In reality, the long-haired man didn't care. However, after being berated by Miguel for his conduct, this was the perfect chance to retaliate. Yet, Miguel didn't respond, his hand still grabbing for the flower. As his skin touched it, a wave of pain shot through him as a dark blue liquid entered his veins. A scream filled the air, but it wasn't from Miguel. Instead, he was wheezing, fighting his eyes from going white. The pendant on his neck suddenly started cracking. Its outer bronze layer shattered as Miguel fought to stay conscious. Underneath it, radiating blue light was the purest silver. It somehow fed him strength, just enough to suppress his pain to uproot the 'Willow's Tears'.
A second scream rang out, this one even more desperate than the last. This time both Miguel and the long-haired man looked to their third companion. Who had his sword drawn, staring up at a monster in the dark. Its figure cumbersome, its soulless red eyes holding unearthly murderous intent. Etches of its rippling muscled body could just be made out. The lanky soldier stepped back in fear, shaking as he looked at the 7-foot beast. A glint shuns from the side as it raised a weapon, moonlight bouncing off—a jagged cleaver. The creature swung and in one swoop cut the lanky soldier in half. The blade going through the skin and bone like butter, unimpeded.
The long-haired soldier nearly broke, sweat flowing down his forehead. Tears streaming from his eyes as he fell to his knees. A weak voice left his shivering mouth, begging for his life.
"P-p-please don't kill me, my father will pay you anything you want."
He was snivelling as heavy steps approached. The figure came into vision, muscle-bound with dark green skin and black convulsing veins.
".....Hobgoblin?"
'Just what the hell was one during this far from Orc country?' Miguel thought alarmed. Even as it stopped before the long hair soldier, it said nothing audible, its speech consisting of gnarls and moans. Only raising his blade to swing-
There was a clash of metal and stood in front of the long-haired soldier was Miguel. His sword holding the creature's cleaver at bay. Time seemed to dilate, and a flood of thoughts entered Miguel's mind. This speed that let him shot from the pond in seconds; strength that matched the creature almost evenly. How was it possible? It was beyond anything he had ever accomplished in the past. Almost supernatural. His eyes inadvertently glanced to the silver acorn on his neck. It was a family heirloom past down from generations. To think it held such secrets. Was this the magic that only high humans possess? A man of his talent.....a hero?
Whether it was adrenaline, newfound confidence or plain arrogance; Miguel felt power rise within himself.
"Edward go, I'll hold him."
Edward, the long-haired soldier, was still kneeled. He was stunned, gawking at Miguel deliriously as his mind painted him as an angel.
"Run you, idiot." Miguel spat cracking the image. The hob-goblin was finally putting a strain on his body. Edward got a hold of himself, standing quickly before sprinting for his life. Only looking forward and not glancing back, nor down-
-tripping over something. It was hard yet squishy, the area around it was wet. Edward was unsteady as he tried to pick himself up. Whatever the wetness was, it had got on his clothes and palms. He flipped them over to discern what it was, gasping as he did. They were covered in blood. Edward didn't dare look at what he had tripped over, already knowing what it was, shaking as he backed away from it. Until he bumped into something else, this time soft and squishy.
"You stupid undead, we need their corpses intact."
Tripationtion filled Edward's body as he slowly turned around to gaze upon a burly woman, more than three times his size.
"M-M-Monster"
"What a rude thing to call a lady. My name is Camilla."
She angrily shot out her hand, grabbing Edward by the throat. Slowly tightening her grip as she lifted him above the ground. Edward let out pleading screams, frantically writhing as his airways were getting cut off. Miguel heard them, cursing Edward's weakness. He swerved the hob-goblin, his movements too fast for the creature and dashed off behind it. With his newfound speed, he reached Edward in seconds. But it wasn't enough. Camila's iron grip was clutched just as he arrived. The snapping of bone rang in his ears as he watched Edward's head flop and body go limp. His screaming long since died out, foam forming at the mouth. Camila released his body disgusted, shaking off the bubbly saliva on her hand.
Miguel stood in shock, he never especially liked Edward, they had fought all the time. But to see him die so violently in front of him......to be powerless to stop it. A sense of helplessness almost overcame him, the urge to give up. And he opposed it, he combated it with all his might. Turning to anger for strength. Gathering his power, he swiftly swung at Camila with harrowing speed. The only goal, to avenge Edward- the sword stopped. Fingers held it from its tip. Camilla had caught the blade with her bare hand. Tiny droplets of blood fell from her left palm, but aside from that, she was unharmed. And for the first time, true despair seeped deep into Miguel's very bones.
"A strong man, just my type."
Camilla said with a sadistic smile across her face, staring down on him as she clasped her right hand. Miguel was still, the world around him silent and slow. Even as Camila's fist bulleted into his chest, it was quiet. But he could feel it, though there was numbness. The feeling of his metal chest plate being bent and contorted, the sheer impact flinging him back, shattering if not severely breaking his ribs. Blood leaving his mouth as he flung through the air. He was supposed to be the hero....wasn't he? To save others, have a shot at a new life, return his families former glory.
.....I guess it simply wasn't his story.
The punch didn't kill him, the juries didn't either; even living when he hit the ground. But every iota of movement caused him pain. His right hand was still clenched, holding his sword somehow, though the top was missing. His eyes looked round, the surroundings familiar. Faint voices could be heard in the background. He was close to camp, a mere stone throws away. A simple shout could get him heard, still when he tried blood was the only thing that came out. If he stayed here, he would assuredly die, but if he could make it to camp...
Whatever remained of his will all surfaced at once, with agony behind each twitch of a muscle; he flipped himself over from laying on his back. Using his broken sword as a pull, he painstakingly crawled forward.
Closing the distance, the voices got clearer until he was almost able to make them out. Hope built up in his mind as he saw the light from various campfires. A few more strides and he would be there, already starting to see blurred figures. To hear footsteps.....
"Miguel?"
Someone called out to him. Then spotted him right away, the footsteps coming from them. Miguel recognised the voice and the man immediately. Tears welling in his eyes, his emotions indescribable. To step out from the total and eclipsing darkness of death, it was as if a ray of light shined down in the stark night.
He wanted to live.
The man bent down, and Miguel reached out with his left hand. The man grasped it and drove his sword into Miguel's back. Shock, confusion and despondency filled Miguel's eyes as his body conversed. His organs shutting down, the blade piercing his heart.
"W-w-why?" he coughed out, blood following.
"I am sorry, Miguel, I have no choice."
He was going to die.