Meat Shields

As they marched forward, Northern initially believed they were heading towards the castle.

However, to his surprise, they continued past the castle, their journey persisting.

With each step, the terrain of the mountain gradually transitioned from red to brown, and as they moved miles away from the castle, it transformed into a desolate black.

They pressed on, unnoticed and disregarded. Any of the prisoners who couldn't keep up and collapsed were swiftly stabbed and killed by the merciless hellions.

Nothing hindered their march, not even a momentary pause.

When the other monsters witnessed this brutal display, fear gripped them, compelling them to continue walking, even barefooted.

They traversed stony tracks without any form of footwear, though it seemed like they were accustomed to such harsh conditions.

However, for the lone human among them, it was a crude and uncomfortable experience.

When he had first woken up after being captured by Night Terror, Northern realized that most of his belongings were missing. His bag, shirt, and leather boots had all vanished.

What remained were his grey trousers, now blackened and stained with the dirt and dried blood of the mine.

His trousers hung loosely from his waist, though not enough to fall without some effort.

Occasionally, he had to pull them up to prevent further embarrassment, especially when they revealed the line of his exposed backside.

Gradually, they departed from the rocky terrain and entered into black plains.

The color of the sky subtly shifted from grey to black, enveloping them in an even darker night than the one they had endured in the prison mine.

Northern had lost track of how long they had been trekking, but he estimated it to be at least five miles.

The soles of his feet grew numb, torn by the sharp edges of the stones he stepped upon. His calves, knees, waist, and back ached with every step.

Every part of his body screamed with pain. He longed to rest, but he knew it was not an option.

These monsters wouldn't hesitate to plunge their weapons into his abdomen if he dared to halt. So, Northern, with a tortured mind, continued to move forward.

Finally, their arduous journey came to an end. However, what Northern beheld did not bring him any relief.

Before them stood a wall of monsters, lined up side by side, armed with crude weapons and emanating a bloodthirsty aura.

The slaves trailed behind the monsters, and as they arrived, these vicious creatures strangely parted ways, allowing the slaves to walk through as if they were revered celebrities.

As they reached the front row, Northern finally grasped the gravity of the situation.

A horde of seething monsters lay in wait, their fiendish crimson gazes burning with frenzy.

Reptilian legs scraped against the jagged ground beneath their warped, scaly hides.

Curved black claws extended from gnarled hands, some wielding vicious weapons that gleamed cruelly in the gloom.

Row upon row of jagged fangs lined their grotesque mouths, bared and poised to shred flesh.

An aura of primal savagery enveloped the throng, their postures bent and tense, ready to charge with unrestrained violence.

Their sheer numbers overwhelmed Northern, a mass of deformed flesh that filled the expanse.

Amongst this feral horde stood the slaves, lined up at the front row alongside the monsters.

Northern's eyes widened with realization.

'Are we going to be used as meat shields?' he pondered.

Perhaps he was overestimating these monsters, but it made no other sense why they would bring out all the prisoners, marching them miles to the heart of a battlefield.

They couldn't fight, and even if they could, they were shackled.

However, they would serve as effective shields for the monsters of the Kingdom of Red Mine to gain an advantage in battle.

It appeared that the conflict was only just beginning, as the monsters seemed to have recently arrived as well.

Northern briefly argued with this notion in his mind, only to be distracted by the emergence of figures from both sides.

First, he caught a glimpse of a hulking creature stepping out from the opposing throng, emanating a palpable aura of malicious power and authority.

Its eyes smoldered like embers, ready to ignite into pits of hellfire.

Muscles rippled beneath its scar-crossed scales, ashen and smeared by splashes of blood from past battles.

Its towering frame exuded sadistic strength, every inch etched with a sense of malevolence.

With each heavy step, a subtle growl escaped its maws, until it reached the center of the throng, directly facing them.

Northern's gaze slowly shifted to his side, where another monster emerged from the crowd of slaves, advancing to the front.

As luck would have it, Northern found himself standing in the center of the front row.

His eyes widened as the monster approached him.

Intense anger surged through his veins as he recognized the familiar face.

Four hollow red eyes gleamed viciously with predatory intent.

Northern could feel the waves of pride and raw power emanating from the creature's gaze and imposing stance.

There it stood, the monstrous being, holding a spiked club with its wicked talons like scythe.

Its sinuous tail coiled beneath its legs, poised for lethal action.

Northern glared at the creature from behind, his eyes narrowing with a fierce intensity.

It was a pitiful realization that no matter how consumed he was by anger or how desperately he yearned to vanquish this monster, he remained utterly unnoticed, despite its blatant presence before him.

The fact that he couldn't even leave a scratch on its formidable form, let alone slay it, stoked the fires of Northern's fury.

It was very annoying that he was not being noticed by the very embodiment of terror that he despised so vehemently?

Since arriving on this dark continent, Northern had witnessed a little bit of harshness, but he had never killed a monster with his own hands.

Except, of course, through the actions of his clone.

He lacked the blood-stained hands necessary to wield the intangible weapon of bloodlust.

No matter how deep his hatred or thirst for vengeance, his lack of bloodshed rendered him invisible to creatures that oozed with an insatiable craving for violence.

With a fierce glare etched upon his face, Northern continued to observe the Night Terror's back.

Little did he expect that the very monster that had attacked and brought him here was none other than the commander of the entire army of the Kingdom of Red Mine.

A tumultuous mix of pride and hatred surged within him, the latter stemming from his realization that this terror was the root cause of all his suffering.

The mere thought of it caused his blood to boil uncontrollably.

Yet, alongside his resentment, he couldn't help but acknowledge the sheer might and power possessed by this terror.

Was he secretly rooting for the kingdom of Red Mines, despite everything?

As the terror took a step forward, its talons extended, revealing bulging black veins pulsating beneath its skin.

Planting its clawed feet firmly into the ground, it unleashed a guttural growl that resonated through the air, deafening to the ears.

The commander of the opposing army responded with an echoing growl of its own.

In an instant, the Night Terror lunged forward, transforming into a shadow that seamlessly melded with the enveloping darkness of the night.