Beast Tide
Lysander returned to his modest home, a small but cozy dwelling on a small hill like structure, overlooking the western and southern part of Marad, the most peaceful town of the kingdom.
As he entered, his faithful pet Cheemse, gave his best impression of a panting dragon, his tongue lolling out that threatened to reach the floor and his tail wagging furiously..
Lysander couldn't help but chuckle seeing this behavior of his pet. "You are impatient as ever."
"There you go," Lysander said while feeding him some sausages with a weary smile, patting Cheemse's head affectionately.
The creature nuzzled against his hand.
After that he placed food in pantry and made his way upstairs to his bedroom, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Cheemse trailing after him seemed to find his master's limp quite amusing.
Lysander opened the door of his room and collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to remove his boots.
"Seems my retirement package also included a lifetime subscription to lead weights for my leg," he muttered.
Now, Lysander wasn't what you'd call a champion of marathons. A stroll through town, you'd think, wouldn't be so strenuous. Yet, here he was, gasping for air like a beached fish, thanks to his injured state, which had utterly drained him.
Even though he was once was a strong warrior, he was now helpless against his crippled condition.
Cheemse also jumped on the bed and lied beside him.
*sigh* with a sigh, he immediately fell asleep, exhausted by his poor state.
"Boom!" A sudden, thunderous explosion echoed through the air, jolting him awake.
BOOM! BOOM!
Another loud explosions echoed through the town.
Cheemse, startled awake as well, bolted towards the window, barking ferociously while standing on its hind legs, its front paws pressed against the glass.
A wide yawn escaped Lysander's lips as he mumbled, "Just what the hell is going on at this hour of night?" He instinctively covered his mouth with his hand.
"Oh! Wait, has it begun already?" In an instant, Lysander remembered—the beast tide.
"But according to Max, it should have taken at least two days for that damn beast to attack the town," he muttered, raising his brow in confusion.
He closed his eyes and crossed his arms as he thought, 'Then it means that I had slept for two days.' His mouth twitched as he internally cursed Max for not even bothering to come and warn him. 'That bastard didn't care for me at all.'
He opened his eyes and glanced at his pet, asking, "Hey Cheemse! Was I really asleep for two whole days?" Cheemse looked at him and tilted its head in confusion.
"Huh!" he muttered, pinching his chin. "So it means I haven't slept for two whole days, just a few hours instead."
When Cheemse realized his master wasn't talking to him, it started barking outside again.
'They came quite early,' Lysander thought, narrowing his eyes.
And the thing that attracted his attention wasn't these mere beasts, but the sheer noise, the thunderous explosions...it sounded like the magic cannons were being deployed.
Those were the town's last line of defense, meant to be used only in the direst of circumstances due to the vast resources required to craft them. Weeks' worth of mana crystals/beast cores, rare ores, and forbidden alchemical rituals combined to create munitions capable of obliterating even the most powerful foes.
They are way stronger than the normal cannons.
Surely basic beasts, even in great numbers, wouldn't have triggered such an excessive response.
The magic cannons were a closely guarded secret, their existence unknown even to most townspeople to prevent widespread panic.
This surprised Lysander a bit but he soon remembered what the people were saying about beasts "Maybe those people gossiping in the streets were right about this tide being...abnormal," Lysander muttered.
"They came early as well, catching the guards' off-guard. That's why they utilized the magic cannons, so there wouldn't be any casualties, just as there hadn't been during previous beast tides," he said, glancing at Cheese and sensing the fear in those intelligent eyes.
"Calm down, little one. These mere beasts pose no threat."
Well, whatever was happening, it didn't concern him much anymore. At least, that's what he tried to convince himself.
The magic cannons thundered again, the ground trembling.
Beast tides were a recurring event, occurring every five to ten years. Whenever a powerful beast …or rather a mutated beast born, upon reaching adulthood, would claim the deepest part of wilderness as its domain, hoarding valuable resources for its own growth.
This expansion inevitably trespassed upon the territories of weaker beasts, driving them towards the town's outskirts.
When the dominant beast consumed too much power without stabilizing its core, its mind would be corrupted.
This transformation would trigger it to attack anything in its path, leading to weaker fleeing for safety towards the town's borders.
But the beast wouldn't stop there - driven insane by its uncontrolled growth and ravenous consumption of its brethren, it would lose what little sanity it had left.
Its sole purpose would become to destroy any settlements in their path.
But if the beast tide occurred every five to ten years, how had this town remained so peaceful?
The answer was simple: no leader had ever surpassed the third grade in power. This peaceful town held two fourth-grade hunters and twenty third-grade ones. A single third-grade beast wouldn't pose much of a challenge. The rest of the beast tide comprised mostly normal beasts with a sprinkling of first and second grades.
If these rampaging tides were led by beasts no greater than a 3rd Grade Mutant, the town's defenses could still handle them with moderate losses. With two veterans 4th Grade Hunters and a solid militia of two dozen 3rd Grade warriors, putting down such a higher beast was well within their capabilities, not to mention eradicating the lesser minions.
As Lysander glanced towards the window, ready to drift off to sleep selfishly ignore this latest incursion as none of his concern..., a shiver ran down his spine. His senses, honed by years of combat, picked up an anomaly. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his breath hitched
"Could it be...?" he muttered, eyes widening with disbelieving horror.
Moving with a speed he hadn't known he still possessed, he rushed to the window, flinging it open. He was grateful for the elevated vantage point his home provided, even if it turned out to be a front row seat to oblivion itself.
Peering west towards the sounds of battle raging ever closer, his gaze landed on a truly horrific sight out of mankind's most primal legends. Sights that, mere minutes ago, he would have dismissed as urban myths and nursey tales used to frighten children.
Not one, but four 3rd Grade Mutant beasts were rampaging through the town's outer defenses, trampling everything in their path. Scores - perhaps hundreds - of lesser 1st and 2nd Grade beasts surrounded them in a nightmarish swarm, gnashing teeth and rending claws tearing into the ranks of the militia.
The Hunters fought desperately but were rapidly becoming overwhelmed and scattered by the sheer, remorseless numbers. Explosions blossomed everywhere as the magic cannons tried in vain to stem the tide, their sorcerously-enhanced munitions apparently ineffective against such a terrifying, unnatural force.
But that - the images of brave souls being torn asunder by an endless horde of teeth and claws - wasn't what made Lysander's blood freeze in his veins. It wasn't what robbed him of breath, of cognition, of the ability to feel anything other than primal, apelike terror.
It was the presence towards the rear of the rampaging, shrieking wave of scales and fangs. A figure that radiated such malevolence, such concentrated power and soul-devouring bloodlust, that he could feel it scouring his very spirit from over a mile away.
As his eyes focused on the source of this unholy aura. A word that struck at the deepest core of his being with the same cold.
"Unholy Mother Of The Great Crows-