Chapter 8: If You're a Bystander, Don't Raise Flags

Barbarus, atop Mount Morlava.

It had been seven years since their escape.

In these years, the village of Helle Narrows, close to the lords' territories, had fallen. The resistance, led by Mortarion, relocated to a new base on the northern plains.

The Death Guard, as the resistance was named, grew methodically. Initially, they organized defenses against nightly raids. But as time passed and more villagers joined them, they expanded their base, making it the largest human territory.

Beyond passive defenses at night, the resistance began to launch daytime offensives, targeting the beasts and minor lords near human territories.

Now, the Death Guard, boasting elite warriors, even dared to assault the major lords.

Hades, wielding his scythe, stood on a secluded mountain path, accompanied by a fully-armed sister bearing a flamer.

She was covered head to toe, shielding herself from Barbarus's toxic mists. Yet her curvaceous figure and flowing black hair revealed her gender.

Occasionally, she'd fire her weapon. With each shot, puppet soldiers fleeing down the path met their end.

Hades advanced silently, his scythe flashing. Those puppets, though wounded, still tried to flee, but not for long.

"The battle above should be ending soon," he remarked.

Hades shrugged. The number of fleeing puppets was dwindling, indicating the resistance's imminent victory over Lord Dray.

"Another tyrant will pay for his transgressions."

Turning, Hades saw the sister's smile, even behind her gas mask. She was elated at the prospect of another victory.

The sister, Herela, was Hades's combat partner. Long ago, during a village defense, Hades had slain a plague hound that had devoured her father, saving her sister. Since then, only she had been willing to team up with him in battle.

Only her.

Others were reluctant to work with Hades, some even harbored inexplicable animosity towards him.

Hades was clueless as to why. He wasn't a burden in battle. His scythe skills were unparalleled, save for Mortarion. But for some reason, every technological weapon malfunctioned in his hands.

After the seventh weapon malfunctioned, Mortarion, with a stern face, handed him a quality scythe, suggesting he stick to close combat.

But why did others avoid him? Even Typhon, a hybrid of alien and human, was more accepted than Hades.

To avoid this unwarranted coldness, Hades resided in the most remote house in the base. Only Mortarion and Herela ever visited.

Even Typhon stopped visiting, despite their shared leadership in the early resistance.

"I'm sorry, Hades. There's just something about you..."

Was it his constant banter? Or was he inherently off-putting?

Hades briefly lamented this, but soon let it go. He wasn't power-hungry or desperate for admiration. He was content with his hobbies and solitude.

So, when Herela offered him some cheese pastries she'd baked, he accepted, even though her culinary skills were... lacking.

As they chatted, the temperature suddenly plummeted. Frost rapidly covered the ground. Above them, space distorted, and a bloodied claw emerged.

A monstrous creature, the size of a small vehicle, appeared. Its massive eyes fixed on Hades and Herela, its maw exuding a foul stench.

It was a psychic teleportation!

Herela froze in fear.

"Herela," Hades whispered, "I'll hold it off. Run up and inform Mortarion that Dray has come this way."

Hades readied his scythe.

"Don't worry about me. I'll just delay it and then run. Go now, or we'll all die."

The creature lunged at Hades, its massive claws aiming for his head. Hades roared, blocking the attack with his scythe. The force numbed his arms, and sparks flew from the reinforced scythe.

"Run, Herela! RUN!"