Varga had heard the stories. Every Krag child had.
The Eri were not natural. Not of this world. They were remnants of the Old War, twisted things spat out from the ruins of the God Engines, abominations forged from the damned souls and cursed magic. Monsters made flesh, yet not truly alive. No heartbeat, no breath, just an endless, gnawing hunger that drove them to consume anything that moved.
Cut them, and their flesh stitched itself back together before the blood could even darken the soil. Poison them, and their veins swallowed the toxins without so much as a shudder. Bury them, and they clawed their way back up, fingers bone-white from scraping through earth and stone alike.
They were almost undying.
Almost.
For she knew something else, a weakness few among her generation knows about. Her mother had whispered to her over a crackling campfire when the night grew heavy and cold.
Years ago, when her mother was barely more than a whelp, a war band of the strongest kuros warriors had returned to camp dragging something behind them,an Eri, half-crippled, its limbs hacked to stumps, its jagged mouth still snapping at the air. They had bound it in chains thicker than a Krag's arm, starved it for days, yet still it writhed, its black, glassy eyes tracking them with a hate so deep it made even the elders shift uneasily.
The shaman had stepped forward then, his voice a low rasp as he called upon the old tongues, the ones that stirred the embers sleeping beneath the earth. Fire erupted from his palms, searing the creature's flesh.
It took hours to burn.
Even as its skin blackened and split, it regrew , the flames barely outpacing its unnatural healing. Its screams, high and wrong, echoed through the camp, reaching every ear in the tribe, searing into memory.
And then the chief, grim-faced and silent, had driven his spear deep into the thing's chest, piercing the pulsing black heart hidden beneath layers of sinew and scar tissue. Only then did it finally still.
Therefore, only two things could kill an Eri fire hot enough to reduce them to ash, or severing the black heart buried deep in their chest.
Varga had neither the shaman's fire nor the strength to pierce its heart.
That was the worst part.
She took a breath, it came in ragged, bloody gasps. The white forest floor was littered with fallen warriors, their bodies broken and strewn like discarded weapons. The Eri loomed before her, its grotesque grin widening as it flexed its claws, blackened by Krag blood. Around her, the surviving Krags shouted, their voices thick with tension, their weapons clutched in tight grips.
Across the clearing, Ova dragged himself upright, his left arm hanging limp, the shoulder dislocated. His axe was still in his good hand, the edge chipped but deadly. Their eyes met. No words were needed.
Without hesitation, she activated her ability.
"Kuros—Partial Enchantment—Hunter's Eyes."
Her vision sharpened instantly. The deep emerald of her irises brightened, then ignited into a radiant green glow. The world around her slowed, sounds dulled, movements dragged, and her focus narrowed to a razor's edge. Across from her, the Eri stood, unwittingly trapped in the sluggish flow of time.
Varga exhaled, fingers flexing. Her muscles coiled, ready. There would be no hesitation.
Her glowing eyes locked onto her target.
Let's see how fast you really are.
The Eri moved first.
It lunged, claws, black as obsidian and serrated like broken glass, sliced through the air in a vicious downward arc aimed to split Varga from throat to gut. Her legs burned as she pushed beyond normal limits, muscles screaming in protest as she relied on Hunter's Eyes to track the trajectory. She twisted aside at the last second. The claws grazed her ribs, shredding leather and peeling back skin in a searing line of fire, but she gritted her teeth and countered, turning her dodge into an offensive pivot.
Her blade flashed in a silver crescent, severing two of the Eri's fingers just above the knuckle.
Black blood sprayed in thick, ropey strands, splattering the snow like hot pitch. Where it landed, the snow hissed and smoked.
The monster hissed,as the stumps twitched and began to regrow. Sinew slithered like living roots, muscle fibers weaving themselves back together with grotesque efficiency.
Ova struck from behind.
He'd timed it perfectly, waiting for the creature's momentary distraction. His axe, weighted for splitting trees, bit deep into the Eri's lower back, just above the pelvis a strike, aimed to cripple mobility.The impact jolted up his arms, but the Eri's hide was tougher than cured hide, resisting the full bite of the blade. Still, it staggered, its balance disrupted.
It whirled, lashing out with a backhand that could crush a skull. But Ova, rolled with the blow, turning his face just enough to sacrifice a tooth rather than take a shattered jaw. He spat blood, grinned through the pain, and taunted:
"Can't make me ugly, beast!"
The remaining Krags, barely a dozen now, seized the opening.
Jorik, the youngest but quickest, darted in low, driving his spear into the Eri's thigh. The tip punched through muscle, pinning the creature's leg to the ground for a single, vital second. Mira, the huntress, loosed two arrows in rapid succession. Both found their mark, burying themselves in the Eri's bulbous eyes with wet thunks. The creature reared back, blinded for now.
This allowed Gorv, the biggest Krag in the scouting band, to swing his spiked flail in a wide, overhead arc. The chain wrapped around the Eri's throat, the weighted head embedding itself in the monster's collarbone. With a roar, Gorv heaved, using his entire bodyweight to wrench the Eri off-balance.
For a heartbeat, they had it.
Then the Eri reacted.
It yanked the flail chain, not with brute force, but with a sudden, whip-crack motion that exploited Gorv's momentum. The big Krag lurched forward, just as the Eri pivoted, slamming him into Jorik. Both warriors crumpled under the impact, bones snapping under the force.
Mira nocked another arrow,but she was too slow. The Eri leaped, its powerful hind legs propelling it farther than any natural creature could manage. It crushed her beneath its weight, claws punching through her chest before she could scream.
Varga roared, her Kuros flaring brighter, a surge of green aura rippling along her skin.
"Kuros—Partial Enchantment—wind step!"
The world blurred as she crossed the battlefield in a heartbeat, her body moving as fast as the wind. Her blade, angled for a decapitating strike at the Eri's neck, but was intercepted at the last second, the creature's reflexes still sharp even blinded. Its claws clamped around her arm, bones grinding under the pressure. Her blade fell from her hands, the pain searing up her nerves like fire.
But this time, she expected it.
With her free hand, she drew a second dagger, a curved, serrated thing meant for gutting prey and plunged it into the Eri's eye which has just regenerated.The blade buried itself to the hilt, ichor bubbling around the wound.
The Eri screeched, a sound that vibrated in the teeth of every warrior still standing. It flailed blindly, claws raking the air in wide, panicked arcs.
Ova always knowing the best time to strike was already there.
He'd circled wide, waiting for the moment. His axe cleaved deep into its ribs, the edge cracking through layers of hardened flesh until it lodged at its ribcage, refusing to move further.
The Eri faltered.
They mobbed it like a pack of direwolves sensing weakness.
Varga enhanced her arms, muscles swelling with unnatural power as dark veins pulsed beneath her skin. She traded speed for raw strength, each hammering blow crashing into the Eri's limbs with enough force to shatter stone, yet the creature barely staggered. Ova dug his axe into its knees, the blade biting deep with a wet thunk, tendons snapping as he wrenched it free in a spray of blackish fluid. The last Krags stabbed, slashed, with everything they had, their blades a desperate blur, their breaths ragged, their armor slick with sweat and blood.
The Eri healing was slowed now.
But every wound sealed, gashes knitting together with a sickening squelch, torn flesh weaving itself whole before their eyes. Every broken bone reset with an audible click, its twisted limbs snapping back into place as if pulled by invisible strings.
And it was watching them.
Its eyes,cold, calculating, tracked their movements with eerie precision. When Varga lunged again, dagger aimed for its eyes again, it might be their only chance, it caught her mid-air, massive fingers clamping around her body like a vice. The impact drove the air from her lungs as it slammed her into the ground, the snow cratering beneath her. It filled her mouth; stars exploded in her vision.
When Ova tried to hamstring it, dragging his axe across the back of its leg, it barely flinched. Instead, it pivoted and kicked him into a tree. The impact cracked against the forest silence, his ribs snapping like dry twigs, his breath escaping in a wet, broken gasp. He slumped against the bark, blood trickling from his lips.
The Krags were running out of time.
Their breaths came in ragged, uneven bursts. Their weapons felt heavier with every swing. The Eri didn't tire, but they did.
Varga dragged herself up, her vision swimming, the world tilting in nauseating waves. Blood trickled from her temple, hot and sticky, mingling with the snow caked on her skin. Every breath was fire. Every heartbeat a hammer against her ribs.
Ova staggered to her side and slumped against a shattered stump, breathing in wet, shallow gasps. A jagged splinter of bone pressed against the skin of his side, his armor he had gotten from the caravan was dented and slick with gore. His fingers trembled around his axe's grip, but his eyes were still sharp. Still defiant.
"Plan?" Ova muttered, the word thick with blood.
Varga's lips curled into a feral grin, teeth stained red. "Die well."
Ova barked a laugh, though it turned into a cough, a spray of crimson staining the snow. "Good enough."
The Eri charged.
The ground trembled beneath its weight, dead leaves and snow kicking up in its wake. Its mangled face, half-healed from their last assault, twisted into something between a snarl and a smile.
Varga activated her last reserve of Kuros, the energy surging through her like a dying star.
Grant me strength one more time.
"Kuros—Partial Enhancement—Berserker Fist."
Her entire right arm ignited in emerald flamelike arua, the skin splitting as raw power erupted from within. Veins bulged like cables, muscle and bone groaning at the limit of endurance. The air around her fist shimmered with heat, distorting like a mirage.
She met the Eri's charge head-on, her fist crashing into its chest with enough force to shock the black heart within. The impact sent a visible ripple through the creature's torso, flesh cratering around her knuckles. A wet, organic crack echoed something vital giving way.
The Eri staggered.
Its monstrous frame swayed, one clawed hand grasping at the ruin of its chest as if puzzled by the pain.
Ova didn't hesitate.
He leaped onto its back, his axe raised high, the blade catching the light of the decending twin stars, like a falling guillotine.
"FOR THE WAR CHIEF!"
The blade sank deep into the Eri's skull, splitting bone with a sound like a splitting log. Black ichor geysered, splattering across Ova's face, his war cry turning into a guttural roar.
For a moment, just a moment, the monster froze.
Its limbs locked. Its breath hitched. Its restored eyes frozen and staring.
Then its hand shot up, thick, elongating fingers with razored claws that punctured Ova through the stomach.
"NOOOOO!!"
Varga screamed, it was raw and ragged, her voice shredding her throat.
The Eri ripped Ova off its back and hurled him aside like a broken doll, his body crumpling against the snow in a limp, lifeless heap.
Varga was alone now.
The wind howled through the snow covered pine trees, carrying the metallic stench of death. Around her, the snow was red with blood, swirling pools of it, steaming where it had melted the frost, thick and clotted where it had begun to freeze. The bodies of her kin lay scattered like broken weapons, their final defiance etched into the ice. Some still lived, moaning in pain, others hunched together, seeming to lunge for one final battle, but she knew it was over.
Her Kuros was fading, the emerald fire that had once raged through her veins now guttering like a dying torch. Every breath was a knife in her ribs. Every heartbeat a sluggish, faltering drum. Her body was failing, her muscles trembling, her skin slick with sweat and blood. But her grip on her blade did not waver.
The Eri stalked toward her, its massive frame cutting through the snowfall like a shadow given form. The wounds they had carved into it Ova's axe splits, her own shattered-knuckle blows, were already closing, flesh knitting together with a sound like wet leather stretching. Its remaining eye fixed on her, unblinking, pitiless.
She smiled.
A fierce, bloodstained grin.
The ratling should have gotten away.
The thought was a spark of warmth in the gathering dark. The ratling was swift, clever, he would make it back to the band. He would tell the others. And her people would not fall prey to this vile monster.
That was enough.
With a final, shuddering breath, Varga raised her knife for one last time. The steel was chipped, the edge dulled, but it still held firm.
"Come on, then."
Her voice was raw, but it did not break.
The Eri lunged.
"STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU ACCUMULATION OF ALL YOUR ANCESTORS' FAILURES! YOU DOMINATED FOOL, YOU STUPEFIED CHICKEN, YOU UNGRATEFUL DOG"
A voice screamed, raw and piercing, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
The voice made the Eri halt,its massive frame freezing mid-motion, as if the words themselves had struck it like a physical blow. Around it, the battlefield seemed to stutter. Creatures, living and dying, turned their heads toward the sound. Even the wind seemed to still.
Varga's eyes locked onto the speaker, and shock washed over her as she realized, it was Femi.
"What is he doing back here?" she thought, her gaze fixed on him as he emerged from the trees, his silhouette framed by the jagged shadows of the forest. A water skin was slung over his left arm, swaying with each step, its surface glistening faintly in the fading light.
Despite the grin marking his face, Varga could see, he was trembling. His fingers twitched, his chest moved as if it would burst. Yet his voice had been steady. Loud.
This entire fight was supposed to ensure he escaped to warn the others. she thought, her anger flaring like hot firewood in her chest.Had he thrown away their sacrifice? Had he not understood?
Then Femi opened his mouth and spoke, his voice carrying far and wide, ringing across the bloodied snow.
"Everyone, hear me now! Bring out all the ropes you have,because today, we go fall this Giant!"
His face was twisted with a maddened grin, wide enough to split his cheeks, his teeth bared like a wolf's.