Rise of Tyrus

Tyrus began to believe that Igneal made a mistake when he set the entire village ablaze.

Drawn by the noise and billowing smoke, the beasts flocked to the commotion like flies near a corpse. It started with one approaching the group, a swamp imp attracted to the chaos ensuing in the distance. Mitha would dispatch the winged beast without so much of a thought. Then came another, and another, until they numbered to five at a time. Mitha dealt with the ones that soared above, while Wyford and Igneal dealt with those on the ground. The remaining ones would quickly escape once they realized they were losing the fight.

Everyone ran a good thirty seconds until creatures shorter than Tyrus jumped out of the bushes, holding crude weapons like wood and rocks. Instead of the usual green goblin, they had hunched postures and dark brown skin that matched the mud. Their piss-colored eyes glowered as their large ears twitched from the sounds their lips made, comprising of wheezes and angry screeches that resembled nails on stone. One of them snarled and rushed forward, swinging a plank of wood rather pitifully at Wyford.

Wyford arched an eyebrow and smacked the plank away with the flat of his blade and kicked the goblin in the face. Plunging into a mound of mud, Wyford drove his sword deep into its chest.

“That was rather embarrassing, don’t you think?” Wyford spat to the side and swiftly yanked out his blade. “These rats deserve to die.”

Tyrus, who had been taking a breather next to Mitha, pried his eyes away from Wyford slaying another goblin. His gaze shifted to Igneal, currently engaging three goblins with ease. A sweep of his legs had the left goblin smacking its head against a nearby tree and collapse. Right after, he whipped towards the second. The steel lopped off the goblin’s head, and the sword carried on, eventually burying itself deep within the chest of the final one.

Each person had a part to play, whether it was Mitha killing a few goblins from afar while Wyford and Igneal cut through the rest. They had their hands full, taking action as they fought for a path forward while one of their allies stood by doing nothing. The scene before him reminded Tyrus back when he crossed paths with Blue Dawn. It was just like before with Fiona, Grant, and Reo fighting a swarm of goblins while Tyrus stood there, watching, until he bursted into action.

Helplessness was something he despised, watching the others working their tails off while he watched like some spectator in a theater. It was a terrible feeling that bordered on powerlessness, something that plagued him often back then. But now that he held some form of power, staying idle was out of the question. He still had arms and legs and energy to spare. So why not make use of it?

Brows knitting together, Tyrus took a step forward with purpose, sword drawn. Just holding it felt tiresome to him, given that he had been moving around all day. Either way, no use making up excuses when he made it this far. Pushing his limits and improving was satisfying, after all.

Mitha gave him a weary look. “Sure you can fight in that condition, kid? I know the branch leader recommended you and all that but—”

Tyrus simply nodded and turned to the nearest group. Igneal and the others dealt with most of the goblins, leaving only two left near an overturned wagon. One goblin held a bone with a sharp tip while the other held a rusted dagger. Sensing that the person in front of them was weakened, they pounced on him without holding back.

Despite being injured, Tyrus was far from slow, especially in comparison to a goblin. Dodging a thrust of the sharp bone, he countered with a strike, albeit a slow one. The goblin shrieked and jumped back, blood oozing from its wounded arm. Tyrus left it no time to recuperate and followed up with a stab to the chest.

The second goblin attempted to flank Tyrus while he retracted his sword. Tyrus sensed the incoming danger and turned, kicking the goblin in the leg. There was a satisfying crunch of bones snapping and the goblin fell over, screeching. It too died with a thrust to the head. Wyford, alongside the others, trotted to Tyrus as he bent over, clutching his head.

Wyford placed a hand on Tyrus’s shoulder. “You alright? Need a support? Carrying you on my back would be no problem. I've done it for my sister an ungodly amount of times.”

Tyrus waved him off, rising. “No, I can keep going. I’ve wasted enough time.”

Wyford spared a glance at Mitha before nodding. "C'mon, let's keep moving. We shouldn’t be the only ones battling against these beasts.”

It took a few seconds for his spinning head to soothe, but Tyrus could soon jog at a decent speed. They kept running, and the scenery returned to the dead and decrepit landscape with the skeleton trees, a place festering with misshapen rocks and rock spires that sometimes looked like giant fingers. Few plants lived, not bothered by the lack of sun, and the ground became softer and more difficult to tread on.

Each step through the muddy path flanked by mossy stone, ravens cried from above, their wings beating. Tyrus’s nose scrunched from the stench of rotten eggs and flesh. Bodies of diverse beasts and animals littered the area, some torn apart while others burned or were eaten. A few were missing limbs, and even their organs. Tyrus recognized a few of the bodies, ranging from wolves, turtles, and even snakes.

“What in Sthito’s name happened here?” Wyford shouted up front, picking up the speed just a tad.

“Looks like someone or something was having the time of their lives,” Mitha said in a stuffed voice.

“Lucky them. Maybe I should have a bit of fun as well. Preferably with a beautiful maiden. Possibly a handful, if you understand what I'm getting at."

Mitha gasped. “Watch your damn mouth, Wyford. You shouldn’t say those things out loud!”

He glanced at a confused Igneal. “Oh right. My apologies, Lord Igneal, Tyrus. Won’t happen again.”

Sorry about what, Tyrus thought. What was so bad about mentioning having fun with someone? Mitha made it sound like Wyford had said something bad. Was he missing something?

A powerful gust of wind blew, carrying the smell of the corpses and blood. The ravens circling the area screeched, some even going as far as to fleeing the scene. Tyrus sniffed the air, his expression changing. He skidded to a halt and motioned for everyone to stay still.

“What? Is something coming?” Igneal asked, sword ready. “Whenever you rely on your sense of smell, you tend to become tense."

Tyrus remained silent. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his senses. His eyes popped open, and his ears flattened. He had not mistaken the smell, and the closer it grew, the more prominent the scent was.

Another one of those beasts was coming, but from where? No matter how hard he strained his ears, no noticeable noise like thundering footsteps or heavy breathing came to him. Nothing like feet sinking into mud or branches being trampled under. The creature was close, but why couldn’t he see it?

As the seconds ticked by, most of the ravens have scattered or flew out of sight. Those left squawked, pecking and tearing at the remains of a wolf. The group stood still, watching the birds’ erratic movements, their wings flapping furiously. Even the mosquito’s constant buzzing had grown silent, replaced only by a noise similar to a billowing cloth left outside.

Just as Tyrus thought it was his imagination, a dark shadow in the air caught his attention. At first, he thought it was a cloud blocking the sun, but he quickly dismissed that stupid thought. The shape looked like a bird, but much larger. A wingspan just short of a full-fledged male.

The remaining ravens suddenly fled. The shadow, as large as the body of a human, shot down from the sky like an arrow. Its talons, sharp and large enough to tear into flesh, aimed for Igneal’s head. Fortunately, Tyrus was fast enough to push him out of the way. They tumbled, mud splattering across their cheeks and garments. Igneal shot upward and spat out a mouth full of mud.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Igneal shouted, wiping the mud from his hair. “I’m dirty enough as is!”

Tyrus ignored him and scrambled to his feet, scanning the area for the monster. The shadow had long disappeared. He searched for the monster’s smell, but no luck. It disappeared just as quickly as it appeared.

Wyford and Mitha joined their sides, both keeping a wary eye on the sky.

“That thing came from the sky, didn’t it?” Wyford asked.

“No, it came from underground,” Mitha said sarcastically. “Of course it came from the sky, idiot.”

“Hey, it was a legitimate question. If I wanted sarcasm, I’d visit my mother, but it seems like you’ve replaced her. Other than that, I’ve never seen a flying beast that big before. Have you, Mitha?”

She shook her head, eyes still roaming the area. “No, and I don’t want to find out either. You saw the talons on that thing? I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that. Let’s move out before we end up like these beasts on the ground.”

Tyrus couldn’t agree more. Just imagining those talons piercing his body was enough for him to feel cold, as if he’d been soaking in a freezing lake. Getting smacked around by Jericho or even a drake was probably more pleasant than facing that thing. Seriously, that thing was way too big to be a regular bird. Maybe a magical beast? It didn’t release any mana traces, however.

Man, it would be nice if it was a magical beast, or if there were any wandering around, for that matter. Tyrus would kill to get his hands on another mana core. Not only would his mana heart improve, but refill what was lost as well. While it would be nice, he couldn’t get his hopes up. His luck was the bottom of the barrel, after all.

Igneal, who had been retching for a while now, stood up straight with a twisted face. “Instead of standing around like idiots because you’re too scared to fight a weak beast, how about we seek shelter? Specifically, one that has a clean glass of water lying around so that I may get rid of this disgusting taste. That shack over there should suffice.”

Everyone followed his gaze, spotting a single-story structure resting on a raised patch of dirt and rock. Twisting roots and strangling vines from thick trees that plagued the surrounding area had grown around the house, as if a forest itself was trying to claim it. Wagons and wheels lay scattered across the ground, and a few tree stumps jutted out from the earth. Near the entrance were rickety steps leading up to the porch filled with rotting baskets and a basin with a suspicious red color in it.

“Looks like a place reserved for the dead and diseases,” Wyford commented. “I doubt we’ll find anything there, especially not a glass of clean water.”

“Better than nothing, I suppose,” Mitha said, still watching the skies. “Sthito knows we need a quick break. We can also hide out there for the time being and shake the lizardmen off our tail. Any objections?”

No one raised their voice in protest, which was expected. The options were seeking refuge in the shack or taking the chance of battling the airborne creature and attracting the attention of the lizardmen. Fighting two separate enemies where one can fly and the other had numbers would be a pain.

Igneal was in the lead, heading towards the shack, but Wyford interrupted his progress with a bow. “Allow me to scout first, My Lord. I owe you one for your help earlier, and I'll make sure to repay you.”

Igneal nodded, crossing his arms. “Do as you will, but make haste. I despise to be kept waiting.”

Wyford saluted and moved out. His eyes, sharper than his blade, scanned the area while he inched towards the shack, stepping over bodies along the way. It didn’t take long for the man to reach the shack and stop in front of its porch. Then, after prying the door open with the tip of his sword and peering inside, he signaled for the rest of the group to come. Wasting no time, the three headed for the shack, sparing the skies and their backsides glances.