The Warrior Awakens

There was no time for hesitation. Matt began a low, guttural chant, words of power that he had rarely used since leaving his military life behind. The syllables felt foreign on his tongue after years of disuse, but the power they summoned responded eagerly, as if it had been merely sleeping rather than forgotten.

I swore I would never use this again, he thought grimly as he felt the ancient energy building within him. But I made a more important promise to protect my family.

The ground beneath the knights' feet trembled subtly, but they were too focused on their target to notice. Small pebbles danced on the dirt path, and a fine cloud of dust began to rise around their armored boots.

"Take him down!" barked the leader of the group. "He's just one man!"

Just one man, Matt thought with grim amusement. If only they knew.

Suddenly, Matt abandoned his human shield and sprinted toward the four knights, moving with a speed that belied his injured state. The archers loosed another volley, but Matt was already in motion, his trajectory unpredictable as he wove between the flying arrows.

"He's not normal!" one of the spearmen shouted, panic creeping into his voice. "Watch out!"

As he leapt into the air, Matt completed the final words of his incantation. The power surged through him, flowing from his core through his limbs and into the earth below. Behind the knights, the ground erupted upward, forming a massive pillar of stone that hurtled toward them with devastating force.

Earth responds to will and blood, his old mentor had taught him. And you, Kuroz, have the will of ten men.

The sound of cracking bone and crumpling metal filled the air as the rock struck the unsuspecting men from behind. The two archers died instantly, their bodies crushed by the magically conjured stone. The spearmen, partially protected by their shields, were thrown forward, grievously wounded but still alive.

Matt landed heavily, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The earth spell had drained him considerably—it had been years since he had called upon such powerful magic, and his injured body protested the strain. His vision swam momentarily, dark spots dancing before his eyes as pain radiated from his back.

Get up, he commanded himself, fighting against the weakness. This isn't over.

Still, he moved toward the wounded spearmen, intending to end their suffering quickly. They had been soldiers following orders—Matt could understand that, even as he fought against them. He would not leave them to die slowly in agony.

"Why...?" one of the dying men managed to choke out as Matt approached. "Why is...one like you...here?"

Matt paused, looking down at the wounded knight. "This is my home," he answered simply. "These are my people."

Before he could say more, an instinct born of countless battles made him freeze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he sensed a focused intent directed at him—the unmistakable feeling of being targeted by a powerful magic user.

The ice mage, Matt realized, his body already moving on instinct. He's found me.

Matt dove to the right just as a massive projectile of ice thundered past him, obliterating what remained of his front yard and crushing the wounded spearmen in its path. The ice mage—the true threat among the attackers—had finally revealed himself.

Through the settling dust and ice fragments, Matt spotted his new adversary—a tall figure in ornate armor, hands raised for another attack. The cannon-like apparatus on the mage's shoulder glowed with arcane energy as it prepared to fire again. Frost formed in the air around the mage, small ice crystals dancing in an unnatural breeze that emanated from his position.

Specialized weapon, Matt assessed quickly. Magical amplifier. Powerful, but limits mobility.

Matt didn't wait for the next assault. He snatched up a fallen spear and, with practiced precision, hurled it toward the ice mage. The figure, overconfident in his superior range, failed to react in time. The spear found its mark, piercing through the gap in the mage's helmet. The magical glow died as the mage crumpled to the ground, the ice cannon discharging harmlessly into the sky in a spectacular shower of crystals.

Exhausted and in excruciating pain, Matt staggered to the ruins of his home to catch his breath. His body screamed for rest, but he knew he could not afford even a moment's respite. As he leaned against a partially standing wall, movement in the distance caught his eye—more knights, dozens of them, marching toward the village center. And to his horror, their path would take them directly over the underground cellar where Nina was hiding.

"What!" Matt gasped, cold fear gripping his heart. All his fighting would be for nothing if that force reached his home.

Nina is still down there, he thought frantically. If they collapse the house completely...

He needed a diversion—something to draw the knights away from his home and give Nina time to escape through the tunnel. An idea formed in his mind, desperate and dangerous, but their only chance.

With grim determination, Matt severed the heads of the three knights he had killed. Though the act turned his stomach, years as a soldier had hardened him to such necessities when survival was at stake. Each stroke of his blade was efficient, emotionless—the actions of a warrior who had left sentiment behind.

Forgive me, he thought, not to the dead men but to the man he had tried to become—the peaceful smith, the loving father, the gentle husband. This is what I must be now.

Gathering the grisly trophies, he limped toward the approaching column of knights. Pain flared with each step, but he pushed through it, focusing on the task at hand. The fate of everyone he loved depended on his ability to draw this force away from his home.

When he was close enough to be seen but still at a safe distance, Matt hurled the heads toward the startled front line. The severed heads rolled grotesquely, coming to rest at the feet of the lead knights. A hush fell over the attackers as they stared at the gruesome message.

"Hey! Damn you, General," he shouted, his voice carrying across the battlefield with surprising strength. "Here are the heads of your knights!"

The column halted, and Matt could feel hundreds of eyes fixing on him. Good. Every second they focused on him was another second for Nina to escape.

"Are you all scared?" Matt taunted, a fierce smile spreading across his face despite his pain. His stance widened, shoulders thrown back in defiance as he presented himself as the greater threat. "Come to me! Lame knights!"

The insult—calling elite soldiers "lame"—was calculated to enrage them, to make them abandon strategy in favor of vengeance. And it worked. The general, a towering figure in elaborate armor at the center of the formation, raised his hand. At his signal, the knights began to advance toward Matt, their previous course—and Nina's hiding place—forgotten.

It worked, Matt thought with grim satisfaction. Now to survive long enough to find Zoh.