章 6: The Fall of Fatah[ B.S]
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the village of Fatah. Nestled in a valley surrounded by towering mountains, the village was known for its tranquil beauty and the resilience of its people. Ossa had mastered the art of the dual-sword style—a technique that allowed him to wield two blades with grace and precision. He had always told himself that true strength lay not just in skill but in the heart that wielded the sword.
On this fateful day, however, peace would shatter like glass.
As Ossa practiced in the fields just outside the village, he noticed dark figures moving along the mountain path. At first, he thought nothing of it; traders often traveled this way, bringing goods to Fatah. But as the figures drew closer, a cold dread gripped his heart. They were bandits—twenty-five men, armed and dangerous, their laughter echoing ominously through the valley like a death knell. His blood ran cold as he sprinted back toward the village, panic surging within him.
"Bandits! Everyone, hide!" he shouted, his voice breaking through the calm of the day as he burst into Fatah. The villagers looked up from their daily tasks, confusion etched on their faces.
"What do you mean, boy?" an elder asked, squinting at the approaching figures, oblivious to the impending doom.
"There's no time! They'll kill us all!" He drew his swords, their polished steel glinting in the fading sunlight, a stark contrast to the dark fate looming over them.
The bandits surged into Fatah like a tide of malice, their leader—a hulking brute with a scarred face and a twisted smile—raising his sword high. "This is our village now! Surrender your goods or face the consequences!" His voice was a growl, thick with malevolence, sending chills down Ossa's spine.
The villagers stood frozen in fear, their eyes wide with terror. Ossa felt a surge of anger and determination. "We won't let you take our home!" he shouted, stepping forward with a fierce resolve. He brandished his blades, feeling the weight of their destiny in his grip. The murmurs among the villagers swelled; some urged him to back down, others inspired by his courage.
"Foolish boy," the bandit leader sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You think you can stand against us? You're outnumbered."
But Ossa didn't waver. He had trained for moments like this, even if he had never imagined they would come so soon. With a primal battle cry that echoed through the valley, he charged at the nearest bandit, his twin swords slicing through the air with deadly precision. The first bandit fell before him, but as he turned to face another, more emerged from the shadows, their eyes glinting with greed and malice.
The battle erupted like a storm. Ossa fought valiantly, his movements fluid and precise as he parried and struck with both swords. He was a whirlwind of steel, but for every bandit he felled, two more took their place. The villagers watched in horror as chaos unfolded around them—screams mingling with the clash of steel, the air thick with the acrid scent of fear and desperation.
Despite Ossa's skill, he was only one man against a tide of twenty-five. The bandits were relentless; they fought with a ferocity that matched Ossa's determination. One by one, he saw his fellow villagers fall—friends and neighbors who had lived their lives in peace, now victims of senseless violence. Each death felt like a dagger to his heart, fueling his rage and igniting a fierce resolve within him.
As exhaustion began to weigh on him, Ossa found himself surrounded, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The bandit leader grinned wickedly as he approached, reveling in the chaos. "Look at you—pathetic and useless. You thought you could protect these people? You're nothing but a child playing at hero."
With a swift motion, he swung his sword at Ossa, who barely managed to deflect it with one blade while using the other to stab at an approaching bandit. But fatigue clouded his mind; his movements slowed. A heavy boot slammed into his side, sending him sprawling to the ground, pain exploding through him.
Dazed and gasping for breath, Ossa struggled to rise but found himself pinned beneath the weight of another bandit. The leader stood over him, sword raised high, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "You should be grateful I'm not killing you," he spat. "You'll live to remember this day—the day you failed."
Ossa looked up at him, anger igniting a fierce flame within him, even as despair threatened to consume him. He panted, "But I will not forget this moment. I will rise again. I have to take revenge for my mother..."
The leader chuckled darkly, his laughter echoing in Ossa's ears like a funeral dirge. "Rise? You think you can come back from this? Look around you!" He gestured to the destruction—the bodies of villagers strewn across the ground like broken dolls, their lives extinguished. "You've lost everything."
As darkness threatened to close in around him, Ossa felt a flicker of hope deep within his heart—a promise made to himself and to those who had fallen. He would not let their deaths be in vain. He would train harder and return stronger.
With that thought echoing in his mind, the world faded to black.
—
When Ossa awoke, it was to silence—a heavy stillness that hung in the air like a shroud. Pain coursed through his body as he pushed himself up from the ground. The village of Fatah lay in ruins; smoke curled into the sky from burning homes, and the cries of mourning echoed faintly in the distance.
He staggered to his feet, heart pounding as the realization washed over him like ice water: he had failed to protect them.
With each step through the wreckage, memories flooded back—of his mother, the laughter of children playing in the streets, the warmth of shared meals with neighbors—now all gone. Tears streamed down his face as he knelt beside one of his fallen friends, anguish tearing at his heart.
"I'm sorry. I am pathetic. I will train harder, Mom..." he whispered into the stillness, grief clawing at his chest, each word a solemn vow to the fallen.
But amid the sorrow came an unyielding resolve. Ossa clenched his fists around the hilts of his swords. He would not let this be the end. He would train relentlessly and hunt down every last one of those bandits until justice was served.
As he stood amidst the ruins of Fatah, a fire ignited within him—a promise to honor those who had fallen and to protect those who remained. He would become stronger than any bandit and ensure that no one would ever suffer like this again.
With determination etched on his face and swords at his side, Ossa set forth on a new journey—one that would lead him to vengeance and redemption. The young swordsman would rise from the ashes of defeat and forge a new destiny for himself, not just for his own sake but for the souls of those lost in the darkness.
[End/Flashback]
As Carl told this story to Beta, they suddenly heard a noise: "gulp... glup..."
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Next Chapter: Water! The Boys Are Scared
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