The night of chaos had only just begun. The torches lining Purewood's streets flickered in the wind, casting eerie shadows as the monstrous onslaught continued.
A Batonikie, one of the massive vulture-like beasts, landed with a thud on top of a small house. Its claws tore through the roof, sending shingles and wood splinters flying. Inside, a family huddled in terror. The father clutched a makeshift weapon, but it was little more than a stick compared to the monster's talons. The Batonikie shrieked, its beady eyes scanning the terrified faces below.
Nearby knights heard the commotion and rushed to the scene. One of them, determined to save the family, hurled his spear with all his might. The weapon flew true, embedding itself in the Batonikie's wing. The creature screeched in pain, its attention diverted from the family to the attacking knights. Unable to fly, it lunged at them with terrifying speed. The knights braced themselves, weapons ready for the imminent clash.
Across the city, an Ewwga, a grotesque monkey-like creature, had managed to snatch a young boy from his mother's arms. The mother screamed, her voice filled with desperation as she watched the creature drag her son away. The father, despite his fear, charged at the Ewwga with a furious roar. The creature swatted him aside with a powerful slap, sending him tumbling across the ground, unconscious. The mother's cries filled the night air, blending with the sounds of battle.
Just as the Ewwga prepared to leap away with the boy, Gareth arrived, his sword gleaming in the torchlight. He slashed at the creature, severing its hands and freeing the child. The boy fell to the ground, scrambling back to his mother, while Gareth squared off against the enraged Ewwga, his sword poised for the next strike.
Elsewhere, a pack of Zlahas, monstrous quadrupeds rabbit lookalike, rampaged through the streets, tearing down buildings with their brute strength. Sir Carrick, mounted on his tiger, charged through the chaos. His mount leapt onto the back of a Zlaha, allowing Carrick to drive his sword down through its skull. The Zlaha collapsed, and Carrick immediately turned his attention to the next target, urging his tiger forward into the fray.
Amid these moments of valour, tragedy struck repeatedly. A building, weakened by the Zlahas' rampage, collapsed, trapping several families beneath the rubble. Knights and civilians alike rushed to the scene, desperately clawing at the debris in an attempt to free those trapped below. Cries for help echoed from beneath the wreckage, mingling with the groans of the injured and the dying.
The knights fought valiantly, but not all of them would survive the night. One fell to a Batonikie's talons, another was crushed by a Katorok's powerful kick. Civilians, too, were caught in the crossfire, their lives ending abruptly in the chaos.
Mayor Kingsley stood at the heart of the city, barking orders and coordinating the defence. His face was a mask of grim determination, but even he knew that Purewood was on the brink of being overrun. The walls, once a symbol of the city's strength, were now breached, allowing an unending stream of monsters to flood the streets.
The sounds of battle—the clash of steel, the roars of monsters, and the screams of the terrified—filled the night. Purewood was in the grip of a nightmare, its people fighting for their lives against an overwhelming force. As the night wore on, hope began to fade, and the reality of their dire situation set in. Purewood was not just under attack; it was fighting for its very survival.
Luke darted through the chaotic streets, his heart pounding as he aimed for the cathedral. The imposing stone and brick structure stood as a bastion of hope amidst the turmoil, its sturdy walls offering a semblance of security. Mayor Kingsley's words echoed in his mind, a harsh reminder of his perceived uselessness. "If you can't do anything, then seek shelter. Pray to God for help to happen." The words stung, cutting deep into Luke's pride. They implied that his presence was more of a hindrance than a help, urging him to save himself rather than becoming a burden.
Yet, as much as the words hurt, there was an undeniable truth to them. The carnage unfolding around him was far beyond anything Luke had ever experienced. This was not a sleight of hand or an illusion; it was real sorcery, a terrifying display of otherworldly power. The heart, still thumping ominously in the torn carriage, was proof of that. Gareth, the children, Sir Carrick, and even Mayor Kingsley believed Luke possessed some divine ability, a gift from God to save the people. But the reality was far different.
Luke felt like an impostor, a pretender among prophets. Unlike the tales of religious figures who wielded miraculous powers, Luke had nothing of the sort. He had never met God, and he doubted the existence of one. Yet, there had to be something behind his second chance at life. If not divine intervention, then what? Luke possessed one unique ability: the power to fake magic. And, more importantly, he had a smartphone—a device that, in this world, could be considered the ultimate tool.
His smartphone had already proved invaluable, helping the people of Purewood combat monsters before. Why hesitate now? This was a matter of life and death. Purewood was falling, and Luke had to do something. Determination surged through him, and he smacked his face three times to snap himself out of his self-doubt. He remembered the heart was the source of the monster's attack. Removing it from the city might be the only way to save Purewood.
Changing course, Luke sprinted towards the barracks. His light armour, a gift from Eamon, was stored at the cathedral, but there was no time for detours. He needed Tiala, the male tiger he had grown familiar with, to carry out his plan. If he could ride Tiala, grab the evil heart, and lead the monsters away from the city, perhaps he could save the civilians. It was a reckless plan, but it was the only one he had.
As he approached the barracks, Luke could see the knights in frantic motion, fortifying their positions and preparing for the next wave of attacks. Tiala was in the stables, his imposing figure a beacon of hope for Luke. Without hesitation, Luke saddled the tiger and mounted him, feeling the powerful muscles beneath him tense in readiness.
"Let's do this, Tiala," Luke whispered, urging the tiger forward.
With Tiala's speed, they quickly reached the cursed carriage. The knights stationed around it looked at Luke in surprise, but he ignored their questioning glances. He dismounted and approached the carriage, the thumping of the heart growing louder in his ears. Taking a deep breath, he reached into the crack and grasped the grotesque, still-beating heart. The cold, pulsing flesh sent a shiver down his spine, but he didn't let go.
Mounting Tiala again, Luke secured the heart and prepared to ride out of the city. He glanced back at the knights, who were still too stunned to react. "I'll draw the monsters away. Protect the city!" he shouted, hoping they understood.
With a final look at the burning, chaotic streets of Purewood, Luke and Tiala took off into the night. The monsters, sensing the heart's movement, began to shift their attention. It was working. Luke's desperate gamble had begun.
As Luke and Tiala bolted through the city streets, the effect of their actions became immediately apparent. The monsters that had been wreaking havoc paused, their heads turning in unison towards the direction of the beating heart. The Batonikies, with their shrill cries, took to the air, their poor night vision forcing them to fly low and erratic, using the torchlight to navigate. Ewwgas, Katoroks, Zlahas, and other grotesque creatures halted their assaults on buildings and people, their predatory instincts now focused entirely on Luke and the heart he carried.
The growls, shrieks, and screeches of the monsters grew louder, blending into a cacophony of horror as they began to pursue Luke and Tiala. The streets of Purewood became a frenzied blur as Luke urged the tiger to greater speeds, darting through alleys and leaping over obstacles. Behind them, the monsters surged forward, their collective intent clear: reclaim the cursed heart.
Gareth, stationed nearby, caught sight of Luke's daring escape and his heart skipped a beat.
"Luke! Have you lost your mind?" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the din of the chaos.
The knights, already strained by the battle, looked on in astonishment and concern. Luke, however, didn't slow down, his mind set on one goal.
"I'll draw the monsters away. Protect the city!" he shouted back, his voice hoarse but resolute.
Again and again, Luke repeated the mantra, his words becoming a beacon of hope and determination amidst the turmoil. The knights, inspired by his bravery, redoubled their efforts to secure the city and protect the remaining civilians. Luke could hear their distant cries, urging him to be careful, to survive. Yet, he knew the gravity of his actions; this was the only way.
As Tiala bounded through the city gates and into the open fields beyond, the monsters followed in relentless pursuit. The heart, still pulsing ominously, throbbed in time with Luke's racing heartbeat. His gamble was working, but now came the true test: to lead the horde far enough away to ensure the safety of Purewood, even if it meant facing the monsters alone.