War Part 8

'Damn, I'm so tired.'

Lucy's thought lingered as he watched the elven archer's head hit the obsidian ground with a sickening thud. Blood pooled beneath the severed neck, spreading like dark wine across the black stone.

The elf's long blonde hair fanned out, partially covering glassy eyes that stared at nothing.

The metallic scent of fresh blood filled Lucy's nostrils, turning his stomach. He'd lost count of how many he'd killed today. Each death left another invisible weight on his shoulders.

'I guess this is who I am now. The only way to protect anyone is through violence.'

His hands trembled slightly as he lowered his bloodied weapon.

'Is that really a utopia, Seraphine?'

The question burned in his mind, unanswered and mocking. Seraphine's grand vision seemed further away with each life he took.

Lucy had been thrust into a nightmare that gave him no time to breathe. Forced to witness billions die. Forced to take his first life. Forced to become a killer to protect those he barely knew.

The weight of it all threatened to crush him, but survival demanded he keep moving.

He couldn't afford to process the tsunami of emotions crashing against his consciousness. There would be time for that later—if he survived.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Lucy surveyed the chaos surrounding him. The battlefield was a canvas painted with violence and death.

Giants towered above the masses, their massive clubs sending smaller creatures flying with each swing.

Beastkin warriors moved like blurs of fur and steel, their natural agility enhanced by battle rage.

Ogres roared as they charged through enemy lines, their thick skin absorbing blows that would kill lesser beings.

Dragonkin clashed with earth-shaking force, scales gleaming under the strange light of the magical battle. Their tails whipped through the air with enough force to break bones, while their claws left deep gouges in anything they touched.

From the rear lines on both sides, elven mages wove intricate spells, filling the air with streaks of elemental energy. Blue lightning, crimson fireballs, and emerald winds tore through the battlefield, indiscriminate in their destruction.

Through the chaos, Lucy's eyes found the girl he had just saved.

She was awake now, sitting up amidst the circle of bodies he'd created, defending her. Her wounds—fatal just minutes ago—had vanished completely.

He could sense more mana radiating from her than before, pulsing like a heartbeat.

'Ah, that's how nine lives work,' Lucy realized, pieces clicking together in his mind. 'She comes back stronger after she dies...'

Eri's wide eyes took in the grisly scene around her. Beastkin corpses with their fur matted with blood—Elven bodies, elegant even in death. Even a Dragonkin, its massive form sprawled unnaturally across the battlefield, scales dulled without life to animate them.

All had fallen by Lucy's hands. All to protect her.

Her face reflected pure shock, her mouth slightly agape as she struggled to process the carnage. Lucy didn't blame her.

'If I had woken up after dying on a battlefield surrounded by bodies, I would be shocked too.'

But her stunned gaze didn't linger on the dead for long. Instead, her brown eyes, warm as amber in sunlight, found Lucy himself.

He stood there, a blood-soaked sentinel. His armor was dented and slashed, splattered with evidence of his kills. Fresh blood dripped from his weapons.

At his feet lay the blonde elf's severed head, a grim trophy he never wanted.

Lucy attempted to offer her a reassuring smile, hoping to ease the horror in her eyes. His lips curved upward, but the warmth didn't reach his eyes. They remained haunted, carrying the weight of each life he'd taken.

Her reaction wasn't what he'd hoped for.

Instead of relief or gratitude, Eri's eyes widened further. Terror replaced confusion. Without a word, she scrambled to her feet and bolted, disappearing into the sea of battling bodies.

'How about a thank you!' The bitter thought flashed through Lucy's mind before he pushed it away, turning his focus back to the battle that raged without pause.

All around him, warriors continued to clash. Steel rang against steel. Magic surged and exploded. The cries of the wounded and dying formed a terrible chorus that never ceased.

Countless bodies littered the ground, yet the armies seemed undiminished. For each soldier that fell, another stepped forward to take their place.

From ground level, the battlefield was nearly impossible to read strategically. Thick smoke from magical fires choked the air, reducing visibility to mere yards in some places.

Blinding flashes of spellwork exploded in all directions, leaving spots dancing across Lucy's vision.

The press of bodies—living, dying, and dead—created a maze of flesh and metal that obscured any larger patterns.

He needed perspective.

A short distance away lay the massive corpse of a fallen giant. The behemoth had crashed to the ground not long ago, its hundred-foot frame creating a small mountain of flesh and crude armor upon the obsidian battlefield.

Lucy spotted his opportunity and ran toward it, dodging skirmishes and leaping over bodies. The black ground beneath his feet was slick with blood, making each step treacherous.

He reached the fallen giant and began to climb. Its rough skin and damaged armor provided handholds as he pulled himself upward, muscles burning with the effort.

The giant's flesh was still warm, death too recent for the cold to set in.

At thirty feet up, Lucy paused and turned to survey the battlefield. The perspective shift revealed the true scope of the war.

The air was clearer here, above the worst of the smoke. The stench of blood was somehow more pungent, carried upward by heat from the countless bodies below.

The battlefield stretched in all directions, a canvas of nightmarish violence.

Ahead, where he had fought Ayas, the Beastkin and Dragonkin generals continued their titanic clash.

The cheetah Beastkin general moved with such speed that she left afterimages in Lucy's vision.

Her tiger-striped opponent countered with raw power, each strike powerful enough to shatter stone.

The shockwaves from their battle had created a no-man's-land around them, lesser soldiers wisely staying clear of powers beyond their comprehension.

Seraphine's crimson Dragonkin general seemed to be gaining the upper hand against the golden-scaled enemy general. Their massive forms grappled and tore at each other, magic and primal strength combined in devastating attacks.

About a hundred feet behind Lucy's position, giants and ogres waged their war of titans. Each time a giant fell, the obsidian ground trembled violently, nearly sending combatants sprawling.

The ogres used their smaller size as an advantage, attacking the giants' lower limbs with surprising coordination.

From this vantage point, one thing became crystal clear to Lucy—despite the carnage, the battle remained evenly matched. Each side still had roughly three thousand soldiers fighting. Neither had gained a decisive advantage.

'The war will be decided when a general falls.' The realization crystallized in his mind as he analyzed the battle.

'What to do, what to do.' He pondered for a moment, casually shifting aside as a stray fireball sailed past his head, close enough that he felt its heat against his face.

Then it hit him like a lightning bolt. His path forward suddenly became obvious.

Without another word, Lucy leapt from the giant's corpse, landing with practiced agility despite his exhaustion. His boots hit the obsidian with a splash of blood as he immediately dashed forward, purpose driving his tired muscles.

'I'll just help out the generals.' His plan was elegantly simple: assist the cheetah Beastkin in defeating her tiger opponent.

Since Seraphine's crimson Dragonkin general seemed to be winning his battle, Lucy would focus on where he could make the most significant difference.

He sprinted across the battlefield, dodging between duels and skirmishes, his mind utterly focused on his new objective.

If he could help bring down one of the enemy generals, the tide of battle would turn.

The war might end that much sooner.

And maybe—just maybe—he could stop killing, if only for a little while.

Lucy weaved through the battlefield with desperate speed, ducking under wild swings and leaping over fallen bodies. Though the journey felt like hours, only seconds passed as he navigated the chaotic war zone.

Each step brought him closer to the clashing generals, the very air becoming heavier with power. Their battle created a pocket of intensified violence that made the rest of the war seem distant by comparison.

When he finally reached the perimeter of their duel, a thunderous collision between the two generals sent a shockwave rippling through the air. The concussive force slammed into Lucy like a physical wall, nearly knocking him off his feet.

The ground beneath him trembled. His ears rang from the impact. Lesser warriors would have retreated immediately.

But Lucy planted his stance wider, steadying himself against the onslaught of power. His eyes narrowed in determination as he studied the battle unfolding before him.

The cheetah general moved like liquid lightning. Her spotted fur was streaked with blood, yet she attacked with undiminished ferocity.

The tiger general was slower but possessed raw strength that compensated for the speed difference. Her striped form rippled with corded muscle as she blocked and countered, her movements calculated and patient.

Lucy watched their rhythm, searching for patterns, weaknesses, openings—anything he could exploit. The dangerous proximity to their battle provided a strange safety; no other soldier dared venture this close to the clashing titans.

Minutes stretched like hours as he waited, fingers tightening around his sword hilt, muscles coiled and ready.

Sweat trickled down his neck despite the chill in the air.

His breathing remained controlled, measured, conserving energy for the moment that would inevitably come.

Then, there it was.

After a particularly violent exchange, both generals leapt backward to reposition themselves. As the tiger beastkin landed, her foot skidded slightly on the blood-slick obsidian.

It wasn't much—just a fraction of a second where her balance wavered, her attention divided between recovery and defense.

But it was enough.

Lucy exploded into motion without conscious thought, his body responding to opportunity before his mind fully processed it.

He crossed the distance in a blur, sword already swinging in a perfect horizontal arc aimed directly for the tiger general's exposed neck.

Time seemed to slow as the blade cut through the air, seeking flesh.

Then everything went wrong.

The slip had been a feint—a veteran's trap for the unwary.

With impossible speed, the tiger general twisted away from the blade. In the same fluid motion, her massive claws lashed out toward Lucy's face, gleaming with deadly intent.

Pure instinct saved him. Lucy jerked his head back at the last possible moment, feeling the rush of air as razor-sharp claws passed within millimeters of his eyes.

Even so, one claw caught him, opening a fresh slash across his already battered face. Hot blood spilled down his cheek, adding to the collection of wounds that marked his features.

Before he could recover, her foot connected with his stomach with devastating force. The impact drove the air from his lungs in an explosive gasp.

Pain radiated through his torso as he felt his ribs crack under the pressure.

The kick launched him backward like a projectile, sending him flying toward the cheetah general. Wind whistled past his ears as he tumbled through the air, struggling to orient himself despite the pain and disorientation.

Through sheer will, Lucy managed to twist his body midair. His feet hit the ground first, knees bending to absorb the impact.

The momentum still dragged him backward, boots creating twin furrows in the obsidian surface.

He thrust his sword into the ground, the blade cutting into the black stone with a shower of sparks. The resistance gradually slowed his movement until he finally came to a stop, his breathing ragged and pained.

When he raised his eyes, the tiger general was watching him with predatory amusement.

She raised one massive paw to her mouth, her tongue—pink and rough—slowly licking Lucy's blood from her claws. Her amber eyes never left his, the gesture deliberately intimidating.

"Who do we have here?" her voice rumbled like distant thunder, carrying easily across the battlefield despite the chaos surrounding them. "The Human has come to join Tara in her death?"

The question hung in the air between them, both taunt and promise. The tiger's fangs gleamed as her lips pulled back in what might have been a smile on a less dangerous face.

Behind Lucy, he could sense the cheetah general, Tara, shifting her stance. Whether she was grateful for the intervention or annoyed by his presumption remained to be seen.

All he knew for sure was that he had just challenged one of the most dangerous beings on the battlefield, and she wasn't impressed.