Human (Albion)

  The warmth of a smile still lingers on my lips. The elf I’d spotted earlier while joking with Groboln, Lyrel, finally let out a soft, crystalline laugh at my last quip. Her piercing, enigmatic eyes occasionally flit to the shadows of the woods, but she doesn’t seem disinterested. I’ve always had a knack for creating these moments, even in the most absurd situations. And her company is far more charming than Groboln’s.

  Just as I prepare to follow up with another remark, a strange sensation sweeps through us. The forest stops—abruptly. Not a natural transition. No. A boundary, almost perfect, as if an invisible line had split the world in two. On one side: life. Massive trees with vibrant foliage, twisting roots, and a calm yet living stillness.

  On the other: unimaginable desolation.

  Trees reduced to charred skeletons, their crowns shattered, their trunks twisted at impossible angles. The ground, blackened and cracked, looks scorched to its very essence. Among the chaos lie gigantic fragments of metal, some as tall as towers, others embedded deep into the earth. Their surfaces glimmer faintly, marked with strange grooves, as though these debris were both machines and nightmarish relics.

  “By the gods…” Lyrel breathes, her eyes wide with awe and fear.

  I can only stand there, frozen, my thoughts swirling in a cacophony of confusion. This isn’t just a field of ruins. It’s as if an entire fragment of something else crashed here, a raw, incomprehensible force leaving behind a landscape devoid of natural order.

  The inquisitors, however, remain unnervingly calm. Kral Margonos, their leader, stands at the forefront, as still as a statue. His brown eyes sweep across the scene with an almost supernatural intensity. Yvanna, the kingdom’s mage, is further back, deep in conversation with important-looking men from the army.

  Captain Eldan Rochefer, a few paces away, clears his throat, his gruff voice betraying poorly concealed nerves.

  “What in the name of sanity is this?”

  No one answers. Because no one knows.

  I glance at Lyrel. Her sharp, mocking expression from earlier is now distant, absorbed by the vastness before us. Behind me, I spot Groboln and Salina exchanging grim looks.

  We take a few more hesitant steps, and my boots stop right at the edge of the boundary between the vibrant forest and the devastation. This stark demarcation strikes me even harder than the scene itself. How can a transition so precise exist? This isn’t the work of fire or a mere impact. It’s…

  “Unnatural,” says a voice behind me, echoing my thoughts. I turn and meet the gaze of a mage, his trembling hands clutching the tip of his sword. He gestures toward the metallic debris. The entire column seems to bottleneck at this line, as if an invisible barrier halts our progress.

  Kral Margonosfinally turns to the column. His voice rises, cold and unyielding:

  “We move forward.”

  The living forest is behind us. The field of ruins stretches endlessly ahead. It’s terrifying, and what’s equally unsettling is the absence of leadership from Captain Eldan. The inquisitor’s words alone reignite the group’s momentum.

  My eyes lock onto Eldan, the royal insignia gleaming on his armor. He abruptly turns, his icy gaze fixed on the elderly scout. His voice cracks like a whip through the oppressive silence:

  “You didn’t tell us about this, old hunter!”

  The poor man, Dornal, a seasoned veteran of the forest, steps back, pale as death. His wild beard seems to quiver with him. He stammers before mustering the courage to respond:

  “I… I… I never came through the north! To the west, there’s no such chaos, Commander!”

  His voice carries the rough accent of forest hunters, but it wavers with fear. Eldan steps closer, towering over Dornal, who seems to shrink under his gaze. If the hunter tells the truth, he must have returned to Benamire by the smaller Volgar forest.

  “I know this place like the back of my hand, but what lies here… it’s nothing natural! You saw it, same as I did. Even the animals avoid this place!” Dornal continues, desperate to justify himself.

  The exchange is cut short by a guttural sound—something inhuman. Every head snaps toward the source: a mound of metallic debris collapses with a thunderous crash, sending a cloud of ash and dust into the air. From the wreckage emerges a colossal figure, and my breath catches in my throat.

  A troll. But not like any I’ve ever seen. This one is monstrous, its body marred by fire and wounds. Its gray-black skin is cracked like a field of frozen lava. Shards of metal are embedded in its flesh, some faintly reflecting light. A stench of burnt flesh reaches us, choking and suffocating.

  “Formation!” Captain Eldan Rochefer shouts, his voice sharp and commanding. He’s already moved away from Dornal.

  But the troll, despite its apparent injuries, moves with terrifying speed. With a roar that shakes the very air, it charges toward the column, hurling chunks of debris like projectiles. One flies just over my head, slamming into a soldier behind me and sending him sprawling.

  “Scatter!” Kral Margonos barks, his tone glacial but authoritative.

  Soldiers raise their shields, but chaos erupts. Some trip as they try to dodge its onslaught.

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  Lyrel, beside me, grips her bow, her eyes glowing with intense focus.

  “Albion! That thing’s insane!” Salina shouts.

  “No shit!” I reply, already drawing my blade as adrenaline surges through me. We’re not trained to face creatures like this.

  The troll reaches us in mere seconds, sweeping its massive arm across a group of soldiers too slow to evade. They’re flung like ragdolls, their screams blending with the monster’s roar. I try to organize my group amidst the chaos as soldiers and adventurers alike scramble to form defensive circles.

  Its glowing red eyes lock onto us. Burned, mutilated, but undeniably alive, it moves with raw, desperate rage.

  “Archers, fire!” Eldan yells as arrows fly toward the troll.

  They glance off its charred hide, a few sinking shallowly into its flesh but doing little to slow its charge. With another furious roar, it lunges forward.

  The beast’s massive fist comes crashing down toward me. I leap to the side just in time, feeling the ground quake beneath the impact. Our circle fragments, but miraculously, no one is crushed. Nearby groups surge forward, shields raised and spears bristling, archers aiming for the troll’s vulnerable points.

  “Aim for the joints!” someone shouts as my eyes fixate on the troll’s knees, where shards of metal jut out from its cracked skin.

  I take a deep breath. It’s a monstrous, brutal creature, but if we’re fast, we might have a chance.

  With Lyrel at my side, we charge. Dodging through the confusion, we dart under the troll’s massive frame. Its enormous dick swings above me for a moment before I manage to land behind it. One second the thought to hit him there comes in my mind, but it's too disgusting. My blade bites into its ankle — a shallow cut, but a start. Lyrel, having climbed partway up its leg, drives her weapon into the back of its left knee. The troll roars, collapsing partially onto one leg and thrashing wildly to dislodge us.

  “Lyrel! Get back, now!” I yell.

  She leaps away, but not before one of the troll’s massive fingers grazes her. She crumples to the ground. Soldiers rush to her side; leaving anyone on the battlefield is a death sentence.

  A protective barrier of energy flares around us in a burst of light. The mages have acted just in time, and the troll’s titanic fist crashes against the shield. A deafening clang echoes through the air, and I see the barrier tremble under the impact. The vibrations seem to resonate through my very bones.

  We pull Lyrel away, her head bleeding slightly.

  “Lyrel, are you okay?” I ask, glancing at her. She nods faintly.

  The troll reaches us in mere seconds, sweeping its massive arm across a group of soldiers too slow to evade. They’re flung like ragdolls, their screams blending with the monster’s roar. I try to organize my group amidst the chaos as soldiers and adventurers alike scramble to form defensive circles.

  Its glowing red eyes lock onto us. Burned, mutilated, but undeniably alive, it moves with raw, desperate rage.

  “Archers, fire!” Eldan yells as arrows fly toward the troll.

  They glance off its charred hide, a few sinking shallowly into its flesh but doing little to slow its charge. With another furious roar, it lunges forward.

  The beast’s massive fist comes crashing down toward me. I leap to the side just in time, feeling the ground quake beneath the impact. Our circle fragments, but miraculously, no one is crushed. Nearby groups surge forward, shields raised and spears bristling, archers aiming for the troll’s vulnerable points.

  “Aim for the joints!” someone shouts as my eyes fixate on the troll’s knees, where shards of metal jut out from its cracked skin.

  I take a deep breath. It’s a monstrous, brutal creature, but if we’re fast, we might have a chance.

  With Lyrel at my side, we charge. Dodging through the confusion, we dart under the troll’s massive frame. Its enormous dick swings above me for a moment before I manage to land behind it. One second the thought to hit him there comes in my mind, but it's too disgusting. My blade bites into its ankle — a shallow cut, but a start. Lyrel, having climbed partway up its leg, drives her weapon into the back of its left knee. The troll roars, collapsing partially onto one leg and thrashing wildly to dislodge us.

  “Lyrel! Get back, now!” I yell.

  She leaps away, but not before one of the troll’s massive fingers grazes her. She crumples to the ground. Soldiers rush to her side; leaving anyone on the battlefield is a death sentence.

  A protective barrier of energy flares around us in a burst of light. The mages have acted just in time, and the troll’s titanic fist crashes against the shield. A deafening clang echoes through the air, and I see the barrier tremble under the impact. The vibrations seem to resonate through my very bones.

  We pull Lyrel away, her head bleeding slightly.

  “Lyrel, are you okay?” I ask, glancing at her. She nods faintly.

  The protective barrier still trembles from the previous impact, but the troll has already shifted its attention to another group. Hardened soldiers of Eldan quickly regroup, their shields forming an unyielding wall of steel. Orders fly within their ranks, each movement precise and disciplined. A perfect formation, engineered to withstand massive assaults.

  Not far away, the adventurers move like agile predators. In small groups, they harry the beast, striking at its vulnerabilities before retreating into the shadows. An arrow whistles through the air, embedding itself in the troll’s left eye. It roars in agony, flailing wildly in a futile attempt to grab its attackers. But the adventurers are swift, vanishing into the debris or behind charred trees before it can retaliate.

  My attention turns to the soldiers of the Inquisition. Their presence, usually cold and oppressive, now carries an oddly reassuring weight. Gathered around Kral Margonos, they chant incantations in a guttural language that seems to resonate with the earth itself. They are in a trance. The esoteric symbols etched into their armor glow faintly, projecting shards of energy that converge toward him.

  The Grand Inquisitor raises his arms, his hands enveloped in a power that distorts the air around him. Even at a distance, I feel an oppressive pressure.

  We need to get out of here — now.

  Kral begins to howl, his voice carrying the cadence of a dozen others in unison. The chant of his escort reaches a fever pitch, and a sphere of energy materializes in his hands. The ground trembles beneath our feet, and a cold shiver runs down my spine. This is high-level magic, dangerously high.

  I’ve now managed to retreat to a safe distance from the troll. Groboln stares at the trance-like dance of the Inquisition’s group with wide-eyed fascination, while Salina helps me tend to Lyrel’s wounds.

  Kral thrusts his hands forward, sending the sphere hurtling toward the troll. The monster, preoccupied with its futile attempts to crush a group protected by an energy barrier, doesn’t even see the spell coming.

  The impact is cataclysmic. A burst of light engulfs the troll, and an inhuman roar erupts as its body begins to disintegrate under the spell’s overwhelming force. The creature thrashes, but the energy consumes it, breaking apart its form as if it were being shredded and absorbed into the sphere.

  Everyone remains motionless, watching the cloud of ash dissipate. Kral slowly lowers his arms.

  Eldan swiftly regains control, issuing orders to tend to the wounded and secure the area. The chaos begins to subside, but the air remains heavy with a palpable energy, as though Kral’s spell has left an imprint on the battlefield. The adventurers, ever eager to profit from any situation, rush toward the remains of the troll. Its still-warm ashes drift away on the rising breeze, but a few fragments linger: twisted metal embedded in charred flesh, bones of unnerving density, and a black ichor already evaporating, surely blood.

  “Scavengers,” Lyrel murmurs, shaking her head, a bandage wrapped around her brow. Her voice carries a mix of disdain and amusement. “Fighting over scraps.”

  Today chapters were pretty long put together but it's nice sometimes to have more content right.