The Village Burns

Evryn ran, his legs burning with every step, stumbling but refusing to slow down. It didn't matter—he had to figure out what was happening and save whoever he could.

His grip tightened around the sword in his left hand, his breath ragged and uneven. As he rushed past the inn, he caught sight of a group—women and children huddled together, crying.

Panting, he forced himself to steady his breathing, inhaling deep before shouting, "What's happening!?"

The frightened eyes of the crowd turned to him. A woman, her voice shaking, spoke up. "We're being attacked… by some people."

That was all he needed to hear. Without another word, Evryn took off, pushing deeper into the burning village.

As he neared the heart of it, the stench of blood filled his lungs. Bodies littered the ground—lifeless, torn apart.

Chew! Chew!

Blaster fire rang out in the distance, followed by piercing screams. Evryn sprinted toward the source.

Turning a corner, he caught sight of a man raising a gun—only to be cut down in an instant.

Garran.

Evryn's breath hitched. The warrior stood among the corpses of three fallen attackers, one missing an arm. Blood pooled around his boots, streaking his face. His chest heaved, his expression a mixture of fury and pain.

Garran turned, his eyes locking onto Evryn. Anger. Frustration. Hurt.

"Where is everyone!?" Evryn shouted.

"Forget about them! Help those who can't defend themselves!" Garran barked.

Evryn wiped the blood from his forehead with his sleeve, his vision clearing. Without hesitation, he nodded and took off.

Evryn sprinted through the burning village, his breath ragged, his grip tight on his sword. The screams of the helpless filled the air, blending with the crackling of flames and the distant echoes of blaster fire.

People flooded out from an alleyway, their faces twisted in terror.

"Hey, ov—" 

Chew! Chew!

Blaster fire tore through them. Bodies collapsed instantly.

Evryn's eyes widened in horror. His stomach twisted.

A single survivor, barely clinging to life, dragged himself forward, blood pooling beneath him. His breath came in weak, ragged gasps as he clawed at the dirt, desperate to escape.

Chew!

Another shot.

The survivor's body jerked before going still, his final breath stolen.

A man emerged from the alleyway, chuckling as he lowered his gun.

"Nah uh uh. Where do you think you're going, little piggy?"

He aimed down at the corpse, as if mocking it—getting ready to fire again for no reason other than cruelty.

Schlurtch!

Cold steel tore through his throat.

His breath hitched. Blood poured from his mouth. The blade had impaled him clean through the front of his neck, piercing out the other side.

His body dropped instantly, landing hard on his back. He gurgled, choking on his own blood, hands twitching—grasping for anything, for life itself.

Evryn stood over him, gripping the hilt of his sword tight, his face unreadable.

Shhlick!

He yanked the blade free in one smooth motion. The man convulsed, lips moving as if to say something.

Evryn ignored it.

Without hesitation, he knelt, grabbing the fallen man's blaster in his right hand, his sword still firm in his left.

He stood over him, looking down.

The man's bloodied eyes locked onto his. Terror. Agony. Silent begging.

But all he saw reflected back—was The End.

Chew!

The man's body went still. His arms dropped to the side. 

Dead.

The village burned around him, flames consuming everything in sight. The heat pressed against his skin, the thick smoke stung his eyes—but Evryn didn't have time to stop.

He ran, scanning the chaos, searching for anyone still alive.

Then he saw them.

Ahead, a group of villagers knelt in the dirt, hands behind their heads. Some sobbed, trembling. Others sat motionless, accepting their fate.

Two men stood before them, blasters aimed down, laughing.

"Shut up, or I'll give you a reason to cry," one of them barked, jabbing the barrel against a woman's head.

Evryn didn't think. He moved.

He sprinted toward them, silent, determined.

One of the gunmen caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned—too late.

Chew!

His body crumpled instantly, a smoking hole in his chest.

"No!" The second man screamed in fury, snapping his blaster up at Evryn.

Chew! Chew! Chew!

Blaster fire screeched through the air.

Pain exploded in Evryn's right shoulder. His arm flung back from the impact, forcing him to drop the gun.

Without hesitation, he hurled it forward.

The weapon spun through the air—

Crack!

It struck the man square in the face.

"Agh!"

He staggered back, clutching his nose.

Evryn didn't stop. He gritted his teeth, lifting his sword with his left hand.

Slash!

The blade carved across the man's chest. Blood sprayed as he stumbled, howling in agony. His blaster clattered to the ground.

Evryn's body screamed in pain, his wounded shoulder throbbing, but he didn't let it stop him.

He switched his grip, seizing the hilt with both hands.

And then—he drove it forward.

Thuck!

Steel pierced the man's heart.

He gasped, eyes wide in shock, blood bubbling at his lips. His knees buckled, body collapsing backward.

Still alive. But not for long.

"T-Thank you!" someone cried out, tears streaming down their face. The others, still kneeling, looked on in shock, some too overwhelmed to speak.

Evryn didn't respond. He only glanced back at them before lowering his gaze to the dead man at his feet.

Blood dripped down his forehead again. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his coat, smearing crimson across the fabric.

With a firm press of his boot against the corpse's chest, he pulled his sword free. The blade slid out with a slick shhlick, fresh blood spilling onto the ground. He exhaled sharply, his breath heavy, smoke filling his lungs as the village continued to burn around him.

Then it hit him.

Through all the chaos, through all the fighting—how could he have forgotten?

Mira!

His teeth clenched. His grip tightened.

Without another thought, he took off.

***

Chew! Chew! Chew!

Two bodies hit the ground, lifeless.

"Damn bastards!" Cyrus growled, his teeth gritted in frustration.

Not far to his right, a man collapsed, his chest impaled by Helaine's spider legs—six black, sleek appendages that burst through his back with brutal force. Blood dripped from the tips, staining the ground.

The flames danced around her, reflecting the fury in her eyes. Hatred burned in her gaze as she withdrew the spider legs, watching the man's body crumple to the ground, lifeless.

The villagers, watching in horror, huddled together in fear.

"Head to the inn! You'll be safe there!" Cyrus barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

Without hesitation, the villagers sprinted toward the inn, their only hope.