Labyrinth Expedition #13

 “Aghh! For the city!”
“For tomorrow!”

Clang!

The fighting grew thick quickly, the battlefield turning into one large mess. The two sides clashed, their numbers whittled down slowly by the other. Turning right or turning to the left, it didn’t matter, for the battle was all around them.

Monsters and humans lay dead on the ground, innards, limbs, or heads missing from the carcasses. Slowly, but surely, they began to pile up, until the very ground the battlefield was fought on was their bodies.

“Huff– H-How much longer!” Ayama asked rhetorically, knowing no one would answer. His skills had run out long ago, but even if his muscles screamed, even if his bones creaked– even if he poured blood instead of sweat, he refused to fall. His mind was determined, steeled, and unyielding, even if his body could barely follow it; but even then, even with his iron-like mentality— his heart began to worry.

One by one, his sword sliced monsters, cleaving through groups unlucky enough to breach the protective perimeter the human soldiers and adventurers made.

“Protect the Hero! If he falls, we’ll lose!”

However, despite their best efforts, the monsters with seemingly infinite stamina only gnawed at their morale. Well, as it all was bleak, when one found himself downed, or pinned by a monster, a blue streak of light would prompt save them– slaying the fiend.

Time and time again, Ayama nearly blacked out, but a bullet from the spire eliminated those that tried to take advantage, often even holding out for a few seconds so Ayama could breathe.

The blood in the air was thick, the iron inside making the atmosphere smell like rust. But as things grew dire, the numbers began to dwindle and the last of them tasted the bite of the Hero's holy-infused sword.

Shing!

The sword thrust through the troll's ribs, piercing the heart and severing the spine. "Gro–ugh…" It groaned, grumbling as strength was lost from its burly hands, falling against the hilt, deeper embedding its doom.

"H-Hah— I-Is it over?!" Ayama sighed, falling to one knee, squelching from the blood-infused bodies underneath him. He turned around, and the human forces thinned considerably, but victorious nonetheless. He did not make the first cry of joy, but when someone did, the rest including himself followed.

"W-We won!"

"We won! Yes! We won!"

But unlike theirs, Ayama only let out a silent prayer, to the Mother of Life. Instead of praising their abilities, and their hard work, he prayed for the deceased and those that have left people behind. Ayama kneeled, stabbing the drenched sword into the ground, praying against it. "Oh, Mother of Life, please accept these brave souls into your embrace. When they are purified, may they be reborn into a happier life. They earned it."

Eyes still closed, Ayama raised his head and stared at the artificial sky, ending the prayer. "Amen." He whispered, opening his eyes. "It's been a long day."

The sky lost its murky colors, the soot-like puffs of clouds turned white like snow, having the fluff and texture of cotton, and the sea of red turned blue, the transition satisfying the soul. Ayama felt a breeze, the tower slowly removing the gathered corpses, slowly turning the landscape into what it once was.

The painted grass turned green again, bald patches of dirt and soot turned healthy, vegetation growing over them, and flowers began to bloom once more. Trees were broken down, the horses stampeding wilted, new plants growing in their place, but despite that all, the dead still littered the landscape.

The damage left in the wake of the calamity would forever haunt the minds of the survivors, scarring them like the cracks carved into the walls of the village they had protected; however, even in its horrors, the story today will be passed on, heavily sugar-coated for the children, inspiring them of bravery.

But what about the men who lived through the horror? What happened to the people the deceased have left behind? Will they be ignored because, in the center of that story, the brilliant [Hero] fought off the invasion in the forefront? Will his own shadow cover those men, who were more valiant than he?

“Bitter…” Ayama tasted his dry mouth, tasting his blood, dried against his mouth. The victory was not sweet, it was a hard pill to swallow, and it was realistic. The hero looked at his hands, hardened grime in between the parts of his gauntlets. “In war, it is not who is right, it is who is left,” he remembered the quote, because, at the end of it all, the cost of victory will be heavy no matter the battle.

Furthermore, Ayama looked up to the sky once more, to the window displaying the timer. To his terror and horror, it had not changed. “What!?”

[Boss Fight / Stampede: 00:00:00:00]

“It’s not over!? Where–” At that realization, Ayama heard a loud explosion, the kind created by the loud collision of two objects.

Boom!

“Damn it, I don’t have any more strength in my legs!” He didn’t need to think about the sound, because he knew what it was. Ayama turned sharply to the spire in the center of the circular village, eyes shot wide as the structure’s head slowly fell. “Hiroto!”

Thud-Thud! Thud-Thud!

Blackened vision pulsed, the heavy heartbeat pounding inside his ears. Slipping in and out of consciousness in quick succession created fractured awareness, drowsy questions slowly rising. “w-What– what is happening?”

Akiro opened his eyes, the wind blowing against his face, pain spiking all over his body. He opened his eyes completely, at the tiled ground of the circular market square, “Ahh!” He screamed, the world not stopping. “w-what—”

Then, Akiro’s mind began to flash, memories flowing back into his mind, many of which were sealed away. But painful as they were, pictures of who left him behind, who he left behind, and o him– he remembered why he fought so hard.

“Am I going to die like this?” He thought, pointing both hands forward, “No! Not like this!”

Maybe it was desperation, or maybe it was fear of death– nevertheless, magic coursed through his body, gathering at the tips of his fingers, quickly growing in size. “[ Aqua Sphere ]!”

Sploosh!

“Gah!” Akiro groaned, colliding with the dense water projectile, being thrown off by the density’s rebound and momentum instead. But although he survived certain death, his right leg, which landed first when he rolled away, was internally fractured, just enough for it to break any moment.

“Damnit!” Akiro groaned, feeling the pain immediately, the adrenaline of the fall wearing off. “Just a little pressure, then it’ll break!” He noted, clutching the injured appendage, as he surveyed the surroundings, the upper clock tower of the spire inside one of the shops. “What the hell even was that? Something knocked down as big as that?”

Rahhhh!!

A growl, a roar then echoed loudly from the top of the spire, the beating of drums carrying the vibrations through the air. Akiro squinted above, a large figure slowly emerged from the smoke, jumping from it and coming directly overhead.

“Shit!”

Boom!

The large creature landed, its knees not crumpled by the impact, kicking up another large cloud of smoke. The assassin turned to the beast within the shadows, squinting to focus his eyes. He appraised the beast, but the results terrified him more than the hideous appearance.

“Fuck! Why did that thing appear when the rest of them are off hunting outside the city!?” Akiro gasped, cold sweat pouring down his face, “How are we even supposed to fight this thing!?”

[ Monster Hybrid: Chimera ] [ Error! Cannot Appraise ] [ Error! Cannot Appraise ] [ entity indiscernible due to an outside forc—] [ Error! ]

“The others must’ve seen the Blood-Eclipse, they must be heading over here!”

Growl….

The monster revealed itself, staying true to its description, and proudly bore his abomination of a body. He was an amalgamation of creatures, creatures stitched together by large cords tightly keeping the body together.

He had the head of a Troll, his nose blunt, eyes bloodshot; he had the legs of an Orc King, stubby and short compared to the rest of his limbs, but strong with incredibly bones and joints, joined by dense muscle fibers; and his is arms were that of ogres, the knuckles brushing the floor as he walked towards the down assassin.

Skin pale like snow, dirty like gray, cracked and dry from the lack of moisture, a hide thicker than monster leather, eyes more violent than any other creatures, and bearing the pressure of the colossus sandworm.

“H-How are we supposed to fight that?!” Akiro breathed haggardly, the weight of gravity being heavier in its presence. He could only look up, the monster stepping slowly closer, but it didn’t need to, its long reach capable of doing the work.

Bam!

“Aghh!” The human gasped, a powerful limb colliding with his whole body, flinging him halfway across the market and into the nearby stalls.

Boom!

“What strength–urgh… I could barely even react to it…” Akiro spat blood, the world spinning around him.“But I managed to block it just enough…To think that worked.”

The assassin felt the wetness of water run down his arm, the result of a defensively applied waterball in the heat of the moment. It was enough to reduce the force of the blow, but the numbness and trembling in his arm couldn’t be ignored.

“I’m running out of magic.” He groaned, pushing; himself off the cart as the monster slowly trekked over to him from across the marketplace, “The last thing I remember was drinking a potion— but I lost consciousness then. The fucker crashed itself into the building.”

Akiro looked down at his woven rope sash, only one more vial, the other two cracked from consecutive impacts. “One shot, huh?” He smirked, “That’s enough for me. [Gunman’s Manual]: First Shelf / Desert Eagle.”

At his command, the book appeared in his left hand, but when he reached for the lock on the side to open the book, a message appeared.

[You are unable to summon a second weapon at this time. ] [ Try again when you are much stronger.]

Akiro’s eyes shot open, and he scoured the grounds for the first weapon, seeing it by where he had landed; but the monster was already halfway from him.
Rahhhh!

The monster screamed, yelling and he soared upwards in the air, both its burly hands clasped together for a crushing attack. The assassin jumped away from the cart he found himself in with all his might, just enough to dodge the impact.

Boom!

“This has got to be one sick joke!” Akiro cursed, moving as fast as he could with a broken leg, the monster turning its back to him already. “I need to get a restoration potion somehow! If I make it to the spire, I can exchange my points for them. I can’t run forever on a busted leg!”

“Run! Keep running! No matter what you do, your fate is sealed! The true monstrosity watched the hero through the monster’s eyes, gleefully smiling to himself, “The demon king will be so proud of me! I will offer him his own soul-son as tribute for [Armageddon].”