and the different things they have. Virgil comments on it shortly, along with a warning, before suffusing himself in shadows and pulling me forward.
"Great. We can get Earl some more materials to work with if these are Contemporary Pygmies. Stay Shadowed while we move, and I don't care about the Ether cost. If found, we are at a massive disadvantage to these crafty bastards."
Nodding, I follow, my overcoat soon flowing with my Ether and leaving me not as dark as Virgil but close. Staying just a step behind him, we move over the grass from a small tree to a dip in the land. Any bit of cover, Virgil finds it and uses it. Meanwhile, I go over what I know of Pygmies.
He thinks these are Contemporary Pygmies, one of the two major factions among the race of small men. And I'd have to agree this faction is new but highly dangerous to the human way of life. Unlike the Traditional section, led by the current Creator of the Pygmies, the Contemporary focuses on developing new technologies, weapons, and tools rather than just experimenting and weaving together Ether. This means they are ruthless and bloodthirsty, as least compared to the Traditionals, wanting to take as much of our technology as they can for research.
That is an awful thing for us, as humans have always led in that department. And frankly, we don't have the cohesiveness or academics they do. Should they all switch to such a tone of mind, we might swiftly be overpowered by technology and weapons, something we are known most for. Sure, we have the advantage for now, but every single Pygmy is a Craftsman of some kind. Among humans? We're lucky if it's one in ten thousand. It is a dark day when they shift to science and Ether instead of merely Ether.
And so, we move to not only take their tools for Earl to experiment with, as he's been pouring over that Almanac from the Underworld, but to also weaken their faction. To be sent out on such a mission means they must be consequential, and I spotted a 5th Sigil among the group. Not extremely high-ranking, but far enough up the ladder to matter.
Virgil's eyes, graced with Farsight, can keep up with my sight of chains. But to find the Pygmies, we still need to repeatedly use the scope across the valley.
Stealthily, I traverse the grassy terrain, my senses honed to pick up the slightest traces left behind by the Pygmies. Though inaudible at this distance, their footsteps betray their presence, imprinting the ground with faint impressions that guide me along their path through my scope. With each careful stride, I follow their trail, observing their footprints in the soft earth, a testament to their passing. But as I move, Virgil is beside me, the man also on watch for an ambusher. There is always a chance we were seen, after all.
The Pygmies' footprints tell a story of their movements, waving left and right from place to place to stay unseen. Unluckily for them, my eyes spot radiant chains from any distance, showing them to me as long as they enter the open for even a moment. And when they don't, I just have to follow their footprints.
The faint scent of their presence lingers in the air, an elusive fragrance of rust and metal carried by the gentle breeze. Tempering my sense of smell for a moment, I inhale deeply, allowing the subtle hints to guide me forward like a hound on the scent. It feels weird to do so, and I almost laugh at it. But I stop myself as my Ether flows into my nose, rudimentarily enhancing my smell. Bits of oil and gunpowder enter my nose along with... medicine. No... something flammable. I don't know exactly what it is, but I've seen Earl ignite something that smelled similar before.
I whisper my discovery to Virgil, and he nods as we get nearer, the Pygmies only at most a few hundred feet away. But each stays apart from the other, unwilling to be found together. I can't help but feel a little for ruining all their preparation. I'm sure they have equipment or people meant for scrambling the senses of Augurs or Prowlers, but all I have to do is look ahead, my Metamorphosed eyes spotting them.
Virgil gets my attention with a silent wave of his hands. He's telling me to find a time to strike. Nodding, we split silently, each going for the two nearest Pygmies. Still Shadowed by Adumbral's skill, I creep toward the four-foot-tall creature clad in weapons and gear hiding behind a portion of the hill for cover. Together, we creep along the shrubs and tall grasses, Stealth and Shadowed making me nigh impossible to spot.
Time becomes irrelevant as Virgil and I become consumed by the pursuit, my focus unwavering. I just need to find the right time. This one is constantly looking around, waiting to move. They have continuously done this while we chased them as if something, or someone, was watching this area. We likely would not have caught up if they had not made such frequent stops. Seconds of tense skulking turn into minutes as I stare at the form of the Pymgy less than ten feet from me, yet my determination does not waver.
The bush above me covers my form as the rest of me blends into the night, my form noiseless. But a moment before I strike, Ether surging in my hand with Whetting and an Arbalest in my foot for a clean kill, I hear a high-pitched scream up ahead that originates from where a Pygmy was previously.
But not the one Virgil went after.
Instantly, I pause my strike as I see a figure move up ahead through the gap in the grasses, a swirl of motion that descends upon the creatures we were chasing as they scream in alarm. None of them speak in Chero, so I don't know what they mean. But I can get the gist.
The sound of cries, agony, and terror is pretty universal.
Suddenly, a figure emerges from the darkness, swift, silent, and humanoid in stature. Its movements are a blur, a deadly dance of precision and power as dark blue chains ripple upon its form. With the pace of a pack of wolves, yet only one, it descends upon the unsuspecting Pygmies, its hands transforming into razor-sharp claws that slice through flesh and bone before, with a sharp hiss of metal, it draws two identical curved blades.
The Pygmies rise from their hiding spots, found by their predator, as they release their weapons. Gunshots resound, explosions burst, and fire blazes as they use so many contraptions to try and survive. It looks like a spectacle to my eyes. But none of it matters. Not the nets of barbed wire with acid, not the gun with a rotating barrel, and not even the hidden 6th Sigil that I missed can stop the carnage. The best they do is break a single sword with a fiery explosion that sets me with ringing ears.
Around me, the air is punctuated by the chilling sound of tearing flesh, accompanied by muffled cries of agony. The figure's teeth, identical to a human's, mimic a crocodile's jaws, clamping down on its victims with ferocious strength. Its movements are fluid and savage, an embodiment of merciless destruction.
I watch in awe as the figure dispatches the Pygmies with ruthless efficiency. Their feeble attempts at defense are futile, their weapons rendered useless against this superior predator. Limbs are severed, bodies torn apart as if they are nothing more than mere playthings in the grasp of a merciless beast. But it doesn't groan or grunt or even laugh. It just kills. Silently. Like the perfect weapon. Something built only to do that one specific action.
The figure's movements are a macabre ballet, each strike executed with lethal precision that has only a single purpose. To kill.
I can only admire its movement. The efficiency of Ether and power. The skill and talent as it dances toe to toe with ten times its number. I tried something similar and almost died. Meanwhile, this creature annihilates the Pygmies like they are nothing but prey. Though he does take damage, too, as blood falls from his shifting form. Maybe he's not that untouchable, after all.
As the massacre unfolds, a chilling realization dawns upon me as the figure pauses for a moment, staring down at the remaining Pygmies long enough for me to catch a glimpse of its face. It's a human. A man, one in his mid-twenties at his latest, with a slight stubble.
I dare not make a sound. My breath is held hostage in my chest as the man scours his surroundings for any leftover prey. I'd rather not fight him. The human's senses seem heightened as if they can detect the air's faintest disturbance, more beast than man. And he finds more. The man moves with an unnatural grace, evading any potential retaliation, vanishing into the shadows with each life claimed.
A bright light breaks through the darkness out of nowhere, the man flying through the air lit with a flame. A dozen figures dart from the shadows, the ground, and even the air as they intercept him, half of them clad in some sort of blue chain.
The man is skewered and heavily wounded as he slams into the ground, blood sputtering to the ground in great chunks. Yet, the man recovers instantly, flipping onto his hands like a cat tossed off a cliff to its death. And without even a grunt of pain, the man retaliates with ten times the ferocity, speed, and power as I hear a dull throb, like a suppressed heartbeat.
For an instant, he vanishes from my sight before reappearing with a claw around a Pygmy that he uses to rip out its throat. Then, he shifts and dodges a gout of flame as a net gets him in his leg. Slowed significantly, he manages to avoid the blast of cannon that somehow appeared on the grass before it slams into the dirt, shaking the earth.
What the fuck is happening?! I thought there were only a few Pygmies?! Where did all these come from? Is Virgil alright?
Questions spew from my mind, but I stay silent, still, and relaxed. I can't panic or show myself. These people are deadly. Especially the human.
And the human of my focus only continues to rage amid the Pygmies, ripping out hearts, smashing skulls, and butchering the craftsman as they do their best to put him down with their gear.
Odd and bizarre effects slow, trap, or injure him, but he grows more brutal with every wound. Additionally, the noise, the rhythmic beat, gradually grows more substantial with every spilled drop of blood. And the number of the Pygmies continues to fall, the counter-ambush proving to fail against this human. When the number falls to four, the only ones left alive being 6th Sigils, they retreat into the dirt below, disappearing without a trace. It appears as though they cut their losses after all those deaths.
Just as swiftly as the battle begins, it ends, and the human stands tall for a few moments after it ends, vigilantly watching for more threats before losing his composure. With a thump, he falls forward onto his knees, blood splattering and dying the grass red.
Hmm. Nah. I'mma go back. Don't know this man. Don't know where the fuck he's from or if he's an Outlaw. I'd instead not get into this mess. I'm sure Virgil is the same.
Silently, I retreat deeper into the undergrowth, my heart pounding in my chest. My knees push me backward, but right as my vision of the man is about to fade, a shadowed figure runs toward him with a confused shout.
"Tomas!?"
Damn it. The one fucking time.
I break through the dense brush to reveal a valley filled with ferns, mosses, and the occasional rock. Turning back, my mind is occupied by how Sinscreak so quickly falls to a grassland region. The change is drastic and almost immediate, from mud and swamp to grass and dirt.
Beside me, Blake takes a moment to rest on the grassy floor, falling onto her back with a relieved sigh now that we are out of the mud.
Jostling my head, I stride onward, my eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger, and I find some. In the distance, tiny colors move underneath my sight of chains. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a scope from a broken lever action and raise it to my eyes. The dusty lens doesn't reveal much to me other than my eyes hold true, the figures slightly larger in sight.
"Shit. Be right back, Blake. I see some things in the distance. Stay low. If Jonnny comes through, tell him the same."
Cursing internally that I should have learned Farsight, I push forward, leaving Blake as I creep toward a boulder in the distance to watch the unknown creatures. I'm no master at tracking, but I've spent enough time with Virgil to know what not to do. Staying in an open field is definitely not the best practice. Ether clouds my body in Stealth and Shadowed as I am aided by the substance internally and externally. Like a ghost, I encroach on the boulder to use it for cover, careful that what I'm looking for might have better eyes.
I carefully position myself behind a weathered boulder, the old scope in my hands serving as my window into the vast expanse of Vallens, the region dominated by farmland, grassland, and low valleys. And the valley before me stretches far, a rugged terrain painted in the golden hues of the setting sun. Soon, it'll be dark. A perfect time to move for Virgil and me. Right now is for preliminary scouting. I need to know what we're dealing with.
And so, focus on the figures I saw earlier, the light of their chains the only reason I noticed them. Barely glowing figures emerge from the infrequent shadows of the valley, their movements deliberate and filled with an air of secrecy.
Through the lens of the scope, I focus my attention on the figures, only to notice they are going in the opposite direction as me. And looking closer with a Tempered gaze that sacrifices my smell, taste, and touch, I realize what they are as they pause in their movement for a moment. They aren't demons or humans; their forms are diminutive and thin. They are Pygmies, a race renowned for their craftsmanship and Ether control. Clad in peculiar armor that seems to blend seamlessly with the rugged landscape, they possess an aura of mystery and purpose.
Each Pygmy carries an assortment of weapons across their bodies, their designs as difficult to discern as the beings themselves from this distance. I can't help but let out a low whistle at all the gear they carry. Even from here, I can make out guns of unconventional shapes and sizes hanging at their sides. Curious contraptions dangle from their belts as well, each a mystery to me. Perhaps Earl would know more, but I am clueless.
Silent and stealthy, the Pygmies navigate the treacherous terrain, their every step calculated to avoid detection. They skulk along the shadows, moving with the utmost caution as they weave toward their target. I can't see the target, but I know the only thing it can be.
Bent.
Their intent is clear - to launch a surprise ambush, exploiting the element of surprise to their advantage. They seek to overthrow the indomitable through unsavory means. Clever.
The fortress stands as a beacon of strength and resilience, a formidable obstacle for any would-be invaders of the rest of the Territories through the south or southwest. None want to traverse Sinscreak or Lawless Lake to reach the rest of humanity, so they usually prefer to strike through Vallens. That is until Marshall built his wall. It lies far away, proudly standing somewhere in the distance amidst the plains landscape, its imposing presence visible to anyone who steps deeply into Vallens. Another ten miles or so, and its walls should appear on the horizon. But the Pygmies, aware of its formidable defenses, have chosen the long and arduous path, taking care to remain undetected as they approach.
As I observe the Pygmies through the lens, a mixture of curiosity and concern fills my mind. What drives them to undertake such an endeavor? Don't they know Marshall and his soldiers will kill them ruthlessly? I doubt they will succeed; if Bent could fall to such underhanded methods, it would have collapsed long ago. But it could always just be a game of inches. Enough straw can break any house.
With each passing moment, the Pygmies draw nearer to their destination, their movements purposeful and swift. And as they move, they shrink in my lens, their bodies gradually becoming more challenging to catch. They fade in and out here or there as they enter hiding spots before reappearing as they move from shadow to shadow. I find myself both intrigued and wary of their intentions, aware of the potential dangers that lie ahead. Their Ether is the only reason I can continuously find them, the chains of their Sigils showcasing them to me.
The sun sinks lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the valley. Darkness begins to envelop the land, shrouding the Pygmies in an eerie cloak of secrecy. Their footsteps, muffled by the wilderness, echo with anticipation and the promise of impending conflict.
Through the lens of the scope, I continue to observe their progress, captivated by the dance between stealth and strategy. The Pygmies move with the precision of seasoned warriors, but simultaneously, I notice them use their devices to significant effect. One seems to slink away into the ground as a coyote, or wolf, not sure which, passes by, remaining undetected as others use other tools like a cape that has them fade from even my sight.
Time passes, and I remain watching them as they skulk, the sun setting relaxedly behind me, cloaking the Pygmies in shadow before me. And as I watch, I discover more and more of them. At first, earlier, I thought there were five or so. Now, I'm sure there are at least ten.
The Pygmies, driven by their ambition and prowess, inch closer to their target. I can simply imagine what catastrophe would befall them should Marshall or his soldiers find them. But at the same time, they could inconvenience the General. Best if we help both, one from a grisly fate and the other from wasting energy.
A hand touches my shoulder as I observe the shorter people, and I practically jump as I'm so concentrated on not losing sight of any of their fading figures. Turning, I see Virgil's dark shadowed face that fast reveals his face under the moonlight as he pulls it back.
"Heard you saw something. The others are on the edge, waiting for what is out there. So, what'd you see?"
I let him in on the Pygmies that I was watching and the different things they have. Virgil comments on it shortly, along with a warning, before suffusing himself in shadows and pulling me forward.
"Great. We can get Earl some more materials to work with if these are Contemporary Pygmies. Stay Shadowed while we move, and I don't care about the Ether cost. If found, we are at a massive disadvantage to these crafty bastards."
Nodding, I follow, my overcoat soon flowing with my Ether and leaving me not as dark as Virgil but close. Staying just a step behind him, we move over the grass from a small tree to a dip in the land. Any bit of cover, Virgil finds it and uses it. Meanwhile, I go over what I know of Pygmies.
He thinks these are Contemporary Pygmies, one of the two major factions among the race of small men. And I'd have to agree this faction is new but highly dangerous to the human way of life. Unlike the Traditional section, led by the current Creator of the Pygmies, the Contemporary focuses on developing new technologies, weapons, and tools rather than just experimenting and weaving together Ether. This means they are ruthless and bloodthirsty, as least compared to the Traditionals, wanting to take as much of our technology as they can for research.
That is an awful thing for us, as humans have always led in that department. And frankly, we don't have the cohesiveness or academics they do. Should they all switch to such a tone of mind, we might swiftly be overpowered by technology and weapons, something we are known most for. Sure, we have the advantage for now, but every single Pygmy is a Craftsman of some kind. Among humans? We're lucky if it's one in ten thousand. It is a dark day when they shift to science and Ether instead of merely Ether.
And so, we move to not only take their tools for Earl to experiment with, as he's been pouring over that Almanac from the Underworld, but to also weaken their faction. To be sent out on such a mission means they must be consequential, and I spotted a 5th Sigil among the group. Not extremely high-ranking, but far enough up the ladder to matter.
Virgil's eyes, graced with Farsight, can keep up with my sight of chains. But to find the Pygmies, we still need to repeatedly use the scope across the valley.
Stealthily, I traverse the grassy terrain, my senses honed to pick up the slightest traces left behind by the Pygmies. Though inaudible at this distance, their footsteps betray their presence, imprinting the ground with faint impressions that guide me along their path through my scope. With each careful stride, I follow their trail, observing their footprints in the soft earth, a testament to their passing. But as I move, Virgil is beside me, the man also on watch for an ambusher. There is always a chance we were seen, after all.
The Pygmies' footprints tell a story of their movements, waving left and right from place to place to stay unseen. Unluckily for them, my eyes spot radiant chains from any distance, showing them to me as long as they enter the open for even a moment. And when they don't, I just have to follow their footprints.
The faint scent of their presence lingers in the air, an elusive fragrance of rust and metal carried by the gentle breeze. Tempering my sense of smell for a moment, I inhale deeply, allowing the subtle hints to guide me forward like a hound on the scent. It feels weird to do so, and I almost laugh at it. But I stop myself as my Ether flows into my nose, rudimentarily enhancing my smell. Bits of oil and gunpowder enter my nose along with... medicine. No... something flammable. I don't know exactly what it is, but I've seen Earl ignite something that smelled similar before.
I whisper my discovery to Virgil, and he nods as we get nearer, the Pygmies only at most a few hundred feet away. But each stays apart from the other, unwilling to be found together. I can't help but feel a little for ruining all their preparation. I'm sure they have equipment or people meant for scrambling the senses of Augurs or Prowlers, but all I have to do is look ahead, my Metamorphosed eyes spotting them.
Virgil gets my attention with a silent wave of his hands. He's telling me to find a time to strike. Nodding, we split silently, each going for the two nearest Pygmies. Still Shadowed by Adumbral's skill, I creep toward the four-foot-tall creature clad in weapons and gear hiding behind a portion of the hill for cover. Together, we creep along the shrubs and tall grasses, Stealth and Shadowed making me nigh impossible to spot.
Time becomes irrelevant as Virgil and I become consumed by the pursuit, my focus unwavering. I just need to find the right time. This one is constantly looking around, waiting to move. They have continuously done this while we chased them as if something, or someone, was watching this area. We likely would not have caught up if they had not made such frequent stops. Seconds of tense skulking turn into minutes as I stare at the form of the Pymgy less than ten feet from me, yet my determination does not waver.
The bush above me covers my form as the rest of me blends into the night, my form noiseless. But a moment before I strike, Ether surging in my hand with Whetting and an Arbalest in my foot for a clean kill, I hear a high-pitched scream up ahead that originates from where a Pygmy was previously.
But not the one Virgil went after.
Instantly, I pause my strike as I see a figure move up ahead through the gap in the grasses, a swirl of motion that descends upon the creatures we were chasing as they scream in alarm. None of them speak in Chero, so I don't know what they mean. But I can get the gist.
The sound of cries, agony, and terror is pretty universal.
Suddenly, a figure emerges from the darkness, swift, silent, and humanoid in stature. Its movements are a blur, a deadly dance of precision and power as dark blue chains ripple upon its form. With the pace of a pack of wolves, yet only one, it descends upon the unsuspecting Pygmies, its hands transforming into razor-sharp claws that slice through flesh and bone before, with a sharp hiss of metal, it draws two identical curved blades.
The Pygmies rise from their hiding spots, found by their predator, as they release their weapons. Gunshots resound, explosions burst, and fire blazes as they use so many contraptions to try and survive. It looks like a spectacle to my eyes. But none of it matters. Not the nets of barbed wire with acid, not the gun with a rotating barrel, and not even the hidden 6th Sigil that I missed can stop the carnage. The best they do is break a single sword with a fiery explosion that sets me with ringing ears.
Around me, the air is punctuated by the chilling sound of tearing flesh, accompanied by muffled cries of agony. The figure's teeth, identical to a human's, mimic a crocodile's jaws, clamping down on its victims with ferocious strength. Its movements are fluid and savage, an embodiment of merciless destruction.
I watch in awe as the figure dispatches the Pygmies with ruthless efficiency. Their feeble attempts at defense are futile, their weapons rendered useless against this superior predator. Limbs are severed, bodies torn apart as if they are nothing more than mere playthings in the grasp of a merciless beast. But it doesn't groan or grunt or even laugh. It just kills. Silently. Like the perfect weapon. Something built only to do that one specific action.
The figure's movements are a macabre ballet, each strike executed with lethal precision that has only a single purpose. To kill.
I can only admire its movement. The efficiency of Ether and power. The skill and talent as it dances toe to toe with ten times its number. I tried something similar and almost died. Meanwhile, this creature annihilates the Pygmies like they are nothing but prey. Though he does take damage, too, as blood falls from his shifting form. Maybe he's not that untouchable, after all.
As the massacre unfolds, a chilling realization dawns upon me as the figure pauses for a moment, staring down at the remaining Pygmies long enough for me to catch a glimpse of its face. It's a human. A man, one in his mid-twenties at his latest, with a slight stubble.
I dare not make a sound. My breath is held hostage in my chest as the man scours his surroundings for any leftover prey. I'd rather not fight him. The human's senses seem heightened as if they can detect the air's faintest disturbance, more beast than man. And he finds more. The man moves with an unnatural grace, evading any potential retaliation, vanishing into the shadows with each life claimed.
A bright light breaks through the darkness out of nowhere, the man flying through the air lit with a flame. A dozen figures dart from the shadows, the ground, and even the air as they intercept him, half of them clad in some sort of blue chain.
The man is skewered and heavily wounded as he slams into the ground, blood sputtering to the ground in great chunks. Yet, the man recovers instantly, flipping onto his hands like a cat tossed off a cliff to its death. And without even a grunt of pain, the man retaliates with ten times the ferocity, speed, and power as I hear a dull throb, like a suppressed heartbeat.
For an instant, he vanishes from my sight before reappearing with a claw around a Pygmy that he uses to rip out its throat. Then, he shifts and dodges a gout of flame as a net gets him in his leg. Slowed significantly, he manages to avoid the blast of cannon that somehow appeared on the grass before it slams into the dirt, shaking the earth.
What the fuck is happening?! I thought there were only a few Pygmies?! Where did all these come from? Is Virgil alright?
Questions spew from my mind, but I stay silent, still, and relaxed. I can't panic or show myself. These people are deadly. Especially the human.
And the human of my focus only continues to rage amid the Pygmies, ripping out hearts, smashing skulls, and butchering the craftsman as they do their best to put him down with their gear.
Odd and bizarre effects slow, trap, or injure him, but he grows more brutal with every wound. Additionally, the noise, the rhythmic beat, gradually grows more substantial with every spilled drop of blood. And the number of the Pygmies continues to fall, the counter-ambush proving to fail against this human. When the number falls to four, the only ones left alive being 6th Sigils, they retreat into the dirt below, disappearing without a trace. It appears as though they cut their losses after all those deaths.
Just as swiftly as the battle begins, it ends, and the human stands tall for a few moments after it ends, vigilantly watching for more threats before losing his composure. With a thump, he falls forward onto his knees, blood splattering and dying the grass red.
Hmm. Nah. I'mma go back. Don't know this man. Don't know where the fuck he's from or if he's an Outlaw. I'd instead not get into this mess. I'm sure Virgil is the same.
Silently, I retreat deeper into the undergrowth, my heart pounding in my chest. My knees push me backward, but right as my vision of the man is about to fade, a shadowed figure runs toward him with a confused shout.
"Tomas!?"
Damn it. The one fucking time.
