Zengo stared out into the distance, the enemy was closing in fast.
"Ready your spells!" Zengo screamed.
One by one, as disorganized as anyone can be, they shot off their spells without waiting for the command. Rock spears, lightning, and magic arced over the walls slamming into the ground, shattering it into massive craters shooting shards of rocks into the air. The enemy charged even faster closing in on the gate. When one of the lightning spells hit a lesser werewolf its body exploded like a hot dog in a microwave. Despite the lesser werewolves' heightened regenerative abilities he could not survive the attack. The charge continued through the rain of magic. Due to the inability to collaborate the werewolves and other troops managed to reach the wall without any more casualties. In an insane show of physical strength the werewolves began to climb the wall with their claws. As the undead attempt to break down the gate.
Zengo sent down Pax who began to massacre the werewolves one by one. Dix stepped in and began to duel Pax.
Clang, clang, clang. The undead beat on the gate. Marcis prepared his feet, his eyes darted from man to man, some were going to die, maybe even most, but he at this time could only think if he was going to make it out of here.
One of the teachers by the name of Barry Wood gripped his weapon of choice tightly, it was a halberd, a gift from his daughter who lived within the city. He heard the beating on the gate and his heart began to race. Barry has seen combat before, but those were planned hunts on weaker monsters. This was completely different to that, there was a stake, if he died here so might his beloved daughter and wife. Barry imbued his weapon with magic, the sensation filled him with ease. From above he began to hear intense fighting, screams for support, and cries for medics. But he couldn't help no matter how much he wanted to, he was needed here, his helpless daughter needed him here. If the gate fell so would the city. The undead began to bash harder and with more force. These gates are strong enough to withstand the attacks of a leviathan tier monster, but that did not fill him with assurance. The enemy obviously knew this too, so they must have prepared something to crack it open. And then it happened the gate blew off its hinges, blasting into the crowd and hitting some unlucky bastards smothering them under the weight of the 200 ton doors. From the dust rushed in many mid rank undead supported by some humans. Barry let his instincts take over cutting down one of the undead that appeared to be a mage. The other teachers charged with him forming a mosh pit. He scanned the field of rotting men and struggling teachers till he saw a hairy humanoid charging at him. Barry prepared an attack, but the werewolf was faster smacking into him, Barry fell like a sack of rocks barely garding the blow the beast aimed at his head. As fast as he could he pushed himself to his feet. The werewolf was again one step ahead of him slashed with its claws. Barry dodged to the side in the last second falling again onto his back. The werewolf jumped onto him trying its best to get past his armor and hit Barry's neck. Barry's life flashed before his eyes, the day he met Maranda, the day he built up the courage to ask her out, the day they got married, the day she gave him the very thing he would die to protect. With all his might and magic he pushed the beast off of him, and stood with force. His left leg broke in the struggle, there was no way for him to execute any complicated techniques. The werewolf was even faster to its feet eyeing Barry with hungry eyes. It charged once more, slashing at his neck. Barry used his secret technique, river roar. A technique developed by his father, which he used to gain fame. In an instant the werewolves' arms soundlessly dropped to the floor. But to Barry's astonishment they grew back in the time it took to close the distance.
After such a powerful attack his guard was left wide open, Barry moved as quick as he could to fix that, yet the claw kept on moving, closer, and closer till with a wet sound they reached his skin. For a moment Barry felt intense pain, then he felt like he was flying, then he hit the ground hard, he rolled for a moment just for it all to go black.
Zengo looked at the chaos in horror, he knew this wouldn't be easy, but he thought they had a chance. At least something more than mindless slaughter. One by one, teachers, compatriots, friends, those he's had long talks with after classes, those who listened despite not remembering him, they were dropping in a pool of their own blood. Kole, an older gentleman with a bald head and stunning green eyes had his still beating heart pulled out by a lesser werewolf. Zengo grabbed the lesser werewolf, imbuing magic into his fingers he pumped them deep into the beast's head. Severing the skull like butter. Blood spilled everywhere drenching his face in a worm oozing red.
A lesser werewolf saw this enraging insult to his kind causing him to burn with anger, in a rampaging rage he charged Zengo teeth barred and claws stretched long. But Zengo's face would be the last thing it sees, as Zengos fingers pierce through its skull. The Lesser werewolve's gray matter splatter on to Zengo's arm as it fell limp.
From down below he could hear the battle cry of Pax. Then he spots a lesser werewolves fighting Roger, a fat man who wears heavy armor and welds a mace. Zengo charges the lesser werewolf, grabbing it within his two hands and pulling its head from its body, the beast didn't even get a chance to scream before Zengo was chasing after his next prey. Till A massive high werewolf stepped into his path.
"I will not allow you to harm my brothers any longer." Krave didn't so much hate that Zengo was killing them, he more so despised that Zengo refused to give them a glorious death.
Zengo didn't respond, his menacing face was enough. His grimace so frightening those he ran by were left speechless.
Again Zengo moved like a primitive beast using his sharp claws to slice at Krave's flesh, but each hit healed faster than he could move.
Zengo knew there were only two ways to kill a true werewolf, completely destroying its head or force it to run out of magic power which it uses to heal. He knew he didn't have enough time for the latter.
The longer the time went on the more his friends would die.
The man in front of Krave is faster than he could react, but Krave didn't care much; he trusted in his regeneration and thick skull. To Krave, Zengo was an overactive toy. Krave knew he didn't have to kill this man in order to get his Job done, he only needed to stall. So no matter how fun this was, he was level headed enough to not go all out, and get absorbed into the fighting.
Zengo began to curse his life, the monster in front of him was too tricky for him alone to handle. Then he started cursing Saints Hand, the man who left at the worst possible time. He could still see the men and women fall. Roulf, Morton, Ann, Steve, Jayme, all of them did not deserve to die like this.
****
"As the head teacher, I think it's best that you go over these documents." Saints hand handed him a thick stack of paper.
"Screw that, what's the point? You know I've given up on trying to make friends."
"Well." Saints hand frowned. "Think of it as redemption, as a punishment for them not remembering you. In their place remember their lives they lived, be the one to push on their story like you always wished for others to do for you."
"I don't know? That sounds dumb." Zengo looked at the sheets with a doubtful expression.
"Zengo, be the one who doesn't forget."
Those words hit him where it hurts. In a way it changed him, he was always so caught up on if others would even care, he left out the big picture. Let him be the very thing he craved, to others who need it just as much as him.
He pledged to himself, "I Zengo Nevada will live to benefit more than myself."
*****
Countless hours remembering their names, their stories, their life's, feel as if they're slipping through his fingertips. Wasted, gone, forever, never to return. The dread he's been holding for years eats ever harder. A gnawing exalted pain down to his core. The feeling, the monster, the void wished to devour him. Turn him into nothing once more, a mist forever and ever forgotten. Worthless, timeless, meaningless, lifeless. The agony grew, gluttonous as it is, ate and ate till it could eat no more, till there was nothing left to eat. More die their names soon to be put to history, their thoughts, their wills, their goals as worthless as the day they were dreamt. Gone with the early morning mist. Gone he hoped for a better land. One without pain, one without suffering, one he hoped the most were he would be remembered. His rage could only hold so long, soon he knew it would be stomped out, but until that's done he will not forget.