Bab 4: Mission Outside The Town
The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the open field on the outskirts of town. The once peaceful meadow now bore the scars of a fierce battle. Turai stood in the center, his small frame a stark contrast to the carnage surrounding him.
Dressed in scarlet clothes that seemed to shimmer in the fading light, Turai's attire served a dual purpose – to hide the blood that covered him and to strike fear into his enemies. The fabric, once pristine, was now torn and stained, a testament to the ferocity of the battle he had just fought.
Around him lay the grotesque forms of the Dwellers – monstrous creatures that defied natural law. They varied in size, shape and form but they all had one goal. To consume all they saw.
These ones in particular resembled oversized rats, but that description barely scratched the surface of their horrifying appearance. Each beast was easily the size of a large dog, with matted fur caked in dirt and blood. Their most striking feature, however, was the bones that protruded from their bodies in unnatural ways.
Spikes of bone jutted out from their spines, some rising like a forest of daggers, others spread out like macabre armor plates. Their teeth, yellowed and sharp, were bared in death snarls, a reminder of the danger they posed even in defeat. The stench of their corpses filled the air, a putrid mix of decay and something otherworldly.
"You all just won't die, will you?" The young boy asked with a look that showed disinterest.
Half of the Dwellers lay motionless, never to rise again. Their bodies were twisted in unnatural angles, clear evidence of Turai's handiwork. But the battle was far from over. More than half a dozen of these abominations still surrounded the young boy, their red eyes gleaming with malevolence and hunger.
Turai stood in the center of this nightmarish circle, his breath steady, his posture relaxed despite the imminent danger.
"This should do the trick." In his hand, he brandished one of the bone spikes he had wrenched from a fallen Dweller. The improvised weapon was as long as his arm, wickedly sharp, and stained with the dark blood of its former owner.
Without warning, Turai burst into motion. He dashed towards the nearest Dweller with a speed that belied his small stature. The creature, despite its monstrous nature, seemed caught off guard by the sudden attack. Turai's makeshift bone weapon flashed in the dying sunlight as he drove it deep into the Dweller's eye socket.
Puack!
Krrreeeeee!!
The beast let out an ear-splitting shriek, thrashing wildly as Turai danced away from its flailing limbs. But the young fighter wasn't done. In a fluid motion, he extracted the bone spike and spun around, using the momentum to drive the weapon into the throat of another Dweller that had tried to ambush him from behind.
Dark, viscous blood sprayed across Turai's scarlet clothes as he yanked the weapon free. The two Dwellers collapsed, their lives extinguished in mere seconds.
The remaining beasts, driven by rage or hunger or both, charged at Turai en masse. But the young boy was ready. He moved with such graceful movements that seemed impossible for a child his age, ducking under snapping jaws, leaping over swiping claws, and always, always striking back with deadly precision.
One Dweller found its skull caved in by a powerful kick. Another lost its life as Turai drove the bone spike through the roof of its mouth and into its brain. A third was dispatched with a series of lightning-fast strikes to its exposed underbelly, each blow puncturing vital organs.
In a whirlwind of violence that lasted mere minutes, Turai systematically dismantled the remaining Dwellers. His movements were as limited as possible and each strike calculated for maximum damage. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation – just the cold, efficient application of lethal force.
As the last Dweller fell, its death rattle a gurgling wheeze, silence descended upon the battlefield. Turai stood amidst the carnage, his small chest rising and falling with exertion. Despite the violence he had just unleashed, his face remained impassive, brown eyes scanning the area for any remaining threats.
Satisfied that all the Dwellers had been dealt with, Turai let out a deep breath. He looked down at the bone spike in his hand, now slick with blood and viscera, before tossing it aside. Then, with a casualness that seemed at odds with the scene of destruction around him, he sat down on the blood-soaked grass.
His posture was relaxed, but his eyes remained alert, scanning the tree line in the distance. He seemed to be waiting for something – or someone.
Minutes ticked by, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the grass. Then, movement caught Turai's eye. From the towering trees a few dozen meters away, a figure emerged.
It was a man, tall and well-built, his handsome features accentuated by the golden light of the setting sun. He wore armor that gleamed even in the fading light, each piece intricately crafted and fitted perfectly to his form. A sword hung at his hip, its jeweled hilt sparkling.
The man's eyes widened as he took in the scene before him – the young boy sitting calmly amidst a field of monstrous corpses. Recognition dawned on his face, and he called out, his voice carrying easily across the open field.
"Turai! By the gods, what happened here?"
He quickened his pace, striding towards the young boy with a mixture of awe and concern on his face. As he drew closer, the full extent of the carnage became clear, and his hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword.
Turai, for his part, remained seated, his eyes fixed on the approaching man. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It seemed that whoever this man was, his arrival was exactly what Turai had been waiting for.
"Well, wasn't this what the mission requested?" The young boy asked with a curious stare.
Hadiah
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