The rumbling in the woods grew louder with each passing second, a sound that had not been heard in centuries. Arnolt's heart raced as he realized the truth—a terrifying force had been unleashed, and it was headed straight for his village.
"Damn it! I thought we had more time," Arnolt muttered in frustration, his mind scrambling for a plan.
His eyes locked with Xiona's, urgency and determination flashing between them. "Xiona, you have to stay with your parents," Arnolt said, his voice firm. "I'll lead the Omens away from the village. It's the only way to keep everyone safe. Promise me you'll go straight to the village hall and help fortify it."
Xiona's face tightened with defiance. "No, I can't just—"
"There's no time to argue!" Arnolt's voice cut through the air, sharp but laced with desperation. "People's lives are at stake. Do as I say. I need to draw them away. Your place is here. Now go!"
The desperation in Arnolt's eyes made Xiona's resistance crumble. She nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But be careful!"
Arnolt gave her a quick, reassuring nod before turning and sprinting toward the woods. Xiona watched him for a heartbeat, fear gripping her, then she quickly gathered her parents. "Mom, Dad, we have to go now!" she urged, her voice trembling as she led them toward the village hall.
As they reached the safety of the hall, Xiona's thoughts were consumed with worry for Arnolt and the village. The distant sounds of battle echoed from the woods, a grim reminder of the danger closing in.
Meanwhile, Arnolt plunged into the forest, his breath visible in the cold air. The Omens emerged from the shadows, a sight that sent his heart pounding. The creatures were a relentless swarm, their monstrous forms twisting through the trees.
They resembled enormous beetles, their exoskeletons gleaming with an unnatural sheen, reflecting the dim light like polished armor. Horns and pincers clicked with an ominous rhythm as they pursued him, their movement swift and precise. For a brief, chilling moment, Arnolt feared they might take to the air, but he quickly recalled Grennyn's words—they crawled, and they crawled fast, their speed terrifyingly efficient.
Arnolt's strategy was clear: lure as many of them away from the village as possible. He darted between trees, glancing over his shoulder to ensure he was being followed. He hurled rocks and shouted, creating a cacophony that drew the Omens' attention.
As he led the creatures deeper into the forest, Arnolt engaged them in combat. His spear moved with deadly precision, targeting their weak spots—their eyes. With each strike, he felt a grim satisfaction as the Omens crumpled into dust. It amazed him that only hours ago, he had learned of their existence, and now, here he was, fighting for his life.
Despite his efforts, the eerie shrieks of the remaining Omens grew louder, moving closer to the village. Realizing he could not lure all of the threat away from the village, Arnolt made the swift decision to return. He had to protect the village, even if it meant fighting his way back.
Chaos gripped the village. Villagers scrambled to fortify their homes, but the sight of the Omens breaching the outskirts was terrifying. Arwolt rushed back to his house, his heart pounding with urgency and dread. His wife, Roselyn, was frantically trying to secure their home, her eyes wide with fear.
As Arwolt neared his house, he saw a massive horned beetle Omen tearing at the side of their home. The sight sent a surge of trauma through him—the same kind of beast that had haunted his nightmares for years. It was a formidable creature, its massive pincers snapping with lethal intent. Roselyn's scream pierced the air as she struggled to fend it off with a broom.
Arwolt's jaw tightened with resolve. Though he had lost dexterity in his left hand, his right still held strength. He grabbed his spear and charged at the beast. With a single, powerful thrust, he aimed for its eyes. The Omen roared in fury as the spear struck true, piercing its vulnerable spot.
The beetle writhed and screeched before collapsing into a cloud of dust and Magicule. Arwolt stood over the fallen beast, panting heavily but victorious. He turned to Roselyn, who rushed to him, relief washing over her face.
"I need to get you to the village hall," Arwolt said urgently, his voice steady despite the chaos. "It should be safer there. Stay close to me."
Together, they made their way toward the hall, just as Arnolt emerged from the forest, a mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline fueling his every step. The village, once a place of comfort and normalcy, was now a battlefield. Buildings smoldered, their wooden frames blackened by the fires that had broken out. But worse still were the villagers—many of whom lay dead on the ground, their bodies bloodied and mutilated by the relentless Omens.
His mind was filled with a mixture of fear and anger, fear of how relentless these monsters were, and anger toward their action. These creatures desecrate his home and took the lives of the people he was supposed to protect. With a roar of fury, Arnolt hurled himself into the fray, his spear moving with a deadly grace as he targeted the remaining Omens. Each strike was fueled by his rage, each blow a testament to his resolve to defend his village.
As he fought, his eyes scanned for any sign of his parents. Amidst the chaos, he finally spotted them. Arwolt, his father, stood tall with his spear in hand, a fierce determination etched into his weathered face. Beside him was Roselyn, her eyes wide with terror but her resolve firm as she fought off the Omens with a makeshift weapon. The sight of his parents, fighting together, gave Arnolt a brief surge of hope.
"Dad! Mom!" Arnolt shouted as he fought his way toward them. "We need to get to the village hall now! It's our best chance for safety!"
Arwolt nodded, a brief look of relief passing over his face as he saw his son. "We were just about to head there. I'll cover you, and get your mother to safety."
Roselyn, still gripping her broom with white-knuckled determination, gave a shaky nod. "Let's go quickly. There's not much time."
They hurried toward the village hall, where Xiona was gathering some of the remaining villagers outside. She rushed to greet them.
"Arnolt, Uncle Arwolt, Aunt Rosie—you're all safe!" Her face lit up with relief as she embraced them.
"Glad to see you safe too, Xiona," Arnolt said, his voice tinged with relief. "Are your parents inside the hall?"
"Yeah, they're inside. I've been helping those still outside," Xiona replied, her voice steady despite the chaos.
"Good. Now go inside with my mom. Dad and I will stand guard out here," Arnolt instructed, his tone firm.
"What? I've been handling the Omens while you were gone. I'm not leaving you now!" Xiona protested, her eyes blazing with determination.
Arwolt placed a reassuring hand on Arnolt's shoulder. "Have faith in her, son. She's as skilled as you are. You both trained for this."
Arnolt hesitated, worry gnawing at him, but seeing the resolve in Xiona's eyes, he relented with a sigh. "Fine. Xiona, you're the only one with a ranged weapon, so I need you to cover us from the back. Mom, get inside the hall—we'll hold them off as long as—"
But before he could finish, a deafening rumble erupted from the woods, more powerful than before.
"Oh no, there's more of them! Mom, quickly! Get to the—"
"Auntie, LOOK OUT!" Xiona's scream cut through the air, filled with terror.
Arnolt's sentence was abruptly cut off, and his heart froze as he turned to see the nightmare unfolding before them.