Clash

In the heart of the C rank territory within the savage continent roamed a creature whose existence could only be said to be most mystic and divine.

A Centaur.

Its lower half was a beautiful chestnut brown that smoothly painted its torso, and a fiery black that enveloped its hooves and climbed up its foot and stopped right under its knees.

The upper half contained the body of a human boy that peeked through a torn grey tunic. Auburn hair rested atop the boy’s temple and framed an intense yet childlike face belonging to someone just climbing the steps of teenage years.

Currently, the Centaur seemed to be rushing in panic.

Ragged breaths left its mouth and frantic waving of its hands brushed away thick shrubs impeding its path.

As its hooves trudged against the floor of the forest with haste and urgency, it swiveled its head and peeked behind its back. At the sight of an empty trail covered only with its own prominent marks, the centaur’s face flushed in relief.