⬡ No Fight Left to Fight ⬡

The atmosphere within the walls of the Neutral Grounds are not usually serene at night for the shopping district is buzzing with customers of different race and nationality trying out street foods and the likes. However, the week has been quiet within the shopping district with little customers to go by. Business has been going downhill ever since a rumor has spread of a deadly virus within the Neutral Grounds, though it has already proven to be a hoax to damage business.

The calming atmosphere on the night has provided Red Alert ample time to think of his next venture. No big client has ever needed anything, at least, not now. No man to hunt, no prey to seek. His coffers are running low and thus needed to do work else he won't survive. His week was filled with mundane tasks from different clients just to get by his daily expenses. Tonight will be the night he rests.

Laying on his bed, he browsed through his iLac to occupy his mind. He finally finds himself tired and tucks himself in.

"Weary traveler..."

A voice out of nowhere woke him awake before he could finally sleep. Scanning his surroundings, he thought it might have been his neighbors making a sound next door. Affirming that there are no foul pranks at work, he let his mind drift off to sleep once more.

"Weary traveler..."

A maniacal laughter echoes around him. He opens his eyes to find himself standing in front of what seems to be ruins of some sort. Corpses lay everywhere - bloodied, defiled husks killed in some grotesque manner. Some corpses were charred, and some were dried up. There was fire everywhere, and a few buildings started to collapse. He examines his surroundings and tried to recall where he is. None. He examined the corpses and found them all too familiar. As he stared down his reflection on the blood soaked puddle, he looked... different. He was wearing what the corpses were wearing, with difference in him being very much alive.

Laughter could be heard once more. He quickly faced towards the direction of the sound, finding no one there. He walked towards edge of the woods to find that there is no one here. He took another glance at the ruins. A wave of sadness overtook him for a moment for whatever reason. He isn't usually one to feel remorse. 

Suddenly, brief flashes of memories raced through his mind. It felt painful.

A horrible monster has been unleashed, and spells of unbridled power burst forth from the floor. Chaotic monsters mauling the men and women of the order. People evacuated who ended up dying by the hands of a heretic. It was utter chaos within the place. One by one, people lay dead by the evil machinations of the heretics. He eventually stopped having flashes of memories and felt the sharp pain on his head writhe away.

"Weary traveler...or should I say... weary warrior?"

[ Word Count -  495 / 2000 ]

He turns around to be greeted by a creature who looked like a demon. An armored demon. The creature looks huge and powerful. The body looks humanoid, save for the red skin color and goat-like feet, with each step giving a clapping sound. Bits of his skin are visible, revealing a muscular tone. It dons a helmet that shrouds his face in shadows, with red glowing eyes glowing in place of where its eyes are. The helmet is horned and adorned with daemonic jewels. Some writ scrolls hand around his shoulder plates and his hips. It also carries behind his back an obsidian Claymore with daemonic jewels encrusted into it.

"Do you know where you are?" Asked the creature. Its voice sounded deep and menacing.

Red Alert furrows his brows, having the feeling that the demon in front of him is up to no good. "That's none of your business." He says as he grabs his pistol. 

The demon let out a hysteric laughter. "It should be. Weary warrior... I'm not here to fight. Have you already forgotten?" The demon waves his hands, and suddenly, everything moved as if time went backwards. The demon flicked his wrists and time stopped around them, pausing at the time of carnage. People burning, soldiers being mauled, and the blood splattering about was what it looked like - in the middle of a massacre. "Don't tell me you forgot all about this incident, did you? Human's minds are so weak sometimes."

At this point, Red Alert felt his rage well up within him. "Did... you do this?" He inquired, furious at the carnage he witnessed. The demon shook his head. "No, but they did." The demon points to a group of mages in the middle of casting a spell. Scanning his surroundings, he found similar looking mages around, casting spells of unknown origin. They all had something in common - the magics they wield are powerful and radiate malevolent energy. He found semblance of his outfit with them, as well as those that died in the massacre. "Heretics. Traitors. The worst fiends the realm could ever have, killing anything and anyone in the name of heresy, war and blood."

His rage wells up even more at the thought of it. 'How could they do this?!', he thought. He found himself clenching his fist hard. He calms down as he realizes all of this is merely a dream. His is still in the Neutral Grounds. "No. This is all just a dream. You can't use your foul magics on me, demon."

"Oh is it? Or is it a memory you locked in your subconscious?" The demon retorted. "You never realized you were having issues trusting anyone because of these heretics." Red Alert felt furious, "It is not!", shouting back and firing 2 rounds of his pistols. His attempt to shoot down the demon were for naught as they simply ricocheted on his armor. The demon chuckled at this meager attempt.

"Instead of point me that gun, why don't you point it at someone else? Let's say... the heretics?"

[ Word Count -  1008 / 2000 ]

The scene shifts as the surroundings get dark. A flash of light from above reveals the heretics all dead. Examining the corpses further, they were killed by countless razor sharp feathers of steel. At the center of it all stands another demon, unmoving and menacing. The demon looks a bit lean with toned features and possesses claws and wings of steel. The head is that of a raven but with red glowing eyes. "Heretics deserve to die." The demon beside him whispers. Red Alert's eyes are fixated on the bird demon in front of him. "These evil men got away with it, you know. I know you want to exact vengeance against the murderers."


His rage starts welling up once more at the thought of the traitors getting away with their cruel deeds, clenching his fist and gritting his teeth. "Good, good, let the rage seep in." The bird demon says, "Let your rage fuel your magics." It says as it disappears into the darkness, and the heretics turning back to their lively state. 

In that moment, Red Alert's rage took hold of him.

He is seeing red.

A sudden sensation permeates around him as a sigil appears beneath him. A flash of light envelopes his body as he feels the magic changing him. No... he cannot think, for at the time, he only knows vengeance. He lets the magic change him into a feathered demon with steel claws and wings with razor sharp feathers. His head morphed into something akin to a raven with red glowing eyes of hatred. As the light fades and the sigil disappears, his transformation was complete. He turned into a demon similar to the bird demon he saw that disappeared into the darkness.

The heretics were taken aback by his sudden transformation. Others attempted to flee while the others stood in shock. A few flung spells against him, but it didn't work.

This was the end of the line for them.

Red Alert took to the skies and with one strong flap of his wings unleashed a storm of feathers from the sky. He watched from the heaves as the heretics writhe in agony and scream in pain as the feathers pierced through their bodies. He felt satisfied with their despair. The floor was painted red with their blood as the heretics bled to death. He watched a handful of the heretics successfully run away from his attack. With one fell swoop, he dove down and mauled a heretic with his sharp claws. And another one. And another one. One by one, he took down the fleeing heretics and felt a wave of euphoria from murdering the traitors. Never has he felt such satisfaction in his life.

He clawed another one to death. And another one. And another one, until the heretics were no more than lifeless bleeding husks. And in that moment, he regained his consciousness as he stands in the middle of a field of corpses. He stared at his hands, realizing that he himself killed them. He stared at his bloodied claws and a feeling of dread crept in him.

"Weary warrior... no fight left to fight... no life left to live!"

The corpses started moving and crawled towards his location. He felt heavy. He couldn't run away. He started getting piled up in corpses and starts to extend his hand upwards as if expecting for anyone to help him. Slowly but surely, he's sinking into a sea of dead bodies... and that's when a loud ringing echoed around him.

[ Word Count -  1597 / 2000 ]

[ Word Count -  2019 / 2000 ]