A headsman, armed with silver claws attached to his fists, lunged at the creature. But the beast evaded with supernatural swiftness, leaping away from the threat and maintaining a wary distance.
The headsman's tactics proved fruitless, and it became apparent that this battle was not theirs to win. With a gesture of finality, the headsman extended both arms before himself, and claws flew forth with a metallic clang.
The creature swatted the majority aside, yet one found its mark—buried in its hand.
A tug of war ensued, the beast struggling to extricate the embedded claw. Then, its attention was drawn to the other end of the claw, where a chain dangled. Its gaze flickered to the side, locking onto the headsman who controlled the chain.
Without hesitation, the headsman launched himself into the air, chain coiling and retracting with mechanical precision. A long, curved knife gleamed in his other hand, poised to strike at the beast's throat.
The creature lifted its massive forearm as a makeshift shield, its armored skin scraping against the blade.
The initial impact was followed by the sound of steel biting into flesh, but the creature's resilience was unmatched. As the blade grinded and sliced, the creature's arm halted the blade in the middle, revealing its formidable endurance.
With a sudden retreat, the headsman distanced himself, the wounded creature roaring in pain as the silver-inflicted wound seared through its flesh. A guttural howl rent the air as the creature's primal instincts kicked in, prompting it to bite down its own arm and initiate a regenerative process.
The missing limb shot out from his arm, in a second it was like new.
In a swift, coordinated maneuver, another headsman planted both palms against the swampy ground, reciting an incantation under his breath. The ground quivered beneath his touch, an incipient spell taking root.
The beast tried to move, but his feet were sunken in the swamp to his knee.
"Fire!" one of the headsman shouted. Cadets and headsman alike unleashed a volley of attacks, sending a barrage of projectiles hurtling toward the creature.
The beast's response was swift. Scales across its body bristled and rose like armor, forming an impervious barrier that deflected the projectiles with ease. The attack that should have pierced its flesh instead ricocheted harmlessly off its scaled skin.
The headsman exchanged incredulous glances, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief. Their assault had proven futile, a stark realization of the insurmountable odds they faced.
But before they could regroup, the creature executed a sudden movement that defied its massive frame. It crouched low, its muscles coiled with latent power, then vanished from sight in the blink of an eye.
The swamp waters surged and churned where the creature had been mere moments before.
Headsman swiveled in every direction, straining to locate their elusive foe. An urgent shout pierced the air, directing their attention to a single point in the sky. "There!"
In an awe-inspiring spectacle, the creature levitated above them, arms outstretched as if embracing the heavens. The moonlight drenched it in an ethereal glow, illuminating its menacing contours with haunting luminosity. The scales are protruding more out then before.
A guttural, archaic chant rumbled forth from the creature's maw—a language long forgotten by mortals. The sound resonated like the deep timbre of an ocean's depths, the words forming a command that reverberated through the air: "Barrage."
And then it happened—the scales that adorned the creature's form dislodged from its body, propelled outward in an explosive burst. Like a storm of razor-sharp projectiles, they hurtled through the air, their trajectory unerring and merciless.
The headsman's armor was woefully inadequate against this onslaught. Scales pierced armor and flesh alike, inflicting deadly wounds upon those caught in their path. Agony erupted across the headsman's ranks, screams of pain and despair mingling in a cacophony of suffering.
The creature descended with lethal grace, its movements fluid and savage. It traversed the battlefield with blinding speed, jaws agape to rend limbs and lives in its ferocious wake.
The cadet who had sought refuge from the start watched in horrified silence as the savage ballet of death unfolded. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against his rib cage like a trapped bird.
And then, as swiftly as it had begun, the slaughter concluded. The creature remained the last entity standing, its olive-green skin illuminated by the moon's eerie radiance.
The swamp's waters lapped at the edges of this gruesome stage, their surface reflecting the grisly aftermath of the battle.
The cadet who had hidden observed as the two remaining headsman were ensnared by the creature's monstrous grasp. Moonlight bathed the scene in a macabre tableau, immortalizing the last moments of their lives.
The creature's maw yawned wide, jaws capable of devouring life and hope whole. With a grotesque dislocation of its jaw, it engulfed the headsman in a single, gulping motion.
In the wake of the bloodshed, silence returned to the swamp. The only sound that permeated the air was the cadet's ragged breathing, the weight of witnessing such brutality threatening to crush his very soul.
Finally, driven by a primal fear, the cadet turned and fled from the nightmarish scene.
****
Back in the confines of the classroom, the atmosphere shifted from the visceral battlefield to the intellectual battleground of knowledge. Wanzi, the weary instructor, turned his gaze toward the assembled students, a question poised on the tip of his tongue. "What mistake did our fellow headsman make?" he inquired.
Amid the sea of faces, a lone hand shot up with an enthusiastic fervor. It belonged to Tod, who seemed eager to contribute his insight to the discussion.
But Wanzi hesitated, his gaze searching for an alternative candidate among the students. Tod's hand waved defiantly in the air, an embodiment of his eagerness to participate.
Wanzi's eyes settled on a figure seated amidst the group, his countenance marked by fatigue. Alfred, the newcomer, was singled out by the instructor's attention. "A new student. What do you think about it?"
Alfred's stomach betrayed him with an audible rumble, a stark reminder of the hunger that gnawed at him. His expression contorted as he mustered a response, "I don't know."
Undeterred, Wanzi approached Alfred, carrying the tome that bore the weight of centuries. The book was presented to Alfred with a challenge— "Read the first chapter"
Alfred's gaze flicked to the book, his face contorting with visible effort.
"What are you waiting for?" Wanzi's voice prodded, bearing a tinge of impatience.
Alfred's confession slipped forth, his words laden with vulnerability, "I can't read."
The revelation triggered a cascade of laughter from the assembled students, their mirth unfurling like ripples on a pond.
Amid the laughter, Layla emerged as a champion of empathy, her voice slicing through the mockery. "What are you all laughing at? Half of you can't read either," she retorted, her defense of Alfred ringing with a resolute courage.
The classroom fell into a hushed silence, punctuated only by Tod's arrogant chuckling.
Wanzi's attempts to dismiss Tod's raised hand were futile, and the instructor conceded to the persistent student, allowing him to speak.
With an air of knowledge, Tod dissected the situation, illuminating the tactical error that had led to the downfall of the headsman group. "Following the headsman codex, if we find ourselves against an unknown enemy, we should explore the situation in daylight," he declared, his voice carrying an air of authority.
"The group made the mistake of going before sunset because they were in a hurry, or more so, they were cocky, and it led to their demise."
Wanzi's nod of affirmation acknowledged Tod's astute observation. "Yes, correct. Thank you," he acknowledged before attempting to steer the conversation onward.
But Tod, like a determined orator, seized the opportunity to further illuminate his wisdom. "If they had conducted proper research, they would have known that they were up against an ancient. A vampire grows stronger with the consumption of blood, so the older they are, the more formidable. An ancient requires a top-tier headsman, at the very least, to stand a chance against it," he elaborated, his words resonating with a profound understanding of the intricacies of their vocation.
However, not everyone was content to simply absorb Tod's words as wisdom. Bran slammed his hand onto the table in protest. "They died fighting like true heroes," he interjected, his voice carrying an unwavering resolve. "Going for sure kills is only for the weak. A headsman doesn't know when their final day will arrive, yet they still face every enemy with honor."
Wanzi sat down to nap, letting the situation escalate.
A fervent energy infused Bran's words, underscoring his steadfast belief in the unyielding commitment of a headsman's duty. But Tod, the embodiment of a rationalist, was not to be silenced. "There is no honor on the battlefield. Just smart people and dead," he countered, his words punctuated by a calculated conviction.
Bran's response was immediate and visceral. He vaulted onto the table, his stance a declaration of defiance. "Let me see how much your smarts are worth when I punch you in the face," he challenged, his eyes burning with a fiery intensity.
The classroom, once a haven of learning, erupted into chaos. Some students threw themselves into the fray, fists and words alike becoming weapons in the skirmish.
Others desperately sought to mediate, their voices striving for reason in the tempest of emotions. Amidst the chaos, some simply avoided the turmoil, keeping their distance from the storm that raged within the room.
Wanzi, the ever-watchful instructor, remained seated with an air of detached calm. His eyes, veiled by half-shut lids, observed the turmoil without intervention.