The rain kept pouring down, relentless and cold, pounding against the dark forest. Luther stumbled along the muddy path, his breaths shallow and erratic, his robes soaked and stained with grime and blood. He leaned heavily against the trunk of a cypress tree, his fingers gripping the rough bark as he tried to steady himself, his heart pounding from the close call. His kerosene lamp was gone, shattered in the skirmish, and he still had no idea what manner of creature had ambushed him.
It had all happened so fast; a blur of snarling shadows, claws, and teeth. Somehow, he'd survived, fighting with a desperation he didn't know he possessed, leaving the bodies of his assailants scattered on the forest floor. But in the darkness, obscured by rain and without light, he couldn't make out their forms. He just knew one thing for certain: these creatures weren't from the Old Ones. If they were, the system would have given him some kind of alert, some hint of their origin. But nothing.
Raindrops trickled down his face, mixing with sweat and blood. Just then, a faint cry for help echoed through the trees, piercing the rhythmic sound of the rain. Luther's brow furrowed, his senses sharpened. He crouched low, moving stealthily toward the sound, weaving through the underbrush, each step careful and deliberate.
In a clearing up ahead, he finally saw the source of the commotion. A caravan; at least twenty people strong, was under siege. A group of small, green-skinned creatures encircled them, snarling and jeering, their crude weapons gleaming in the faint torchlight. Luther crouched in the shadows, his gaze narrowed as he took in the scene.
"Goblins?" he muttered to himself. They looked similar to the goblins he remembered from folklore, but something was off. These creatures didn't have the cowardly demeanor he'd read about; instead, they were brutal, with a hunger for violence. Scattered across the ground were several decapitated human bodies, their blood staining the muddy earth.
And then Luther's eyes settled on something else, something far more imposing. Towering above the smaller green creatures was a hulking brute, nearly three meters tall, muscles bulging under its thick, green skin. A crude belt hung around its waist, adorned with a grisly human skull. Its eyes burned with malice, a cold intelligence lurking behind them.
"An orc… or something close to it," Luther mused, a shiver running through him. This world continued to surprise him, pulling monsters from myths and nightmares alike. And this creature, this towering green-skinned beast… there was something about it that stirred an unsettling hunger within him.
He clenched his jaw, feeling an almost primal urge bubble up from within. He wanted to taste its blood, to tear into its flesh, to consume its raw, feral strength. His hand drifted to his mouth, and he bit down hard on his thumb, grounding himself, fighting to keep his impulses in check.
"Not yet… patience," he whispered, forcing his breathing to slow. Now wasn't the time to act. He needed to wait until the goblins and orc were distracted, to catch them off guard.
As he watched, the scene in the clearing shifted. The caravan guards parted, and a woman in a pristine white dress stepped forward, an air of authority about her. She moved with an eerie calmness, her eyes locked on the massive green-skinned creature as she approached. An old man, dressed in a formal suit, held a black umbrella over her, shielding her from the rain.
Luther's eyes widened. 'An umbrella? Here?' This was no medieval world, as he had first assumed. The presence of such an item suggested a world that might have its roots in a more advanced, even steam-age society. This was a place where danger and technology intermingled in strange and unexpected ways.
"Are they… negotiating?" Luther wondered aloud, his gaze fixed on the woman as she began speaking in low tones to the orc-like creature. He couldn't make out the words over the rain, but the way she carried herself, so calm, so fearless; it was as though she wasn't facing a monster at all.
Then, her hand moved to her waist, pulling something from a hidden holster. Luther squinted, trying to make it out through the sheets of rain.
"A… revolver?"
His mind raced. In this world of swords and monsters, a firearm was as much a rarity as the woman herself. He couldn't help but wonder if she really thought a single shot from a revolver could bring down a beast of that size.
The gunshot cracked through the rain, loud and sudden. The orc's expression twisted, more in irritation than pain, as the bullet barely seemed to faze it, merely glancing off its thick hide. It let out an enraged bellow, eyes now locked onto the woman, murder gleaming in its gaze.
"You fool," Luther whispered harshly, gripping his fists as he watched the scene unfold. "That only made it angrier."
In a flash, the orc's massive hand shot out, sweeping aside one of the smaller goblins in its path, crushing the creature underfoot as it lunged toward the woman. She took a step back, eyes widening, but the umbrella-bearer beside her seemed frozen, rooted in place by fear or loyalty. The orc's hand stretched out, fingers curling, ready to close around her fragile form and end her life in a brutal instant.
Luther's instincts screamed at him to move, to intervene. If he did nothing, this woman would be dead in moments. And though he didn't know her, there was something about her strange composure, her air of mystery, that stirred something in him.
"This is going south fast," he muttered, glancing around for an opening. The goblins were fixated on the caravan's guards, while the orc was consumed with rage, its attention solely on the woman. If he acted now, maybe he could turn the tide.
He slipped out of the shadows, inching forward through the rain-soaked underbrush, his gaze sharp, his movements precise. The primal hunger within him surged, whispering dark promises of power if he tore into that towering creature. But he forced himself to stay focused, to suppress the urge. This wasn't about his thirst for blood or strength; it was survival, strategy.
Luther's gaze flickered with a momentary spark of resolve. He had, after all, intended to save them. That had been his plan from the start; strike the big green monster by surprise, kill it swiftly, then lead them to safety. But plans were fickle things, easily disrupted, and tonight had been no exception. The ambush, the chaos, the unexpected strength of the creature; all of it threw his strategy off course. Now, rushing in would mean inviting trouble he wasn't sure he wanted. Risking his neck for a half-formed plan? That wasn't the kind of gamble he preferred.
"Hmph," he muttered, narrowing his eyes as he watched the unfolding scene.
His interest piqued again as he noticed the old man by the woman's side, standing his ground against the hulking green monster with surprising skill and strength. The old man moved with an agility that belied his years, parrying blows and dodging strikes with an elegance that Luther hadn't anticipated.
"Well, well… looks like he's got a few tricks up his sleeve," Luther mused. The thought crossed his mind; if he jumped in now, perhaps he could capitalize on the chaos, find an opening, and finish the creature off. But another thought followed quickly on its heels, a cold practicality he couldn't ignore. "No, best leave them to it. They seem capable enough, and getting involved now might just waste my time… or worse."
People were unpredictable, after all. And in this world, trust was a luxury he couldn't afford. Without another thought, he turned and melted into the shadows of the forest, slipping away as silently as he'd come. Less trouble, fewer entanglements.
By the time he returned to the clinic, it was deep into the night. The rain had left him drenched and covered in mud and leaves. Luther let out a weary sigh as he shrugged off his soaked gray robe and draped it over a chair. The cold had seeped into his bones, and he needed something to warm him up. Moving quietly, he prepared a bowl of ginger soup, savoring its warmth as it eased the chill from his core. He ladled out a second bowl and added a simple meal, then carried it down the dim corridor to the office door.
Through the window, he saw the slight figure on the bed, lying still, face hidden behind a mask. She appeared to be asleep. Luther opened the door slowly, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet, and stepped in. He noticed the girl flinch, her body tense at his entrance, though she tried to hide it.
A slight smirk tugged at the corner of Luther's mouth as he placed the food on the table. "If you're hungry, go ahead and eat," he said casually. "The clinic isn't exactly the safest place. If that mask bothers you, you're welcome to take it off, but if you end up like the creature downstairs…" He let the threat hang in the air, his tone a mix of warning and indifference. "Don't blame me for putting you down if you become a monster."
The girl didn't move, didn't respond to his first offer, but when he mentioned the creature downstairs, she trembled ever so slightly.
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "I figured as much, you'll probably take that mask off when you think I'm not looking." He leaned in a little, his voice lowering. "But I'll remind you now, if you start to change, if something's off… I won't hesitate. Consider this your warning."
Luther straightened and turned toward the door. "I won't lock it. If you don't want to stay, you're free to go after you eat. But if you do stay, understand this; I don't keep freeloaders. You'll earn your keep, starting tomorrow." His tone left no room for argument. "Understood?"
The girl didn't reply, but Luther knew she was listening. Whether she stayed or left, the choice was hers. He was only offering her one lifeline, and it came with strings attached.
Satisfied, he stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He took a quick detour through the clinic's resettlement room, where the ghoul he'd subdued earlier was snoring loudly, stirring only when Luther's presence roused it briefly. With a sigh, Luther threw a blanket over it, hoping to muffle the sound, then moved on.
His final stop was the archive room on the second floor. A recliner sat by a shelf of old, worn documents. He'd slept here before, on quiet nights when he'd lose himself in the clinic's records, trying to learn what he could about this strange, dangerous world. But tonight, his mind was racing. The encounter in the forest replayed itself, the fierce battle, the looming green creature, the strange technology the woman wielded. His thoughts drifted to his own skills or lack thereof. He needed to be stronger, sharper.
Settling into the recliner, he drew his sword, running his fingers along the worn hilt, feeling its weight. Tonight, he would train, honing his skills until dawn, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion. In this world, strength was his only real safeguard, his only means of survival. Everything else; comfort, rest, even sleep, felt secondary.
As the first light of dawn broke through the window, casting a pale glow over the clinic, Luther finally let himself close his eyes. The weight of fatigue settled over him, his body surrendering to the hours of strain.
But his rest was short-lived. A sharp voice broke through his sleep, loud and insistent.
"Wake up, you idiot!"
A jolt shot through him as he opened his eyes, startled. He looked up to see the girl standing over him, her face twisted in frustration. She huffed, her hands on her hips.
"Someone's hurt, and they need you to patch them up! Now!" she barked, her tone demanding yet tinged with a strange urgency.
Luther blinked, clearing the fog of sleep from his mind. His instincts kicked in, the residual training from his days with Dr. Joseph taking over. He rose from the recliner, shaking off the lingering fatigue, his mind shifting to the task at hand.
"So, you've decided to stay, huh?" he muttered with a smirk, brushing past her as he headed toward the clinic's makeshift treatment room.
The girl huffed again, crossing her arms but following close behind. As he readied his supplies, she watched him with a mixture of curiosity and begrudging respect, as though finally seeing him as more than just a gruff stranger who'd taken her in.
In that brief, unspoken moment, Luther realized that perhaps, just perhaps, he'd gained an ally.