The Brute's claws carved through the air, a deadly blur of blackened steel. I ducked, the tips grazing the strands of my hair. The sound of its strike ripping through the stone wall behind me thundered in my ears. Dust and debris rained down as I rolled to my feet, panting, gripping my blade tightly.
I couldn't afford to slow down. Not here. Not against this thing.
The village lay in ruins around us, skeletal remnants of homes standing as silent witnesses to the chaos. The air was thick with the acrid stench of sulfur and charred wood, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood. Fires crackled in the distance, their embers glowing faintly against the darkened sky.
The Brute towered over me, its monstrous frame hunched but still dwarfing anything human. Its molten eyes burned with cruel delight, and its mouth curled into something that resembled a grin.
"You're still alive, Warden?" Its voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder. "You humans are stubborn little creatures."
"Stubborn enough to kill you," I shot back, wiping blood from the corner of my mouth.
It laughed, the sound echoing across the desolation. "Kill me? You barely scratch me. But go ahead—entertain me."
My grip tightened on my blade. The Grace imbued within it pulsed faintly, resonating with my resolve. This wasn't the first Hell Brute I'd faced, but there was something different about this one. It moved faster, hit harder. I couldn't tell if it was stronger or if I was just growing weaker.
I shifted my stance, steadying my breathing. Every fiber of my being screamed in protest—ribs likely fractured, muscles strained—but pain was a familiar companion. A Warden didn't survive long without learning to fight through it.
The Brute moved first, a blur of unnatural speed. I sidestepped its claws, bringing my blade up in a sharp arc. The strike connected with its arm, carving a shallow wound that oozed black ichor. It roared in pain, swinging wildly, and I barely managed to duck in time.
I drove the tip of my blade toward its abdomen, aiming for the glowing core faintly visible beneath its translucent chest. But the Brute twisted, catching my sword mid-thrust. Its clawed hand wrapped around the blade, black smoke hissing as Grace burned into its flesh.
"You'll need to do better than that," it sneered, tightening its grip.
I kicked out, catching it in the knee. The Brute faltered, and I yanked my sword free, slashing across its chest in one fluid motion.
It staggered, growling, but its molten eyes never left mine.
The ground beneath us was littered with rubble, broken beams, and shattered glass. My boots crunched against the debris as I circled the demon, looking for an opening. The Brute mirrored my movements, dragging its claws through the dirt, its grin widening.
"You've fought my kind before, haven't you?" it asked, almost conversationally. "But never one like me."
I didn't respond. Words were pointless.
It lunged again, and this time I wasn't fast enough. Its massive hand slammed into me, and I flew backward, colliding with what remained of a stone wall. Pain exploded across my back as I crumpled to the ground.
The Brute advanced slowly, savoring its advantage. "Tell me, Warden," it mused. "What drives you? Is it vengeance? Duty? Or just plain stupidity?"
I forced myself to my feet, leaning on my sword for support. My breathing was ragged, each inhale sharp and shallow. "You talk too much," I managed, spitting blood onto the dirt.
Its grin widened. "And you're too predictable."
It lunged again, but this time I was ready. I feigned weakness, waiting until the last moment before sidestepping. My blade arced upward, slicing through its leg.
The Brute roared, collapsing onto one knee. I didn't hesitate, driving my sword into its shoulder. Grace flared, the blade glowing bright as it burned through its flesh.
The demon howled, thrashing violently. Its claws raked across my side, and I bit back a scream as pain shot through me. Blood seeped from the gash, warm and sticky against my skin, but I held on, twisting the blade deeper.
The Brute's movements slowed, its strength waning. I could feel its life force fading, the darkness within it recoiling from the light of Grace.
But it wasn't finished.
With a final surge of strength, it threw me off, my body skidding across the dirt. My sword remained embedded in its shoulder, glowing faintly as the demon struggled to rise.
"You… think this… ends here?" it rasped, black ichor dripping from its mouth.
I pushed myself up, swaying on unsteady feet. My vision blurred, and every breath was a battle, but I refused to fall.
"This ends with you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
The Brute let out a guttural laugh, its body trembling. "Then come… Warden. Finish it."
I didn't hesitate. Summoning the last reserves of my strength, I charged. My hand closed around the hilt of my sword, and I pulled it free, spinning in one fluid motion.
The blade arced downward, severing the demon's head from its shoulders.
For a moment, everything was still. Then the Brute's body disintegrated, blackened ash swirling into the air before dissipating.
I dropped to my knees, the weight of the battle crashing down on me. The village was silent now, save for the faint crackle of distant flames.
I glanced at the horizon, where the first light of dawn was beginning to break. It felt wrong, seeing light in a place so consumed by darkness.
The wind carried the acrid stench of sulfur and decay as I trudged through the ruins. Every step sent a jolt of pain through my battered body, but I couldn't stop. Not yet. My left side throbbed where the Brute's claws had torn into me, and the sticky warmth of blood soaking my shirt was a constant reminder of how close I'd come to death.
This wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.
The village was eerily quiet, its lifeless remains bathed in the pale light of dawn. Broken windows stared like hollow eyes from crumbling walls. Smoke curled lazily from the charred remains of homes. There were no signs of life—no cries for help, no murmurs of survivors. Just silence.
I paused in what had once been the town square, my gaze sweeping over the devastation. The fountain at the center had long since dried up, its stone basin cracked and blackened. Around it lay the remnants of a once-thriving community: overturned carts, scattered belongings, bloodstains on the cobblestones.
I knelt by one of the stains, pressing my fingers into the cold stone. The blood was fresh, the memories of the slaughter still lingering in the air like ghosts.
The Hell Brutes had come through here like a storm, their destructive path evident in every broken building and charred corpse. They didn't just kill—they annihilated, leaving nothing but despair in their wake.
For a moment, I allowed myself to close my eyes, to breathe in the silence. My mind wandered to old memories—another village, another massacre. Faces blurred together, screams echoing in my ears.
"You did everything you could."
The voice was my own, a hollow reassurance that felt like a lie.
I forced the memories aside and stood, leaning heavily on my sword. The Grace within the blade pulsed faintly, resonating with the power that coursed through my veins. It was the only thing keeping me upright, the only light in the darkness.
I followed the faint trail of destruction to what remained of the village chapel. Its steeple had collapsed, the wooden beams charred and broken. Inside, pews lay scattered like bones, and the altar was a smoldering ruin.
A soft glow caught my eye near the altar—a faint, flickering light that seemed out of place amidst the destruction. I approached cautiously, my boots crunching over shattered glass and debris.
The source of the glow was a small, unbroken lantern, its flame struggling against the darkness. Beside it lay the body of a priest, his robes singed and his face frozen in a mask of anguish.
I knelt beside him, closing his eyes with a trembling hand.
"Rest now," I murmured, the words catching in my throat.
A scrap of parchment clutched in his hand drew my attention. I carefully pried it loose, the brittle paper crackling in protest. The writing was hurried, scrawled in a shaky hand:
"The Brutes came for the children. We hid them in the cellar, but we fear it won't be enough. Lord, protect them."
The cellar.
Hope flickered in my chest, fragile but insistent. If there were children… survivors…
I stood, every muscle screaming in protest, and made my way to the back of the chapel. There, half-buried beneath fallen beams, was a trapdoor.
The trapdoor creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase that descended into darkness. The air was damp and heavy, the faint smell of mildew mingling with the stench of death.
I descended slowly, my blade drawn and glowing faintly in the dim light. Every step echoed ominously, the silence pressing in around me like a physical weight.
At the bottom, the space opened into a small, cramped cellar. Barrels and crates were stacked haphazardly along the walls, and in the center, a single lantern cast long, flickering shadows.
Bodies lay scattered across the floor—men, women, their faces contorted in terror. They had died defending something, or someone.
A faint sound drew my attention—a soft, almost imperceptible whimper.
I moved cautiously, following the sound to a small alcove hidden behind a stack of crates. There, huddled together, were two children—a boy and a girl, no older than ten. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with fear.
They flinched as I approached, shrinking further into the shadows.
"It's okay," I said, lowering my blade. "I'm not going to hurt you."
The boy stared at me, his small hands clenched into fists. "Are you… are you one of them?"
"No," I said firmly. "I'm here to help."
The girl clung to her brother, her voice barely a whisper. "The monsters… they're gone?"
"For now," I said. "But we need to leave. It's not safe here."
I carried the children out of the cellar, shielding them from the worst of the destruction. They clung to me, their small hands gripping my coat as if letting go would mean losing everything.
The village was no place for them now. It wasn't a place for anyone.
We made our way to the outskirts, where a small dirt road led into the forest. The children didn't speak, their silence heavy with grief.
As we walked, I couldn't shake the feeling of failure. I had come too late—again. The Brutes had claimed another village, more lives lost to their unrelenting darkness.
But as I glanced down at the children, I realized there was still something worth fighting for.
The war was far from over, but this battle was won.
And as long as I drew breath, I would keep fighting.