Chapter 14: The First Stand

Demon raids crept closer—smoke curled over Eldrathia's southern hills, a bitter haze that stung the eyes and throat. Mira dragged Alaric to the stables at dawn, her armor clanking as she saddled a pair of horses—a gray mare for him, a chestnut stallion for her. "Move it, weed boy—we're scouting," she said, tossing him a cloak heavier than his usual leafy one. He groaned, mounting the mare with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. "This is why I hate field trips—horses, demons, and no snacks." She smirked, spurring her mount. "Quit whining and ride." They galloped south, the wind whipping his hair, the rolling fields giving way to charred patches and distant screams.They reached a hamlet of thatched roofs and muddy lanes, its wooden palisade splintered by demon claws. Three scouts tore through—hulking figures of blackened flesh, their eyes glowing red, claws slashing at fleeing farmers. Alaric dismounted, vines surging—forty strong, their tips barbed and glowing with Greenheart light. "Take a hike, uglies!" he yelled, lashing one's legs with a dozen tendrils, tripping it into a barn with a crash that sent hay flying. Another charged, its claws raking the air; he evolved a vine into a spear, its tip piercing its chest with a wet crunch, ichor spraying the ground. The third swiped, grazing his arm—blood welled through his torn sleeve, and he cursed, sprouting a thorn wall that erupted from the earth, shredding its face into a mess of gore. "Stay down, barbecue!" he shouted, panting as it collapsed.Mira hacked the last, her sword slicing through its neck, ichor splattering her boots. "Not bad, slacker," she said, wiping her blade on a rag, her grin fierce and proud. Villagers emerged from hiding—women clutching children, men with pitchforks—awestruck as they gathered around. A girl, no older than six, her braids tangled with dirt, offered a daisy, her eyes wide. "You're a hero!" Alaric took it, wincing as his arm throbbed. "Can heroes nap? Because I'm cashing in." Mira laughed, clapping his back hard enough to make him stumble. "Not yet, weed boy. Let's ride—more might be coming." He slumped onto his horse, muttering, "This gig's a scam. Where's the union?"