The villagers stood at the edge of their settlement, their makeshift barricades trembling under the weight of their fear and determination.
Rocks, pitchforks, and even kitchen knives were clutched in their hands as they faced the line of imperial soldiers standing just beyond the village gates.
The soldiers were outnumbered, and the villagers clung to that fact like a lifeline.
"Chief!"
A young man shouted, his voice trembling with excitement as he ran up to the village leader.
"I counted them! There are only fifty soldiers! We outnumber them four to one!"
The chief, an old man with a voice that could command a storm, turned to the young man and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Good job, lad. You hear that, everyone?" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the crowd.
"Fifty soldiers against two hundred of us! Even if some of us don't know how to fight, we still have the numbers! We still have a chance!"
The villagers erupted into cheers, their voices rising in a defiant war cry.
"For our homes! For our families! We will not kneel to the Empire's dogs!"
The chief raised his fist, his voice booming like thunder.
"As long as we stand together, we will win! They may have armor and swords, but we have something they will never understand—pride! Courage! And the will to protect what's ours!"
The villagers roared in response, their voices echoing across the fields. For a moment, it felt like they could do it. Like they could actually win.
But then, a voice cut through the cheers.
"Chief! Look! They're mov—"
Splat.
Before he could finish, an arrow struck him, and his body fell.
The chief turned in panic, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon. The imperial soldiers, who had been standing still like statues, were now shifting into formation. At the back, a group of archers raised their bows, arrows nocked and ready.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
The first volley of arrows sliced through the air, their sharp whistles cutting through the villagers' cheers.
The chief's heart sank as terror took over.
"Get down!"
he screamed, his voice raw with desperation.
"Take cov—"
But it was too late.
The chief barely had time to raise his arm before an arrow pierced his forehead with a sickening thunk. His body stiffened, then crumpled, falling from the wooden wall to the ground below.
"..."
"..."
"...Chief?"
The villagers froze, their cheers turning to screams of terror.
"The chief! The chief is dead!"
"Run! Run for your lives!"
But there was nowhere to run.
The air grew heavy with the sound of whistling arrows, and the villagers looked up in horror as the sky darkened with a second volley.
This time, the arrows were tipped with flame, their fiery tails streaking through the air like falling stars. It was as if the heavens themselves had turned against them—a rain of fire descending upon the village.
Whoosh. Thud.
The thatched roofs ignited instantly, the dry straw catching fire like kindling. The air filled with the crackling of flames and the acrid stench of smoke. A woman screamed as her home was engulfed in fire, her children clutching at her skirts. A man tried to beat out the flames with his cloak, but another arrow struck him in the chest, and he fell to the ground, his body twitching.
"Mama! Mama!" children cried, their voice drowned out by the roar of the fire.
The soldiers advanced, their boots pounding against the earth with a rhythmic
thud, thud, thud.
Their swords gleamed in the firelight, their faces hidden behind cold, expressionless helmets.
Thus, the slaughter began in earnest.
***
A villager, a man who had cheered the loudest just moments ago, stood frozen as the soldiers approached. He looked down at the chief's lifeless body, then at the burning homes around him. His hands trembled as he clutched a rusted axe, his mind racing.
'What were we thinking?'
'Going against the Empire…'
Looking at the destruction, only one thought came to his mind:
'We're all going to die.'
A soldier stepped forward, his blade slicing through the man's neighbor with a wet shink. The woman fell to the ground, her blood pooling beneath her. The man stared in horror, his axe slipping from his grasp.
"No… no, please…" he whispered, backing away.
But the soldier didn't stop. With a swift, merciless motion, he drove his sword through the man's chest.
Thud.
The man gasped, his eyes wide with shock as he crumpled to the ground.
***
A child, no older than six, ran through the chaos, their small feet stumbling over the bodies of the dead. Their face was streaked with tears, their voice hoarse from screaming.
"Mama! Papa! Where are you?"
A soldier stepped into their path, his blade dripping with blood. He looked down at the child, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet.
"Please…" the child whimpered, their tiny hands raised in a futile gesture of surrender. "Don't hurt me…"
The soldier hesitated for a moment, his grip tightening on his sword. Then, with a swift, merciless motion, he brought the blade down.
Splat.
The child's cry was cut short, their small body crumpling to the ground as blood splattered all over the soldier.
***
A teenage boy with blue hair and blue eyes stumbled through the chaos, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was different from the others—his clothes were finer, his face cleaner. But now, none of that mattered.
"Please… please don't kill me!" he begged, his voice breaking as he fell to his knees.
A soldier approached him, his blade gleaming in the firelight. The boy looked up, his blue eyes wide with fear.
"I… I don't want to die…"
The soldier didn't respond. With a single, fluid motion, he swung his sword.
Thud.
The boy's head rolled to the ground, his lifeless eyes staring at the sky.
***
The man who had once believed in pride now lay among the dead, his body broken and bloodied. Around him, the village burned, the flames consuming everything in their path.
As his vision faded, he realized one thing:
We never stood a chance.