As Andre and his squad reached the top of the last hill, the early morning sun created long shadows over Nefari village. He felt anxiousness in the pit of his stomach. Intel had been pretty suspicious - rumors of an undead invasion.
Nefari unfurled like a dusty history book. Narrow pathways made of cobblestone wound their way among structures made of bricks dried in the sun. Women moved quickly and energetically with their vibrant attires. Men with rough hands from farming were walking towards fields shining with the hope of a plentiful harvest.
It was peaceful. Peace. The intel almost made Andre doubt it, to disregard the dread in his stomach as unnecessary concern. Almost.
"Sir," muttered one of his scouts, a grizzled veteran named Daric, his voice tight. "Something's not right."
Andre squinted his eyes, examining the seemingly perfect view. He looked at a cluster of kids frolicking around a fountain in the middle. The sound of their laughter, pure and innocent, irritated him. Life wasn't all rainbows and sunshines. The life Andre was living was full of death but yet, he couldn't rid himself of the nagging suspicion that something fishy was going on in Nefari.
Suddenly, a loud cry broke the peaceful morning silence. It burst out of a modest home located on the edge of the village. The door flung open, crashing into the wall with a horrifying noise. A repulsive figure appeared, illuminated by the bright sunlight.
It was a goblin, with its massive head sticking out from its crooked shoulders. However, this was not a typical, weak goblin that Andre was used to slaying. Its complexion was an unhealthy shade of green and it was tightly covering prominent muscles. The eyes, on the other hand, were the most disturbing part - smart, strategic, shining with an eerie amber glow. Undead. An Undead goblin that seemed to have over 70IQ.
The goblin threw its head back and let out a terrifying scream. As if on cue, figured started to appear from homes, from around structures. More goblins, showing the clear signs of being undead, slowly moved forward onto the street.
Andre's heart pounded against his chest. They were the minority, facing an opponent who possessed the endurance of the undead and the cleverness of the living. He was on the verge of being consumed by panic, but then a spark of inspiration ignited in his thoughts. A bold and dangerous plan began to form.
Andre's voice echoed across the tense group of soldiers, sharp and clear against the backdrop of approaching groans. "Alright, listen up! We're outnumbered, but they're not expecting a fight. We use that to our advantage."
He pointed at six men, their expressions serious beneath their helmets. "Daric, you and your squad scout the village. Find any threats besides the ones we see now, and report back fast." Daric, his weathered face etched with concern, nodded curtly and led his men over the crest, vanishing into the tall grass.
Then, Andre examined six archers who were some of the most talented in his group. "You six," he barked, "take position on the hilltop. Focus on the undead in the village, anyone with a weapon that seems hostile. Don't miss." The archers, their faces grim but determined, hefted their powerful longbows and scurried towards a cluster of rocks overlooking the village.
The remaining men huddled around Andre, their eyes locked on his. "The rest of you," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl, "we're going to cause some major chaos." He pointed to several burly soldiers. "You three, grab those fallen logs and debris. Start building barricades at the village entrance. We need a chokepoint." The men, understanding the urgency, scrambled to gather materials, their hands working with practiced efficiency.
Andre's sight landed on the largest house in the village, a silo where rice was probably kept and it would be a good place for a haven for the civilians. "Daric," he called, his voice carrying over the clatter of wood and stone, "when you find the villagers, get them all to that house. It'll be our central defense point." Daric's voice, faint but clear, echoed back a confirmation.
He then turned to six other men, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We need a distraction. Explosives, anything that makes a loud, messy boom. Cause chaos, draw their attention away from the main assault." The demolition crew, a group notorious for their unorthodox tactics, grinned wickedly and thumped their chests in acknowledgment.
Finally, Andre addressed the remaining twenty, the core of his assault force. "We go in hard and fast. Target the archers first, then anything that moves. But our main priority," he pointed his sword at the cackling goblin leader, "is that green monstrosity. Take him down, and the rest will crumble."
The men fell silent as they took up their designated spots. There was a dense atmosphere of fear and grim determination that was suffocating. Andre was solitary at the peak of the hill, feeling the heaviness of his choice bearing down on him.
He was a kid, barely a man, and yet, the lives of his men, the villagers below, all rested on his shoulders.
He took a deep breath, the crisp mountain air filling his lungs. Fear threatened to paralyze him, but he pushed it down. He had a plan. He had his men. And he wouldn't let them down.
With a silent nod, he gave the signal. The battle for Nefari was about to begin. And so with that, Andre let out terrifying scream as he sprinted down the hill, his twenty soldiers like a wave of anger and metal right behind him. The team responsible for causing distractions had performed exceptionally well. A succession of blasts shook the village, causing pillars of dark smoke to rise high into the sky. The group of undead, briefly shocked, wandered aimlessly in bewilderment.
This was their chance. The archers on the hilltop began shooting, their arrows whistling through the sky and hitting their targets accurately with lethal precision. The undead archers collapsed in the streets, their bows falling loudly to the ground.
Daric and his skilled team quickly entered houses, giving commands and assisting frightened villagers to leave. Andre observed as they guided the villagers towards the large house he had assigned as a place of safety.
Everything was going according to plan. Almost too perfectly.
Andre collided with an undead soldier, his sword moving quickly as a blur. The warrior's sword clashed with his, causing a jolt in his arm. He defended against one more strike, feeling adrenaline surging through him, and quickly retaliated, causing the creature's head to be severed.
Then, disaster struck. As he deflected a swipe from another undead warrior, his trusty sword, the one he had been using since Arcana Academia met an unseen piece of bone with a sickening crunch. The blade shattered in his hand, the hilt clattering to the ground with a dull thud.
Andre felt a surge of panic in his chest. He was weaponless, vulnerable, and surrounded by the moaning horde of undead. However, there was no opportunity for fear. He pushed the hilt aside and punched the decaying flesh of another zombie warrior with his bare knuckles in a desperate attack. The being recoiled, taken aback by the sudden assault.
That was crazy. He wasn't able to engage in close combat with these creatures. He needed a quick plan. He glanced around the battlefield, looking for a way in. Next, he laid eyes on him – the clever goblin, maneuvering through the disorder, commanding and guiding the undead with a disturbing efficiency. He was the crucial element, the mastermind behind this terrifying scheme. If they managed to bring him down, the others would fall apart.
With his teeth clenched, Andre revealed a hidden weapon - an illicit move his demonic alter ego had taught him. It was a combat technique known as 'Endless Stride,' a skill powered by dark magic that gave the practitioner brief periods of extraordinary strength and agility.
Despite the tingling feeling moving through his veins, Andre concentrated all his efforts. The world appeared to gradually reduce its pace, with the sounds of war becoming a distant murmur. He hurled himself at the goblin, a dark blur of energy pushing him ahead.
The goblin, realizing the threat, quickly turned around, its shining eyes growing bigger in shock. However, it was already too tardy. Andre's powerful fist, filled with an otherworldly force, landed a brutal blow on the goblin's jaw, causing a disturbing cracking sound. The creature's head jerked backwards, its eyes bulging with incredulity. Before it could respond, Andre quickly launched a series of attacks, each one powered by the dark magic flowing within him.
The fight was mercifully short. The goblin, its once-proud posture shattered, crumpled to the ground, a lifeless husk. As the last embers of the Endless Stride faded, Andre collapsed to his knees, his body wracked with exhaustion. He looked around, his vision blurry. The battlefield was silent, littered with the bodies of the undead. They had won.