Behold: The Beer-Mage!

The silence of the ruined village hung heavy in the air.

Only the crackle of charred beams and the distant crash of falling roof tiles broke it, while the stench of burned flesh clung to everything.

Caeriel moved through the village with steady purpose, bow half drawn, eyes alert.

Every motion showed she was no stranger to such horrors.

Marcus and Gus lagged behind at a distance, both still in shock.

“Fuck…” Gus muttered under his breath as they passed the blackened ruins.

Marcus kept his gaze low, clenching and unclenching his fists over and over, as if the rhythm might steady him.

Suddenly Caeriel halted, lifted a hand, and listened.

A faint cough, little more than a rasp, drifted from a half-collapsed house.

In an instant she was there, slipping inside and heaving beams and stones aside from what had once been a kitchen.

Beneath the rubble lay a young elf, barely older than she was, her face blackened with soot, her breathing shallow.

“She’s alive!” Caeriel called, already checking her pulse and searching for injuries.

Marcus and Gus stood rooted in place, staring as if they were nothing more than spectators in a film.

Then Caeriel’s head snapped up, eyes blazing.

“Don’t just stand there! Make yourselves useful and look for more survivors!”

The two flinched, exchanged a look, then stumbled off in opposite directions, fumbling through the wreckage.

Marcus shoved aside a charred beam and knelt beside a child whose breath came in faint, shallow gasps.

“Uh… it’s gonna be okay… I think.” His voice trembled, his hands hovering uselessly.

But when the child looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, he forced himself into a shaky smile. “Just hang on, alright?”

A few steps away, Gus dragged planks aside, and a pained groan snapped his head around.

Beneath a layer of dust and blood lay a man, his clothes soaked dark red from the thigh down.

“Shit… that’s way too much blood.” Gus’s pulse hammered, but his mind stayed sharp. He yanked the man’s belt free, jammed a stick through it, looped the strap around the thigh, and twisted. “Crap, how was it again…”

The elf screamed in agony, but the bleeding eventually stopped.

Marcus stared, eyes wide with horror. “Dude, what the hell are you doing!?”

“Tourniquet.” Gus tightened the strap until the moans quieted. “But he needs a real healer. Fast.”

Behind them, a calm, cutting voice spoke.

“You know how to do this?”

Both men spun around. Caeriel stood there, genuine astonishment flickering in her eyes.

Gus shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. “…First aid training. Never thought I’d actually use it…”

For a heartbeat, Caeriel studied him as if she were looking at him in a different light now.

Then she rose, her hands streaked with ash and blood. “We have to get them to the next village. There are healers there.”

“No…” a hoarse rasp cut her off.

All three turned. 

The gravely wounded elf had pushed himself up, his face ashen with pain, but his eyes still burned with resolve.

“Not all… are dead.” He gasped, fighting for breath. “They took… many away.”

“Where?” Caeriel’s voice sliced like steel.

“East… to the Black Hill.” A fit of coughing wracked him. “Their leader… he’s a demon. He plans… to sacrifice them. Blood magic… to make the orcs stronger…”

With sudden desperation he clutched Marcus’s arm.

“You’re warriors, aren’t you!? You have to stop them!”

Marcus and Gus exchanged nothing but helpless looks.

Caeriel’s expression hardened, then she turned on them, her eyes like steel.

“You’ll take the wounded back. Now. Drive them in your… contraption… to the last village. There are healers there.”

“And what about you? You’re just gonna...” Gus began, hands raised, but she cut him off like a whip.

“I won’t waste time dragging two helpless men into a fight you wouldn’t survive. You’d only get in my way. I go alone.”

The words fell like stones. Gus pressed his lips tight, his stomach twisting, torn between protest and the bitter truth of her words.

Her gaze stayed grim, resolute, but there was weight behind it too. “If you turn back at the last crossroads and head west, you’ll soon cross our border. Beyond it, you’re free to go wherever you want…”

Marcus and Gus stood frozen, speechless.

She slung her bow over her shoulder and drew her hood low.

“Farewell.”

With brisk strides she disappeared into the ruins, her figure swallowed by smoke and ash.

For a long moment Marcus and Gus just stood there, as if her words had punched the breath out of them.

Then Gus let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face, and together they hauled the wounded into the Golf.

At first the elves shrank back from the strange metal beast, fear flickering in their eyes.

But when the engine roared to life and the car lurched forward, carrying them swiftly down the road, their expressions slowly shifted, wary at first, then grateful.

By the time they reached the next village, one of the injured even whispered a hoarse thank you as they were handed over to the healers.

The healers accepted them without question, and immediately went to work.

Marcus and Gus lingered in the dusty street, caught between hesitation and helplessness, while villagers watched them with wide, curious eyes.

At last they trudged back toward the car.

Gus dropped onto the bumper, rubbing at his temples. “So… what now?”

Marcus kept his eyes on the ground, nudging a stone with the tip of his shoe. “We can’t just let her face those orcs alone…”

“Oh yeah?” Gus snapped, lifting his head. “And what exactly are you planning to do? Newsflash: we’re not heroes, Marcus. We’re just two average joes, drinking buddies! We can’t even fight. We’re useless. Exactly like she said!”

Marcus opened his mouth, closed it again, and let out a long sigh.

“If only we had real weapons… machine guns or something,” he muttered.

“Well, we don’t,” Gus shot back, blunt as ever.

But then Marcus’s eyes lit up, a sudden spark of reckless inspiration.

“Wait… maybe we do.”

Marcus popped open the trunk and pulled out his so-called staff, then fished out the red gemstone he’d snatched in the armory, rolling it nervously between his fingers.

With a look equal parts defiance and desperation, he pressed the gem onto the tip of the wood, while Gus gawked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Dude, you can’t be serious. That’s not a staff... it’s a glorified stick you found in the woods and...”

But before he could finish, a shimmer rippled down the shaft, it suddenly burned red and the gem fused cleanly into place as if it had always belonged there.

“…What the fuck,” Gus muttered.

Marcus’s grin spread instantly as he swung the staff up and pointed it at a tree stump on the roadside.

“There! Okay… let’s give this baby a shot. Ahem. Fireball!”

Nothing.

“…Lightning bolt, go!”

Still nothing.

"...Frost...Beam...?"

Only the wind rustled in the grass.

“For fuck’s sake, do something!”

Gus barked a bitter laugh. “See? You’re no mage, man. We can’t do shit.”

Marcus’s shoulders slumped as he tugged off his hat and propped the staff against the open trunk.

“Damn… maybe you’re right.”

From the corner of his eye, Marcus spotted a battered six-pack inside the trunk, half-buried under a blanket.

With a shrug, he yanked one free and cracked it open. The can hissed, foam geysering over his fingers and spilling warm, sticky beer down his clothes and onto the staff.

“Geez, watch it!” Gus cursed, jerking back as the spray splattered his pants.

And right then, just as Marcus took a long gulp and the golden drops ran down over the gemstone, the staff blazed to life.

The gem shifted hue: first honey-gold, then deep amber, until the tip gleamed frothy white like a freshly tapped pint.

Marcus froze, blinking at it. “…uh. What the hell was that?”

Before Gus could answer, the staff shuddered violently.

A sharp crack split the air, and a pressurized blast of beer foam erupted from the tip, splattering into the air.

Both of them gawked at the dripping mess, then back at the staff.

“…Dude,” Marcus whispered, eyes going wide.

He leapt to his feet, jammed his hat back on, gave it a cocky tug, and leveled the staff at the stump on the roadside once again.

“Uh… Beerus Explodius!” he bellowed, as if announcing a stage trick.

For a heartbeat nothing happened. 

But then the air in front of the staff shimmered and warped.

A golden haze erupted, curling around the stump, sparkling in the sunlight like motes of dust.

“What the hell’s that supposed to be?” Gus muttered.

Right then, the haze ignited with a muffled WHUMP!

A gout of flame roared upward and the stump exploded into flying splinters, swallowed by a choking cloud of sharp, boozy smoke.

Marcus staggered back, eyes wide, then broke into manic laughter.

“…ha… haha...HAHAHA! THIS. IS. INSANE!”

Gus stared at him, somewhere between horror and awe.

“Dude… you’ve become a fucking beer-mage.”

Marcus glanced from the smoking staff to Gus, a reckless grin spreading.

"Guess what… maybe we can back our elf up!"

They traded a sharp nod, jumped into the car, and tore off down the road, tires screaming toward the village.