The town was a desolate graveyard. The once bustling streets were now pathways of ash and scattered bones.
Wild animals, drawn by the promise of easy prey, feasted on the corpses, their guttural snarls adding to the dreadful atmosphere.
Meanwhile, Cassandra and Hank, their sprints were dragging, echoing hours only to arrive by the mere outskirts of Hughen's Road.
As their arrivals were met, Cassandra stumbled upon the horrific scene of the outskirts, the fate of those who did not make it to the refugee camp.
Her stomach churned with a fleeting grief and nausea. The craven for vomiting heightened with the push of their rotten smell. But her will remained undeterred, her keen to reconvene with her belated friends dismissed such hindrance.
However, her wounds, already on the verge of healing, reopened with the exertion of running. She dropped to her knees, pain shooting through her body.
Having chased her from the camp, Hank arrived breathless at the sight of the woman in distress.
"Are you trying to die?!" he shouted, his frustration and worries bubbled. "There could still be goblins lurking around here!"
Cassandra waved him away, "Get away from me!" she insisted, struggling to her feet once more.
Before Hank was capable of jabbing a response, Cassandra was already on her feet, stumbling onward, pressing her hands against her bleeding stomach.
Hank gritted his teeth, hating how stubborn Cassandra could be.
He chased after her with a grunt, and for their safety, Hank unsheathed his sword, preparing for what may be the worst up ahead.
As he trailed behind her, his eyes scanned the shadows for any signs of possible danger.
Meanwhile, Cassandra stumbled forward, her thirst for answers pushing her beyond her physical limits.
With each step, she grew weaker, her body protesting the ordeal.
Hank, realizing her stubbornness, reluctantly helped her up whenever she fell. "I can do it myself," she would insist, pushing him away while her voice only mustered.
Despite the frustration provoked by Cassandra's stubbornness, Hank remained stern in his duty to protect her, especially since she barely kept up with her feet.
As they ventured deeper into the ravaged town, Hank broke the silence. "Are you having a death wish or something? Whatever you're looking for is probably gone by now."
Instead of responding to Hank's pleas, Cassandra ignored him completely, her objective remained tall.
"Come on, miss," Hank persisted, his concern etching in his throat. "The chance of retreating still stands. You shouldn't just throw away your life after you tried so hard to get it back."
Cassandra remained silent, her eyes fixed on the desolate ruins before her.
"Even though the goblins are cleared out, there might still be Leathermen (Bandits) or looters lurking around," Hank warned. "I doubt we can beat them in our current condition."
Still, Cassandra ignored him, her steps faltering but her resolve endured.
"There's nothing left for us to look for—" Hank began, but his words were cut short.
"If you're just going to keep barking around, you should've turned back already!" Cassandra snapped, "I don't need your pitiful help when all you do is wail! Besides, I, myself can do it with the needs of yours!"
"Said the person who's barely standing right now," Hank retorted, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.
"If you say one more word, I'll bury that empty shell of yours!" Cassandra threatened, her voice low and dangerous.
Hank scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips. "I can't wait to see you try," he challenged.
Before he could finish his taunting remark, Cassandra lashed out with a swift kick, connecting directly with Hank's nuts and sending him sinking his knees onto the ground, quivering with paralyzing pain. He doubled over, gasping for air.
"Stay down, and stay away from me!" Cassandra warned, her voice trembling with rage and exhaustion.
"Wait…" his voice cut short as the pain crawled up to his throat.
He extended his hand trying to reach her. But only disregarded with a cold shoulder where she turned and continued her trek into the ruins, leaving Hank writhing in pain on the ground.
Despite her stubbornness, Hank knew he couldn't let her face the dangers alone, not when she was a defenseless convalescent.
With a tedious grunt, he lifted one of his knees and pushed himself upward, "F**k!" he yelled as he raised, reacting to the lingering pain.
After his legs and feet were aligned, he followed her staggeringly, his determination was as fierce as hers.
After another round of an hour had passed…
They finally reached the heart of the town, the once bustling square now a desolate expanse of rubble and decay. The once serene clean street was now a mural of death, painted with sheer crimson stains and carcasses of victims.
The Rusty Tankard, their once refuge for amusement and celebration, stood as a charred husk, a grim testament to the battle's cruelty.
Before all the rubbles, a massive crater stretched before them, dominating the center of the square. A grand display carved by the only, Ava. A grim reminder of her sacrifice.
The stench of decay was overwhelming, making it difficult to breathe. Hank covered his nose with his sleeve, "By Her Divineness, the smell!" a look of disgust and horror marring his face.
Cassandra, undeterred by the agonizing sight and smell, her heart fumed with grief, gently approached the crater before collapsing to her knees, shutting her eyes in silence. Letting the memories of the battle flood back, the faces of her fallen friends, the despair of the battle, the incompetence of her attempts.
Tears streamed down her face as she tilted her head upward, absorbing the caress from the harrowing wind, a silent tribute to the lives lost.
Meanwhile, Hank stood afar with his nose deep in his sleeve and noticed the testament of Cassandra's broken silhouette.
His pity raved as he persisted, and with shame masked against his prior insolence, he approached her cautiously, his own eyes leveling her with his own sorrow.
His feet parked an inch before her knees, reaching out to offer comfort. But before he did, he saw his leveled person of loss – his Captain, Silas, his lifeless body lying amidst the carnage, west of the crater.
A gasp escaped Hank's lips. "Captain..." he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief and grief. "I'm... I'm sorry… I… I…" his words were lost as he was overwhelmed by his side's doubts.
A heavy silence then descended upon them, broken only by the distant cries of scavenging crows.
Guilt and doubts pranced within their solemn heart, only dolor stressed to be their confidant.
As this woeful stage was orchestrated further than it was meant, an hour was stretched before their eyes would relieved.
This was only until Cassandra finally spoke, her heavy eyelid gently lifted. "We should give them a proper burial," she uttered.
Hank, jolted awake in response, his mind racing when he realized he, himself, had stuck to his own muse while pledging to protect her.
Now to the question he was to respond, but before he did, he hesitated.
He knew the risks of lingering in this dangerous place, but he also couldn't ignore the desperate need to honor the fallen. Before he could make a decision, Cassandra had already pushed herself to her feet, her decision settled.
"If you're not going to do it, I will," she declared, her voice filled with a resolve that belied her physical weakness. She began to stumble towards Gørg's body, far from the north of their whereabouts, her movements slow and deliberate.
Hank, stunned by her abrupt interruption, muted as he glanced at her unrefined stumbles.
While she was slow, she arrived by Gørg's side eventually, the weight of grief pressed down on Cassandra as she knelt beside him.
Her hand held tight against Gørg's, grudging the dismal seeped from the witness of her befallen friend.
"I'm sorry… Gørg… I'm sorry…" she whimpered, her eyes quivered with pearls of regret, "I failed you as a companion, and as a…" she choked, "friend…"
With those hefty words expressed, she shut her eyes in remorse, unable to capture one last glimpse of her friend, and gently closed his eyes, her heart aching with a feeling of profound sorrow.
A mournful chant followed escaping her lips, a silent requiem for their fallen comrade.
Upon discerning the attestation of a grief-stricken Cassandra, Hank recognized the importance of the looming task toward her, especially to someone who underwent the hellish test of fate.
Realizing the futility, he sighed and turned his attention to the grim task ahead, burying the dead, their scornful fate should be at least granted with one.
Wasted no expanse, Hank dragged the fallen bodies, trailing the cobblestone street with their bloody track while separating from the goblins that intended for cremation.
With one fallen body detained within his grasp, he began his search for a suitable burial spot.
Then, a ruined garden that once bloomed with vibrant life served within his peripheral vision.
Despite it being molded into a desolate patch of earth, stained with blood and littered with the remnants of battle. It would serve perfectly as their final resting place, giving the peace it proffered.
Settling the body by the soil, he noticed the missing core for the grim task–the shovel, the necessity for the digging, specifically tasked against tens and hundreds of bodies.
Curiosity bubbled within Hank, as he began to wonder what Cassandra had become. As he glimpsed, he noticed her disappearance from the root where her knee sank.
While he was in pursuit, he was startled by her abrupt manifestation by his side, with Gørgcradling between her arms.
Seeing the fidgeted reaction from Hank, her brown creased in confusion, "What…?" she asked.
"Nothing…!" Hank denied, trying to hide his clumsiness.
Despite being bugged by Hank's strange demeanor, she renounced and eased down Gørg by the soil, harmonized by the body Hank tarried.
As the breeze of soothing wind caressed their cheeks, flippantly entangling their hair, a soft tepid light basked against their weary skin where their eyes silently descended at the restful bodies, peacefully resting on the lush green before them. Their minds began to drift off, as their sensible consciousness was captivated by this alluring scene.
While they were completely indulged, exhausting their obliging daylight, Hank quickly resurfaced and chimed in with a mild tone, "There are still more of them…" he restated.
Cassandra, her heart still heavy from sorrow, reluctant to speak, nodded only to his response.
With that, Hank sighed, comforting her with an assuring smile, "Come, let us finish this," he soothed.
Then, they resumed their task ahead.
As their days turned from morning, into noon, into the afternoon, more bodies were arrayed by the lush soil.
While continuing his task, Hank came across a decrepit shack, by its scorched fashion, the tools survived miraculously. Relief etched across Hank's bushed manner as he rummaged through the shack.
Returning to Cassandra, shovels in hand, he found her standing gracefully over the bodies, her hands clasped in a praying sight, her hair weaved through the mellow wind, chanting a haunting melody in the still morning air. Light strangely emboldened with holiness suchlike, coating her with a dazzling panorama.
Stunned by Cassandra's gracefulness, Hank rooted from afar, his eyes unexpectedly enjoyed the view. But before he divulged into a false sentiment, he rattled his head, snapping himself back to his senses, "What am I doing…?" he mumbled.
Then, he ambled toward her, shovels bobbling within his arms, realizing most procurable bodies were gathered evenly with few disregarded by their gnarled condition.
Just as he lined up with Cassandra, a silent understanding passed between them, with Hank gazing upon the front, observing the restful bodies basked under the beaming daylight, Cassandra still her hands joined, praying at the deceased while her eyes firmly closed.
With another round of silent company later, Cassandra finally concluded her mournful rite, extending her hands for the shovel.
Without a word, Hank passed the shovel to her and they began to dig, their movements slow and deliberate.