Chapter 19: The Border Clash

A larger raid struck at dusk—five demons tore through a village ten miles south, their roars echoing over the hills. Alaric rode with Mira, the wind whipping his cloak as their horses thundered through fields of wheat and wildflowers. "Move it, weed boy!" she shouted, her stallion kicking up clods of earth. He clung to his mare, muttering, "This is why I hate horses—too much bouncing." They reached the village—huts ablaze, smoke choking the air, villagers fleeing with bundles of belongings. The demons loomed—hulking, their claws dripping ichor, eyes glowing like embers.Alaric dismounted, vines surging—ninety strong, some evolved into acid-tipped spears that hissed as they struck. "Take a hike, uglies!" he yelled, spearing two through the chest, ichor spraying as they crumpled. A third charged; he wove a thorn net, its barbs shredding its legs, then finished it with a root that crushed its skull. "Nap time, barbecue!" Mira hacked the last two, her sword flashing, ichor splattering her armor. "Teamwork's a scam," he panted, grinning as she winked, her face streaked with sweat and grime. "You're welcome, slacker."Villagers gathered, awestruck—a blacksmith offered a hammer, a woman a loaf of bread. "You're heroes!" they cheered. Alaric slumped, sap-stained, muttering, "No parades, please. I'm allergic to applause." Mira laughed, clapping his back. "Too late, weed boy."