"Son, do you know what time it is?" He stood on the balcony of the tall building, the light wind playing with his coat.
"Time?"
The father smiled a calm smile, then gestured with his hand towards a nearby high school. "Yes, time. Do you see those boys?"
Jackson paused, looking at the area for a moment. "Which ones do you mean, Dad?"
The father placed his hand on his son's shoulder and pointed his finger at several places. "All of them. Look at those playing soccer at the back, and that small group sitting under the wall. Do you see them? And finally, that group walking together."
The father paused for a moment, as if he was remembering something old. "Son, do you know what they all have in common?"
Jackson thought for a moment. "They're all teenagers?"
The father chuckled lightly and said, "Yes, they're all young, but that's not what I mean. What binds them, son, is not their age, but the moments they are living right now."
"These laughs, the jokes, chasing small dreams, mocking time, and even skipping school... these are more than just passing actions. They are their lives shaping before their eyes, moment by moment. They are small pieces of time, flowing like a fast river, never to return."
The father looked at Jackson, his eyes glowing with light. "Imagine, son, one day you'll stand where I am now, and you'll wish you could hold onto those moments," he moved his hand forward, as if he wanted to grasp something.
"You'll wish the laughs hadn't stopped, and the days didn't slip through your hands like water. You'll realize that time isn't just hours and minutes. It's life itself, and it's the one thing that, the more we use it, the less we have."
He paused for a moment, then added in a voice filled with longing and regret: "Time, son, is the greatest of miracles and the cruelest of tyrants. Seize it. Live every moment as if it were your last. In the end, we won't remember the things we owned, but the moments we lived."
"Son, do you know what time stays etched in your mind the most?"
…
The flocks arrived around them, their massive bodies shaking the ground continuously, their roar echoing across the area.
The Guardians stood proudly, Sairon drew his sword, trying to focus on the memories of the original Sairon fighting some monsters before.
24 people had left the tribe, and now only 19 remained. Soon, there might be no one left alive.
Kill!
Kill!
Kill!
The ground exploded under the heavy footsteps of the monsters, their rush was overwhelming like a flood.
Their open mouths spewed foul breaths, and their sharp fangs glistened. The monsters were countless, moving in dense masses, their roars filling the sky like thunder, while the earth trembled from their advance.
At that moment, Sairon was in the center, his body engulfed by an unnatural heat, so intense that it felt like his blood was boiling in his veins.
Every strike!
Every swipe!
He could hear it!
Each swing of his sword left a deep mark on the monster's body, and every movement became faster, stronger, more precise. The sword danced in his hands as if it were part of his body, devouring the monsters one by one.
"Is this the feeling of power?" he smiled ecstatically.
The blood of the monsters exploded like a red fountain, splattering in every direction, staining his face and body, turning the scene into a grotesque vision of chaos and destruction.
The ground beneath their feet turned into a pool of blood, the bodies of the monsters scattered around him, some cut into pieces, others still groaning as they bled in a desperate battle.
Kill!
He saw his comrades waving their swords, sweat and blood spreading with every strike. The marks of the monsters' claws were visible on their shields.
Barbon shouted as his sword cut through monsters, "Don't lose formation!"
The bodies of the monsters piled on top of each other. The Guardians climbed over the wounded and dead bodies of their kin, trying to destroy them in any way possible.
Even a fool could tell this was unnatural.
In the midst of this chaos, Sairon felt something strange growing inside him, a strength like an endless supply of blood. His hands trembled from the intensity of the feeling, his eyes shone with an unnatural gleam as he raised his sword, his hands pulsing with power. At that moment, he realized he was no longer just an ordinary fighter; he had become part of the massacre, part of the bloody whispers enveloping that land.
Sairon raised his sword high, his eyes fixed on the approaching monster, his mind filled with defiance. But he didn't know that one moment of haste would make him pay a heavy price.
Among the scattered bodies, one of the injured monsters suddenly leaped out, opening its jaws and sinking its fangs into Sairon's arm, tearing it off with force.
Aghhhhhhh!
The sound coming from Sairon was more like a groan of helplessness, a battle of pain that burned through his entire body. His blood scattered with his breath, and a bitter feeling of betrayal filled him.
The monster cut off his hand mercilessly, and the blood flowed without stopping, as if the pain was turning into an inner darkness, increasing with every passing second.
He fell to his knees, blood pouring heavily.
"Am I going to die here?"
"Is this my story?"
"This is ridiculous!"
His scream echoed throughout the battlefield, like the cry of a dying soul.
The Guardians turned, their eyes filled with shock and concern. They found Sairon lying on the ground, his body trembling violently, his eyes empty of any hope.
Tears fell from his eyes, but they were not tears of weakness, but tears of despair and deep sorrow. That moment was one of collapse, not just physically, but mentally too.
The Guardians were struck by a severe mental shock. Their strongest warrior was lying on the ground, bleeding heavily.
The knight, the symbol of strength, had lost to a lowly creature who had severed his hand. This was the most absurd thing anyone could hear.
"Don't despair, our knight has fallen, but it's not the end!" Barbon's roar resounded like a battle cry.
He pointed his sword at the enemy and shouted, "Fight, my soldiers! Advance, my soldiers! Kill, my soldiers! Earn your honor, my soldiers!"
The Guardians surged into a collective slaughter, leaving Sairon lying. It was not betrayal; losing his hand meant there was no escape for him now.
They could only avenge him and retrieve his body if they survived.
While the Guardians plunged into the massacre, drenched in blood, Sairon slowly drifted into unconsciousness. It was a natural result of losing so much blood.
"Was I killed once? Is this the second time?"
"Do I deserve this? Maybe."
A perfect failure for a failure like me!
Sairon fainted right at that moment.
The Guardians roared as they waved their weapons, "Kill these pests!"
"Mark, watch out behind you!" one of the Guardians yelled loudly.
Mark turned to find a group of monsters about to pounce on him from behind. Mark gritted his teeth and tried to jump onto the back of one of the monsters.
Boom!
A monster from the side slammed into Mark, sending him flying.
"Aghghgh, did I break my hand!" Mark threw himself onto the body of a monster, which lessened the shock. But the previous attack had broken his hand's bones, and blood poured from his mouth.
"Help Mark!" someone screamed, though Mark was grateful for anyone who helped him.
But everyone was too busy and exhausted from fighting the monsters in front of them.
Mark struggled to hold his sword with his other hand, pointing it at the approaching monsters. "Ronen, Mark, I'm coming to you!"
"Come, you filthy creatures!" Mark growled with bloodlust at the monsters coming toward him. "I'll take another of your kind with me before I leave, haha."
The monsters growled and approached Mark, drool and blood dripping from them. Aghghgh! The distance between them shrank to just one meter.
Whoosh!
At that moment, something jumped onto the monster's body, turning it into a bloody mess. The other two monsters quickly moved toward the body, and in an instant, both fell still.
Mark opened his mouth, staring at the person standing amid the gruesome scene of blood. "You… Lord Sairon, are you alive?"
Sairon stood calmly amidst the monster corpses, holding his sword in silence.
The remaining Guardians were submerged in waves of monsters. It was unclear how many of them were still alive.
And, of course, they didn't know what was happening with Mark. They were certain he was dead.
The sound of monsters roaring grew louder.
At that moment, a cloud of smoke began to thicken, covering their rear. It created an atmosphere of tension and anxiety among everyone. The sounds from afar reverberated in their minds, like disturbing whispers. But soon, they began to see things more clearly. They realized these sounds weren't a new threat but perhaps a call.
One of them screamed, "Is this another group of monsters?"
But the response came quickly from another, "Damn it, what rotten luck!"
Then, a laughing voice erupted from the group, looking sarcastically at what was happening. "Hahaha, at least I'll die with honor."
But Barbon, standing among them, raised his hands high with enthusiasm and declared firmly, "No! We won't die today! They are allies!" He seemed determined that