Ash hit the wet ground with his back, feeling the weight of the last hour pressing on his chest. Even breathing was hard, his ribs contracting inward, and his legs felt numb. He had to lift his head slightly and wiggle his toes. Still there.
An entire damn battle had landed squarely on his own field. The crops burned, the smoke rising to the sky, completely blocking out the blue and leaving only the rain to fall, as if that dark horizon could have created such warm water.
Even closing his eyes was hard, but he did it, appreciating the droplets hitting his face and the tears and seams of his armor. A tired head, heavy eyes, labored breathing. He was close to letting the pain take his mind away…
— Hey, wake up. — A kick to the ribs. Ash sat up halfway, glaring at the bastard beside him.
— Who gave you permission to die? I saw you fighting, and it's not over yet. Get up, Ash.
— Damn it. That hurts like hell, Melph. — Holding his ribs didn't help. The pain kept spreading to his back and waist. —You could've just woken me up and asked me to stand.—
Melph let out his usual laugh, his mouth corners lifting, his eyes squinting, revealing a square jawline as his defining feature, along with his graying hair and a stocky, broad frame.
— And miss the chance to make you curse? No way. — He shook his head and pointed at Ash. — It's not your time yet, and it looks like it's not mine either.
Looking closely, Melph's armor was different — more compact than before — and also caked in mud and blood, even up to his neck. The battle scars had disappeared. How? Ash wanted to ask but saw his comrade raise his gaze. The flames were climbing the cornfield, violent tongues of fire swaying wildly in the eastward wind.
Ash and Melph lifted their eyes again, this time to a massive screen in the sky. A giant 97% was marked in red, and on the other side, 3% tallied in blue. Melph let out a wide laugh, placing his hand on his waist.
— Looks like we still have a chance. — His optimism was infectious. — Good thing it's us, Ash. Imagine having to fight these creatures with one of those cowards who ran off with their tails between their legs?
Still serious, Ash stood up. The pain in his waist turned into cold anger as he surveyed the muddy, blood-soaked terrain. The creatures' bodies lay scattered, their wide heads cleaved in two, their severed limbs hidden among stones and mud. And the weapons of those who died defending this land glinted faintly, their luster dimmed after their masters fell.
— Aren't they underestimating us? — Melph still had his hands on his waist. Both watched as the creatures emerged from the cornfield — bony carcasses with a spiked tentacle and four arms. Eyeless, which might have been an advantage if not for their incredible hearing. They were tall, nearly two meters each.
—They must think we're nothing,— Melph said. — I'm almost sure of it.
—Aren't we?
Ash descended slightly into the mud, still clutching his ribs with his left hand, and crouched painfully. He tossed aside the wet earth and picked up a sword from the ground. As he stood, the wind blew harder, and Cosmic Energy coursed through his body. The blade reacted, its gray color brightening to a vivid blue.
— Well, it's time — Ash said, lowering his arm. —How long do we need to hold them off?
Melph chuckled and grabbed an axe lying on the ground, slinging it over his shoulder.
— As long as we can. Take the ones on the right; I'll handle the left.
The former Captain of the Fallen walked off laughing — that was his signature. A man who feared nothing, always surpassing the stars and carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. That was the admirable Melph Reis. Without his greatness, Ash would never have made it this far. Ash Outno Size, a common name from a common family, but reaching the end of the world to save what remained of humanity.
The numbers above declared that the land had been 97% conquered by the creatures. Those few remaining percentages, keeping their rage alight, were left to two men. There were still people to save, distant cities, and the Ballooners were about to take flight. And even if that moment was just a step toward death, it would be remembered by great men in the future.
Who would read a story about two men who died trying to save 3%?
Ash smirked bitterly.
— Dying like this should be a blessing, shouldn't it? — Melph heard him and turned.
— What's that? Scared now, are you? Stop whining and come on. Those bastards won't kill themselves. — The Captain waved his arm, beckoning. —We've got one last mission. And hey, it's raining. The great 'Lord of Rain' should be feeling optimistic, right? You've got that nickname for a reason, and rain in battle has always been one of them.
Ash's smile faded as he took his first steps. The silence between the two sides was sealed. The Cosmic Energy unleashed by the two humans made the enemies uneasy and enraged. Their roars carried disdain, anger, and hatred. The trembling ground made both men laugh.
— Looks like we're in the right place at the right time, — Melph Reis said, turning to his friend. —Let's make our 3% count. See you on the other side, Ash.
The Captain's face was always smiling, but this time, it was serious. So, Ash smiled at him.
— See you on the other side, Captain.
There was a tale that, before humanity fell, the Felroz—creatures of unknown origin — had no qualms about invading lands, slaughtering lives, devouring bodies, or drinking blood. They were fierce and relentless, their overwhelming strength and keen instincts unmatched even by the most skilled in conjurations or the Art of Arms.
Humanity stood on the brink of destruction. And the Felroz met the Lord of Rain and the Captain of Reis.
From that moment on, humanity bought itself time. Not much. But enough to arm itself.
This is the story named Old Fists: Destiny