Ashes of Order
Warning: Viewer Discretion Advised
This chapter contains intense graphic violence, disturbing imagery, and mature themes including war crimes, executions, and mass violence. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
We reached the stairs. The sound of footsteps followed behind me — not orderly, not in unison, but relentless. Shuffling feet, bare soles slapping stone, the occasional stumble or grunt. It was the march of the forgotten. The beaten. The desperate.
And I was leading them.
I glanced over my shoulder. Dozens of faces stared back — gaunt, pale, sunken-eyed — but alive. Eyes that had once been drained of light now flickered with something dangerous.
Purpose.
Right on cue, the guards peered down the stairs. Two lizard-men — one short and broad, the other tall and wiry — froze mid-step as their eyes locked onto the sea of bodies behind me.
Their expressions twisted instantly. Shock. Confusion. Panic.
Even from a kilometer away, you could've seen their eyes widen in disbelief.
Then came the scramble.
The taller one reached for the curved blade strapped to his hip, fumbling with the buckle in his haste. The shorter guard barked something in a guttural tongue before snatching a spear from the wall rack beside him.
Steel rang.
Clawed feet clattered across the stone floor above as the guards braced themselves, weapons raised — but not in formation. Not in control.
They weren't prepared for this.
They had expected another limp prisoner dragged in chains.
Not a horde.
And certainly not me.
But I didn't waste a moment.
I raised my pistol without hesitation — arm steady, breath even.
Bang!
A single shot rang out, sharp and final.
The taller guard's head snapped back — a burst of crimson mist sprayed the stone above — and his body crumpled without grace, tumbling down the steps like a sack of meat.
Dead before he ever understood the cause.
The shorter one froze, eyes wide in horror.
He stared at his fallen companion, mouth slightly ajar, confused — stunned — like he'd just witnessed a god strike a man dead.
And in a way… he had.
Before I could line up another shot, the lizard panicked — dropped his weapon with a loud clang — and turned tail, bolting down the corridor like a coward who'd just seen death itself stare back.
I didn't bother chasing.
Instead, I turned to the crowd behind me — shoulder to shoulder now, packed tight in the narrow hall, their eyes fixed on me like waiting for permission to breathe.
"Rush!" I barked, urgency cutting through the air like steel.
"Now! We can't let reinforcements block the stairs — if they seal the top, we're trapped down here like vermin!"
They didn't wait for another word.
The ground trembled as barefoot prisoners surged forward — weak or not, they moved with the desperation of people who finally saw the sky ahead.
Leading the charge was me — and by nightfall, this village would no longer belong to beasts.
It would be owned by humans.
We stormed up the stairs, my boots pounding against stone — then we burst into a chamber lined with weapons and armor.
Racks lined every wall — bows and arrows, swords, spears, shields, rusted helmets still stained from past blood.
Some of the prisoners broke off, grabbing whatever they could — trembling hands finding strength as they armed themselves.
But I didn't stop.
Me and a handful of others kept moving, pushing through the exit.
We had one mission — stop reinforcements before they could gather.
Once outside — there they were.
Minotaurs. Lizard-men. Fox-tailed and cat-tailed demi-humans lined the village path, forming a barricade of snarling muscle and sharpened steel.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking our path like a wall of living stone — confident, sneering.
Some had axes slung over their backs, others held spears and jagged blades stained from past slaughter.
But they weren't ready.
Behind me, the clatter of boots and scraped iron rang out — the rest of the prisoners burst from the doorway, freshly armed and furious.
The once-starved now screamed like wolves set loose.
They rushed forward, rage in their blood and steel in their hands.
The clash was instant.
A man with a spear drove it straight into the gut of a lizard-man, roaring as the beast stumbled backward.
A young woman — barely more than a girl — swung a rusted axe at a fox-eared guard, teeth bared, eyes wild with vengeance.
The line broke.
The demi-humans, arrogant only seconds before, found themselves overwhelmed by sheer numbers and madness.
Their organized front shattered under the weight of desperation turned into war.
And in the chaos — I walked forward, calm amidst the storm, pistol still in hand.
This was no longer an escape.
This was the beginning of something greater.
A reckoning.
A man — skin draped over brittle bones, eyes sunken but burning — rushed behind a cat-eared demi-human.
She turned too late.
With a jagged blade stolen from the wall, he dragged steel across her throat like slicing paper. Blood sprayed from the wound as she gurgled, her claws grasping at nothing before collapsing in a twitching heap.
Screams erupted — high-pitched, guttural, endless.
To my left, a lizard-man roared and swung a massive iron club into a man's chest. The crack of bone was audible — the man flew back and landed motionless, blood pouring from his lips.
But the line didn't stop.
More humans charged out from the armory behind us — women, men, even teenagers clutching bows, short swords, broken axes. Their eyes weren't filled with fear. They were filled with fury.
The ground shook as a minotaur charged, horned head lowered — and impaled two fighters with one brutal slam. He roared in triumph, swinging his axe clean through another man's shoulder, nearly cleaving him in two.
A woman with burns across her cheek screamed, leapt on his back, and stabbed a dagger into his neck over and over. His roars turned into choking gurgles before he dropped, crushing three corpses beneath his dying weight.
The stench of blood and iron filled the air.
Arrows flew from behind — some missing wildly, others burying into backs and throats.
A fox-tailed guard stabbed a child through the stomach — the boy's shriek cut short as he fell limp, a wooden stick still clenched in his hands.
But the crowd kept pushing.
Another wave of humans burst from the building, weapons raised, voices hoarse from shouting battle cries and names of lost loved ones.
A group of demi-humans held the line — until a barrel-chested man in blood-stained chains swung a morning star straight into a lion-faced warrior's skull. It collapsed inward with a sickening crunch.
The two sides collided in pure savagery.
Steel clanged against steel.
Bone cracked.
Flesh ripped.
A woman in rags screamed as her arm was lopped clean off by a lizard's blade — but before she even fell, a boy behind her rammed a spear into the attacker's ribs and shoved until it broke through the other side.
Another human was dragged into the dirt, kicking, clawing — a wolf-eared demi-human biting into his throat like a rabid beast.
He didn't even scream.
It was chaos. No formations. No tactics. Just survival.
Just rage.
The streets were slick with blood. The cobblestones ran red, soaking into the dust of this once-proud village.
And yet they kept coming.
More prisoners — more rebels — more sparks.
Weapons clattered. Screams echoed. Flames began to rise from the huts behind us — torches tossed into thatch roofs, setting the night alight.
This was no longer an uprising.
This was war.
And it was just beginning.
I raised the Walther.
CRACK.
A fox-eared archer dropped before she could notch another arrow, blood pouring from the hole between her eyes.
CRACK.
Another lizard-man stumbled, screaming as the round tore through his thigh. He collapsed — and before he could crawl away, two humans were already on him, stabbing wildly, red mist splashing the ground.
The recoil was light. The damage? Devastating.
I advanced slowly, each shot purposeful.
CRACK.
A bull-headed brute turned to charge.
CRACK.
The bullet slammed into his open mouth — his entire jaw disintegrated. He dropped, convulsing in the dirt, choking on shattered teeth and blood.
Behind me, a roar thundered louder than the chaos.
The big man from the bar, that once accused me now charged into the fray like a war god unleashed. No armor. No shirt. Just raw, muscle-bound rage and a two-handed iron warhammer he must've ripped from a display rack.
He swung wide.
A wolf-eared soldier was lifted clean off the ground — her ribcage folding inward like crushed tin. She didn't scream. Her body just folded, then flopped in a bloody mess.
Another demi-human tried to flank him — some rat-faced coward with dual daggers.
Too slow.
He turned with a backhanded swing, the hammer slamming into the side of the rat's head — skull bursting like a melon. Blood sprayed on his chest, and he didn't even blink.
"FOR KAELA!" he roared, voice thick with fury.
He brought the hammer down again — this time on a lion-headed warrior. The beast tried to block with a shield.
It didn't matter.
The shield splintered.
The lion's skull cracked open like an egg — brain matter sprayed the wall behind him.
I stepped forward again.
CRACK.
Another shot — straight into the gut of a minotaur swinging his axe at a fleeing girl. He roared in pain, dropping to one knee. The girl didn't run — she turned, grabbed a broken spear off the ground, and shoved it into the beast's eye.
She didn't stop pushing until he hit the dirt, twitching.
The battlefield was a storm of violence.
Screams rang out — human and demi-human alike.
One of our own — a young boy no older than sixteen — was slashed across the stomach by a feline soldier. His insides spilled as he dropped, trying to scoop them back in with trembling hands before his body gave out.
A woman shrieked as she was lifted by her neck — a bear-like demi-human choking the life from her.
Before I could shoot, the man from the bar barreled in.
The hammer swung in a perfect arc.
CRACK — the sound of spine snapping in two.
The bear-man collapsed — the woman dropped with a gasp, crawling free.
More of our rebels poured out of the building, gripping stolen weapons, screaming war cries. Some were barely clothed, some limped — but all fought like they had nothing left to lose.
I reloaded my pistol, calmly, methodically, as bodies fell around me.
Getting ready to rack up a war score.
Ten hours later…
The streets no longer echoed with steel and screams.
Now, they echoed with silence.
Smoke drifted through the morning light, coiling above crumbled rooftops and blood-slick cobblestones. Fires still burned in the distance, but none dared to put them out. Ash blanketed everything — like snow, if snow were born of death.
We had taken the village.
No.
We had claimed it.
We surrounded the village — every exit, every alley, every hidden trail through the woods.
No one was getting out.
Not one demi-human would escape what was coming.
What was once theirs — the demi-humans' — now belonged to us.
They had fled into their homes, those that hadn't died in the streets. Now they hid — behind barred doors, shuttered windows, and prayer.
But prayer would not save them.
From rooftops and balconies, their women hung — cat-eared and fox-tailed bodies swinging from ropes tied to wooden beams and broken signs.
Some twisted gently in the wind, eyes bulged, lips purple. Others still dripped blood from their feet, stripped before execution — not out of lust, but humiliation. A message.
The humans watched them without shame.
Some spat on the corpses.
Others laughed.
A group of children threw rocks at one, their hollow eyes alight with something worse than hatred — amusement.
The village square was stained black.
A pile of lizard-men burned in the center — a pyre of scales and screams no longer audible. The man from the bar stood nearby, hammer still soaked, blood dried across his chest like war paint. He hadn't spoken in hours. He didn't need to.
I stood atop the steps of what was once the demi-humans' town hall — now mine.
My coat fluttered in the wind, still stained with dried blood. My pistol holstered, polished again with care.
Around me, men stood guard with stolen weapons — crude axes, dented shields, and longbows with broken fletching. They didn't look like soldiers.
They looked like survivors turned wolves.
And the wolves had won.
A messenger ran up — breathless, wide-eyed. "Sir. I have a hat a old man told me was yours and another demi-human was found hiding in the basement of the town hall.
"Male or female?" I asked calmly.
"Female. Fox-eared."
"Hang her." I said without pause.
The messenger bowed and handed me my still intact hat and ran off. No hesitation. No argument.
I turned and looked out across the village — the banners torn down, the symbols of demi-human rule burned or buried.
This wasn't war anymore.
This was cleansing.
And we were just getting started.