The First Wave (2)

Avi's body slumped to the ground, the weight of exhaustion pulling him deeper into unconsciousness. The imps had been cleared away, their grotesque, horned frog-like forms now scattered across the battlefield. But the victory was only partial. The players had managed to handle the first hurdle of the wave, but new threats were already approaching.

Mia knelt beside Avi, her hands glowing with soft healing magic as she whispered calming incantations. She kept her voice low, but the concern was clear in her eyes.

"He's still out cold," she said to the others. "But he'll be fine once the shock wears off. Just needs time."

The rest of the group was still in motion, but their energies were fading fast. Tyler and his lackeys were recovering from their close calls. Ryan wiped blood from his knuckles, grunting as he tried to regain his bearings. Ken was watching the battlefield, scanning for any signs of new enemies.

As Avi lay unconscious, the air around them was tense. The battle was far from over.

Avi's mind drifted, as if caught in the current of a dark, endless sea. His body was weightless, detached from reality, caught in that space between awareness and sleep. He had no sense of time or place, only the intangible sensation of floating, a paradox of peace and disquiet. Then, without warning, the nothingness cracked and shifted, and he found himself pulled into a new reality.

The sharp, metallic clangs of swords and the rhythmic thud of footsteps filled the air. Avi's eyes shot open, and he took in his surroundings: a vast, stone-walled training ground within a castle. The air smelled of dust and stone, heavy and unyielding, and the scent clung to him like a warning.

Well, this is new, he thought, a hint of dark amusement threading through his mind. No grand announcements or friendly nudges, just stone and steel. Perfect. It was as if someone had pulled him into a bad daydream, a reality born from the fragments of his exhausted mind. The scene before him was oddly vivid, so real that it almost hurt to look at.

A young man moved across the training ground, a figure so fluid in his movements that it was hard to remember he was holding two daggers. He was clad in a dark tunic, worn boots, and gloves—an enigmatic rogue brought to life from the pages of an epic. Yet there was something different about him. He was unmistakably a knight, his stance regal, his movements powerful and noble. The daggers he wielded seemed almost an afterthought to his innate elegance, his skill so impeccable that it compensated for the unconventional weapon choice. Each strike, block, and feint was so precise and graceful it bordered on poetry, a deadly dance that seemed effortless.

Avi's thoughts stumbled into a distracted inner monologue, a weak attempt at humor in the chaos. Great, now I'm stuck here, admiring some overachiever's cool moves. Maybe I should ask him for lessons. You know, assuming I can move or speak in this weird dream.

The young knight spun, dodged, and swept the air with a calculated, almost instinctive flick of his blades. His eyes were sharp and focused, a fierce, unyielding glint that sent a shiver down Avi's spine. There was no doubt—this was a warrior who had seen battles and emerged as a force, not a fledgling knight playing pretend.

The vision shattered as a scream cut through the air, shrill and raw, slicing through the noise like a blade. The world cracked and splintered, and before Avi could grasp what was happening, he was pulled back to reality, the weight of it suffocating him.

Avi woke up with a start, his senses bombarded by the sharp pain that pulsed through his skull, as if a thousand tiny hammers were tapping a relentless rhythm. His eyes fluttered open, the light a blinding blur, and there, just above him, was Emily's face. It was etched with worry, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.

"Avi…!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking with relief. "You're awake! I thought we lost you!"

He blinked, the dull throb in his head pulling him back to the present. "Nah. Not going down that easy. Just... took a little nap, is all."

Emily's lips pressed into a thin line, frustration and relief blending together. "Ken and the others are still fighting. They need help. The imps are gone, but there's more—much worse. Please, Avi, we need you."

Her voice was a rope tossed to him in the storm, and the desperation in it cut through the haze clouding his mind. The battle. It wasn't over.

The new enemies the others are fighting were a grim reminder of the nightmare that had unfolded. Standing at the edge of the fray, Avi's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight. They were different from the grotesque imps—these were something far more chilling, creatures whose mere presence seemed to drain the hope from the air.

[Lvl 2 Lower Demonoid]

The creatures were humanoid, yet an unsettling sense of youth clung to them, like they were cruel parodies of teenagers caught mid-growth. Their crimson skin glistened in the flickering light of the battlefield, mottled with patches of darker hues that hinted at the twisted sinews beneath. Each one bore a set of dark, jagged horns that curled back from their foreheads, as if mocking any attempt to show innocence or vulnerability. Rusted weapons, chipped and battered, were clutched in their hands, their edges gleaming with the remnants of old, dried blood. The weapons spoke of desperation; the demonoids wielded them with a savage ferocity, as if their only purpose was to spill blood.

Despite their crude arms, there was something primal about them, an instinctual, raw energy that made even the seasoned fighters hesitate. The creatures moved with a reckless, bone-snapping grace that betrayed their youth, an unsettling dance of violence that hinted at a calculated savagery. They bared their teeth in snarls that dripped with malice, eyes glowing with a violent, flickering light that promised pain and death to any who stood in their path.

Avi's chest tightened, the echo of fear and the primal instinct to protect rising in him like a tide. His fingers dug into the jagged pipe, its cold metal biting back as he prepared to face them. These creatures weren't just more enemies; they were a new kind of horror, one that tested the boundaries of their strength and will.

There was no time to dwell on their appearance, no time for hesitation. The battle was far from over, and these young, feral horrors had come to test the limits of their resolve. The battlefield surged with movement once more, and Avi dove into the chaos, the weight of what he faced pressing on him like an invisible storm.

Glancing around, the battlefield spread before him, a chaos of shattered shields, bloodied hands, and the guttural roars of demonoids. Ken stood in the center, his shield cracked, deflecting blow after blow from three hulking lower demonoids. His face was set, jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain his footing. He was close to breaking, but his eyes were fierce. The sight stoked a fire in Avi's chest.

Ryan was nearby, fists a mess of blood and bruises, swinging with wild desperation at the creatures closing in on him. Tyler and his lackeys were swarmed, the imps clawing and gnawing like locusts. Mia and the other support players cast spells from the back, their efforts slowing but persistent. The world around Avi roared with urgency, the shouts of his friends mixing with the sounds of battle.

Things were falling apart.

Avi's gaze fell on the jagged pipe nearby. His eyes narrowed as he reached for it, breaking it in half with a sharp, practiced snap. Makeshift weapons weren't ideal, but desperate times and all that. He took a deep breath, forcing himself into motion, clumsiness be damned. Every aching limb screamed, but there was no choice. He darted into the fray, aiming for the imps near Tyler, his body moving on instinct.

A feral swing, and the jagged pipe found its mark. The imp crumpled to the ground, eyes wide and empty. Tyler cast him a quick, surprised glance, the exhaustion in his own expression palpable.

"Yeah, yeah, good job. You saved us. Now, get lost," Tyler muttered, gasping for air.

Avi smirked, despite the exhaustion gnawing at his body. "You're welcome, Ty-Ty. Don't get too emotional now, I might start thinking you like me."

Tyler shot him a look that could kill, but Avi didn't wait for a reply. He found Ryan, who was still battling, and together they took down an imp that threatened to overpower him.

"Just... hold on, Ryan," Avi panted, eyes fierce. "We'll get through this."

With a quick, determined pat on Ryan's shoulder, he turned his focus back to the chaos, searching for Ken. He spotted him, on the brink, but still standing.

The Lower Demonoid stood before him, crude and menacing, eyes glowing with raw aggression. Avi's grip tightened on the pipe as he lunged forward, the metal biting into the creature's defenses with a solid thud. Ken took the opening and pushed the creature down with a roar, his shield striking true. One by one, the demonoids fell as they worked together, their movements synchronized and urgent.

The last one crumpled, the silence washing over them like an uneasy breath. Exhausted, Avi dropped beside Ken, both of them panting, the weight of their injuries palpable. The battle was over, for now. They had survived, battered and broken, but alive.

Avi turned to Ken, a grin tugging at his sore muscles. "Next time," he said, a tired joke lacing his words, "let's skip the 'nearly dying' part, okay?"

Ken chuckled, the sound weak but genuine, his eyes half-closed. "Yeah... next time."

They lay there, broken but alive, and for now, that had to be enough. The war wasn't over, and tomorrow would demand even more from them. But tonight, they could rest—if only for a moment.