"Show me your fighting spirit!"

As Toghzan's head disappeared into the distance, Lukas couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wash over him like a wave of icy water. The demon's final words had been filled with a cold and ominous tone, a promise of the horrors that would come when he returned. After seeing all that this monster did, Lukas couldn't help but somehow accept his fate. What he could do against such a beast if such a strong person couldn't even stand a chance against him? And he also said this was the first time that something made him sweat a bit in battle. Lukas couldn't help but shudder at the thought. Just what Toghzan is and how powerful really? What kind of monster was Toghzan? Because one thing was sure, he was not made by mother nature.

Lukas looked around at the burning ruins of the village, feeling a sense of despair welling up within him. He then saw how the headless body of Toghzan and the dropped blood swords slowly dissolved by the poison, leaving only the syringe hit the ground.

At least the fire that tried to consume the village was slow as the houses were not so close to each other. Some did not even catch on fire because of this, like Lukas' house. However, The cost of their struggle had been high, one right broken hand and his whole left arm, and the bušara who had fought so bravely against Toghzan was now lying on the ground, his arm slashed off and his body wracked with pain.

Without a second thought, Lukas rushed to the bušara's side, offering whatever aid he could. He knew that the warrior needed medical attention as soon as possible, and that time was of the essence. However, as he approached he could not feel uneasy as he looked at the warrior's mask that hid his face.

The mask was a grotesque and imposing sight to behold. Made of rough-hewn willow wood, it was carved with deep furrows and sharp angles, giving it a menacing appearance. The mask's features were twisted into a scowl, with a snarling mouth full of jagged teeth and a hooked nose that protruded menacingly from the face.

But what made this mask truly unsettling was the grin. It was a wide, mocking grin that stretched from ear to ear, revealing even more of the mask's sharp teeth. The grin seemed to taunt the viewer, daring them to approach, to see what lay behind the mask. The eyes of the mask were hollowed out, leaving only dark, empty sockets that seemed to follow the viewer's every move only the flames lightened up revealing the sparkling blue eyes of the struggling man. And from the top of the mask, two long, curved horns protruded, adding to the mask's overall sense of menace.

Despite the uneasiness that still lingered within him, Lukas knew that he had to focus on the task at hand. The warrior's labored breathing was the only sound that filled the air, punctuated by the crackling of the flames that consumed what was left of their village while he knelt down.

Lukas's heart sank as he looked at the wounded bušara, his voice filled with concern as he spoke. "Can you hear me?" he asked softly, hoping that the warrior was still conscious. The bušara groaned in response, his face twisted with pain.

"Just leave me... kid," the bušara said weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I already failed my task... I do not want to live with such failure."

Lukas could hear the despair in the warrior's voice, and his heart went out to him. He knew that the bušara had been fighting against overwhelming odds, and the weight of his failure must have been crushing.

"I let this Devil's Brood kill everyone in the village excluding you," the bušara continued, his voice laced with regret. "I knew I wasn't strong enough to kill him... But I thought this might work, as he never fought against those with those who knew the Hymn of the Stars, and now... I just wasted this opportunity."

Lukas listened in silence as the bušara spoke, his heart heavy with sadness. He knew that the warrior was in a bad state, both physically and emotionally, and he needed to do everything in his power to help him.

"Are you an idiot? You didn't fail," Lukas said firmly, his voice filled with conviction. "You did everything you could, and you fought bravely against the..." He paused for a moment as he thought about this specific word. "Devil's Brood. We can still get you the help you need, but we need to act fast." Lukas could see the doubt in the bušara's eyes, but he refused to let it deter him. With a sense of urgency, he began to gather the medical supplies he needed, determined to do whatever it takes to save the warrior's life.

Lukas knew that he needed to act fast before the warrior's condition deteriorated any further. With a sense of urgency, Lukas moved closer to the bušara, careful not to cause any further harm. The warrior's mask was obstructing his breathing, and Lukas knew that he needed to remove it to help the man breathe easier.

As Lukas looked down at his broken hand, he winced in pain. Even the slightest movement sent waves of agony through his arm, making it almost impossible for him to form a fist. But he refused to give up, determined to help the bušara in whatever way he could. Lukas's determination to help the wounded bušara overrode the intense pain in his own broken hand. With gritted teeth and a steely resolve, he reached towards the warrior's mask and carefully removed it from his face, eliciting painful grunts from both of them.

As the mask came off, Lukas's heart sank at the sight before him. The bušara's face was contorted in pain, his skin pale and clammy from the loss of blood. His blue eyes were still open but a bit hazy, and his breathing was shallow and labored. Lukas knew that the warrior's condition was critical, and they needed to act fast if they were to save his life.

Lukas suppressed a groan as he looked down at his broken hand. The pain was intense, and his fingers were swollen and bruised, making it almost impossible for him to perform any delicate tasks. But he refused to give up, knowing that the bušara's life was at stake.

With a deep breath, Lukas tried to steady his trembling hand as he reached for the warrior's wounds. He winced as his fingers brushed against the raw flesh, but he forced himself to focus, carefully inspecting the extent of the injuries. The bleeding was severe. Lukas knew that they needed to stop the bleeding if they were to have any chance of saving the warrior's life.

With his broken hand shaking uncontrollably, Lukas reached for a piece of cloth from his shirt, tearing it off with his teeth. He wrapped the cloth tightly around the warrior's wounds, applying pressure to stem the flow of blood. The bušara groaned in pain, his body wracked with agony, but Lukas refused to give up. He could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead, his pain almost unbearable, but he pushed it aside, focusing solely on the task at hand.

As he worked, Lukas's mind raced with thoughts of how to get the bušara the medical attention he needed. He knew that they were miles away from the nearest hospital, and the journey would be treacherous. But he refused to let doubt cloud his mind, knowing that they had to fight with every ounce of strength they had to save the warrior's life.

As Lukas reached his house, his heart sank at the sight before him. He forgot about the carnage, blood, and gore staining the walls and floor. His family members lay scattered around the house, their bodies contorted in gruesome ways.

A wave of nausea and sadness rose in his throat as he thought of his loved ones, their lifeless bodies still fresh in his mind. Lukas felt an errant tear roll down his face, but he quickly wiped it away, knowing that he needed to stay focused on the task at hand.

"I'm sorry... I couldn't be there for you..." Lukas's voice cracked with emotion as he spoke, the weight of his grief and guilt bearing down on him like a heavyweight. Every fiber of his being ached with regret, wishing that he could turn back the clock and change the course of events that had led to his family's tragic demise. Tears streamed down his face, his heart raw with pain and sorrow.

Lukas's mind raced with thoughts of his family, their faces etched into his memory forever. "I'm an 'amazing son?' Bullshit... Father... Mother... Why did you lie? I'm a 'reliable lil' bro?' Why did you say that Franzi?... How could I be a 'nice big bro' if your blood and flesh were the cost... Ilse, Erwin." He could hear their voices echoing in his mind, like a cruel reminder of what he had lost. The pain was almost too much to bear, but he refused to let it break him. He would honor their memory by saving the life of the bušara and making sure that no one else had to suffer the same fate as his loved ones.

With a deep breath, Lukas pushed aside his emotions and turned his attention back to the wounded warrior. He knew that they still had a long way to go, but he refused to give up hope. He would do whatever it takes to ensure that the bušara made a full recovery and that his sacrifice would not be in vain.

He moved quickly through the house, his eyes scanning the rooms for the medical supplies. He finally found them in a small cabinet in the kitchen, tucked away in a corner. Lukas let out a sigh of relief as he grabbed the supplies, his broken hand protesting with every movement.

With the supplies in hand, Lukas began to run back towards the wounded bušara, his mind racing with thoughts of how to administer the medical attention. As he approached the bušara, Lukas could see that the warrior's breathing had become more labored, his chest heaving with the effort. Lukas knew that time was running out, and he needed to act fast if they were to save the warrior's life. He knew that he needed to be careful, as any mistake could prove fatal for the warrior. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves as suddenly memories emerged from the back of his mind.

x-x-x

Lukas sat in the small kitchen of his home, watching his mother prepare a poultice for a neighbor who had been injured in the fields. He had just turned thirteen, and he was fascinated by his mother's skills in medicine. He had always been curious about the healing arts, but his mother had been hesitant to teach him, fearing that he would not have the patience or the temperament for it.

But now, as Lukas watched her work, he felt a sense of determination rising within him. He wanted to learn, to understand the secrets of medicine, and to use that knowledge to help his people.

As his mother finished the poultice, Lukas cleared his throat, trying to get her attention. "Mother," he said tentatively. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

His mother looked up, a small smile on her face. "Do what, my son?"

Lukas gestured towards the poultice. "That. I want to learn how to make poultices and tinctures and all the things you do to heal people."

His older sister, Franziska, who was two years older than him, looked up from the potatoes she was peeling, intrigued by the conversation, looking towards the two. She was also interested in it, as a future housewife should also know such feats.

His mother regarded him for a moment, her eyes studying him carefully. "Are you sure, Lukas? It's not an easy path. It requires patience, dedication, and a willingness to learn."

Lukas nodded eagerly. "I'm sure, Mother. I want to learn everything you know. So I can help our people."

Then her sister came into view as she forced her way to her mother pushing away Lukas slightly. "Hey!" Lukas shouted at her but it only found deaf ears as her sparkling eyes shot toward her mother.

"I... I want to learn it, too!" she said sheepishly with a sweet smile on her face.

His mother smiled, a look of pride in her eyes. "Very well, my son, my daughter. We will begin tomorrow. But you must promise to take it seriously and to be patient with yourself."

Lukas grinned from ear to ear followed by her sister, his heart filled with excitement and anticipation. He couldn't wait to begin his journey into the world of medicine.

The next day, their mother began teaching them the basics of medicine. She showed them how to identify different herbs and plants and explained their medicinal properties. She taught them how to make poultices, tinctures, and teas, and explained the different uses for each and how to provide basic medical attendance.

Lukas and Franziska were both eager to learn and spent hours practicing what they had been taught. They made poultices and tinctures for their family and neighbors, always eager to put their newfound knowledge into practice.

As time passed, Lukas and Franziska's knowledge and skill grew, and they became invaluable members of their community. They felt a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that they were able to help their neighbors in times of need.

And as he looked over at his sister, who was now sitting beside him at the kitchen table with her own book on herbal remedies, Lukas felt grateful that they had been able to share this journey together.

x-x-x

Lukas after remembering those days slightly bowed his head with a hope-filled face.

"Thank you... Mother... for those moments..." Lukas felt a surge of determination as he unpacked the needed instruments, his mind racing as he tried to remember the medical training he had received from his mother. Though the injuries before him were far more severe than any he had previously treated with the supervision of her mother, he refused to lose hope. Drawing on his memory, logic, and instinct, he worked quickly to save the life of the wounded bušara.

His broken hand shook with nervousness and pain as he carefully cleaned the wound, taking any debris that was stuck in that wound, knowing that the risk of infection was high. But as he worked, the slayer groaned and began to slither away, clearly unable to bear the pain.

Lukas could feel his own pain intensifying, but he refused to give up. "Please," he said, his voice firm and commanding. "Bear with it, because I also bear with it. Just a little while longer. Show me your fighting spirit!"

The wounded warrior hesitated, but Lukas could see the glimmer of determination in his eyes. Slowly, the bušara stopped moving and allowed Lukas to continue his work.

The warrior's arm had been cleanly cut off from the biceps, and the blood loss was substantial. He had seen his mother work miracles with even the gravest injuries as a hunter back then accidentally stepped into a bear trap tearing its leg off, and he was determined to do the same.

He quickly assessed the situation and applied pressure to the wound to stem the bleeding. The bušara groaned in pain once more, but he remained still, trusting in Lukas's abilities.

The warrior's gaze bore into Lukas, his eyes searching for some explanation for this stranger's desperate attempt to save his life. With a slow and deliberate movement, he parted his lips to pose the question that had been gnawing at him since their encounter.

"Why," he began, his voice rough and gravelly, "do you risk your health to save a mere stranger like me? Your hand will not heal if you continue this. I can feel it is broken," His tone was laced with a mixture of fatigue and pain.

Lukas met the warrior's gaze with a steady, unwavering stare, his expression calm and collected. "I could have asked the same of you back then when you fought... Him," he replied evenly, his voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.

The warrior regarded him for a moment, considering his words. "That was my duty, my purpose," he explained, his tone firm and resolute, still painted in pain. "To help the weak. It is a calling that I have dedicated my life to."

Lukas nodded slowly as if he understood the weight of those words who knew so well. "I see," he murmured, his eyes flickering with a flicker of admiration. "So, it means we have something in common."

The warrior nodded in acknowledgment, a flicker of something akin to gratitude crossing his features. It was clear, that was a smile.

Lukas worked quickly, using what little supplies he had to try to save the warrior's life. He drew on the knowledge and techniques passed down from his mother and remembered her teachings about the body's natural healing processes. With determination, he did his best to stimulate them and applied a poultice of crushed herbs and roots to the wound from the box, hoping to prevent infection and promote healing.

But as he worked, he realized that his broken hand was making the task even more difficult. He couldn't use it to stabilize his tools, and the pain was making it hard to focus. Determined to save the bušara's life, he refused to let his injury stop him.

He quickly reached for a tourniquet, knowing that he needed to stop the bleeding to give the warrior a chance at survival. With his other hand twisted out of shape, he had no choice but to use his mouth to tie the tourniquet in place.

It wasn't the most hygienic way to treat the wound, but Lukas did not have a choice if he wanted to save his life. He then rotated the warrior's arm toward the starry sky, slowing down the flow of the endless blood as he began to apply more pressure to the wound followed by groans from both individuals.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Lukas could see that the bleeding had slowed down significantly after minutes. He let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling a sense of gratitude and fulfillment wash over him. However, he couldn't help but notice the toll that the blood loss was taking on the warrior. Despite Lukas's efforts, the bušara's face had turned as pale as the walls of the church.

Lukas knew that the warrior was still in a critical condition, and he needed to act fast. He quickly checked the tourniquet, making sure that it was still in place. He needed to find a way to replenish the warrior's blood loss before it became too late. He quickly searched his surroundings for anything that could help. He remembered his mother's teachings about the healing properties of certain plants and vegetables.

Green vegetables and beetroot are rich in nutrients that can help replenish blood loss. Green vegetables, such as spinach and kale, are packed with iron, which is an essential nutrient for the formation of red blood cells. Iron is required to make hemoglobin, which is the protein in red blood cells that carries oxygen to the body's tissues. Beetroot, on the other hand, is rich in nitrates and helps in repairing and reactivating the red blood cells in the body, which can aid in the healing process. In addition, green vegetables and beetroot are also rich in antioxidants, which can help to protect the body's cells from damage caused by free radicals. This can be especially important in the case of blood loss, as free radicals can cause further damage to the body's tissues and slow down the healing process as well as causing further disease. Even though he didn't know the specifics, he knew they would be useful.

In a state of panic, he ran to the garden which his family tended to, after securing that the injury will face upwards with rocks. He began to search for green vegetables and beetroot. He knew that these vegetables were rich in nutrients that could help replenish the blood loss and give the warrior a fighting chance at survival.

He picked the vegetables carefully, mindful of the fact that each one could make a difference between life and death.

As he entered his family's bloody house, Lukas knew that he needed to act fast even though it wasn't the most hygienic place but at least the kitchen cabinets were slightly less bloody. He took out a wooden plate and began to prepare the vegetables, crushing them into a pulp. He knew that this would make it easier for the warrior to consume the nutrients that he so desperately needed.

But before he could begin, Lukas needed to clean the vegetables. He painfully pulled up well water from their well, knowing that it was the only source of clean water available. He carefully washed the vegetables, making sure that they were free from any dirt or debris.

As Lukas continued to prepare the vegetables, he felt the pain in his broken hand intensifies with every movement. It made it difficult for him to hold the vegetables steady, and he gritted his teeth in frustration. Despite his best efforts to shake off the pain, it continued to nag at him. He knew that he couldn't let it distract him from the task at hand, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus. Lukas realized as he took the knife into his hand that he could no longer hold it or any other tool steady with his injured hand.

He knew that he needed to find another way to prepare the vegetables or at least the beetroot as the others were easy to crunch.

He quickly placed the beetroot on the wooden plate and leaned his head over it. With a determined look on his face, he raised his head and forcefully crushed the beetroot with his forehead, mashing the vegetables into a pulp. Half of the mixture flew out from the plate as Lukas exerted all his force to crush the vegetables. Despite the pain in his hand and the discomfort of using his forehead to crush the vegetable. With the nutrient-rich mixture of green vegetables and beetroot on the plate, in hand, Lukas rushed towards the bušara who was still lying on the ground, his arm still facing up to the sky. Lukas could see the warrior was still breathing, his eyes open, but it was shallow and weak.

With a sense of urgency and focus, Lukas knelt beside the injured warrior. The young man's eyes met the warrior's gaze, and he could see the pain and regret etched on the man's face.

Lukas spoke with a calm yet firm voice, trying to reassure the warrior that everything would be alright. "Do not worry," he said, "This will help you with the blood loss." The warrior nodded slowly, a sign of acceptance and trust in the young man's ability to help him.

Gently, Lukas tilted the warrior's head back, cradling it in his hands. With a practiced motion, he poured the mashed beetroot into the warrior's mouth, carefully watching as the thick red mash slid down the man's throat. He then reached for the kale and spinach, placing slowly into the warrior's mouth after he ate one after another.

Lukas watched anxiously as the bušara swallowed the last greens, hoping that they would have the desired effect and help replenish the blood loss that had weakened the warrior so much.

The young man could see a faint glimmer of color returning to the warrior's face as he consumed the nutrient-rich mixture. He could feel his own strength returning, knowing that he had done everything in his power to save the warrior's life.

With the nutrient-rich medicine consumed, Lukas settled in for a long night of watching over the bušara. He carefully monitored the warrior's breathing, making sure that it remained steady and that his condition was stable. He knew that the road ahead would be long and difficult, but he was determined to see the warrior through to the end.

Despite the effects of the nutrient-rich meal, the bušara's breathing remained shallow, and Lukas could see the strain on his face. He knew that the warrior was in pain, but he was aware that he couldn't do much to help, except make him as comfortable as possible.

Lukas replaced the tourniquet that had been applied earlier, knowing that it needed to be done periodically to avoid further damage to the warrior's arm, also letting down his arm to let the blood circulate more easily to ensure more problems would not arise. He did it with the utmost care, making sure not to jostle the injured limb too much. He knew that any additional pain would only make the bušara's condition worse.

As the moon rose higher in the sky, Lukas found himself lost in a sea of thoughts. He sat alone in the silence, his mind racing with questions and doubts, trying to make sense of the chaos that had erupted in the village. His eyes gazed into the distance as if searching for answers that were beyond his grasp.

The night had been long and harrowing, and Lukas couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the events that had unfolded. Senseless violence had torn through the village, leaving death and destruction in its wake. Lukas had seen things he never thought were possible, things that he wished he could unsee.

He tried to recount the events of the night, but it was all a blur. The screams of the wounded and dying still echoed in his ears, and the smell of smoke and blood lingered in the air. He couldn't understand why such brutality had befallen his peaceful village.

Lukas couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed in an instant. The sense of security and peace that he had known his entire life was shattered, and he didn't know if it would ever be restored. He wondered if they would ever be able to rebuild, to heal from the wounds that had been inflicted upon them.

But despite his confusion and anger, Lukas remained focused on the task at hand. He carefully watched over the bušara, making sure that he was comfortable and that his condition was stable.

Hours passed, and Lukas began to feel the strain of the long night. His eyes grew heavy, and he found himself struggling to stay awake. But he knew that he couldn't let his guard down, not even for a moment. He forced himself to stay alert, monitoring the bušara's breathing and vital signs with a steady hand. He knew that any sudden changes could mean the difference between life and death. However, his mind was not strong enough, and suddenly he fall asleep in a sitting position, his hand looking down at the ground as his broken hand and arm were hung next to him.

The night wore on mercilessly, and Lukas felt the weight of exhaustion settle heavily upon him. His eyelids grew heavy and his body begged for rest, but he knew that he could not let his guard down. The injured warrior's life hung in the balance, and any sudden change could mean the difference between life and death.

Despite his best efforts, Lukas could feel himself losing the battle against sleep. His mind struggled to stay alert, but his body was too weak to obey. He fought to keep his eyes open, but the darkness of the night and the silence of the surroundings lulled him into a state of drowsiness.

As much as he tried to resist, Lukas felt himself slipping away into a deep sleep. His head drooped as well as his broken hand and arm hung next to him. For a moment, the only sound was the soft breathing of the injured warrior, as Lukas surrendered to the sleep that had been beckoning him for hours.

x-x-x

The silence of the night was suddenly broken by the sound of approaching quick footsteps, growing louder and louder with each passing moment. Three figures emerged from the darkness, their voices echoing through the stillness.

The first figure, a burly man with a fur cloak and leather vest adorned with metal plates and studs, similar to the warrior in the village, was agitated. "THAT FUCKER!" he shouted, his voice filled with anger and frustration as his demon mask completely mirrored his feelings. "IF I FOUND HIM ALIVE I'M GONNA BREAK HIS NECK! WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE THINKS HIMSELF TO BE?"

The second figure, a lean and wiry man with a similar outfit, quickly spoke up. "SHUT UP!" he snapped, his mask reflecting a surprised expression. "IF YOU DID NOT SLOW US DOWN WITH YOUR STUPID SEVEN-COURSE DINING, WE WOULD'VE ARRIVED HOURS EARLIER!"

"YOU JACKASS, WHAT COULD BE MORE IMPORTANT THAN A FREE SEVEN-COURSE DINNER?"

"OUR FRIEND, YOU BASTARD!"

The third figure, a woman with a fierce expression and a mask adorned with sharp, angular features, looked on with a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Enough bickering," she said, her voice cutting through the tension. "We are almost there."

But the two men continued to argue. She was completely ignored as their voices grew louder and more heated with each passing moment. The woman rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated by their behavior.

"COULD YOU JUST STOP IT ALREADY!" she bellowed, her voice reverberating through the night. "MY HEAD HURTS LIKE HELL BECAUSE OF YOUR CONSTANT BITCHING, MORONS!"

The two men fell silent, chastised by the woman's outburst. They exchanged glances, their expressions sheepish and contrite as they suddenly stopped, saluting to her while their character not known why, suddenly became more cartoonish.

"YES, MA'AM," they said in unison, their voice clear and loud and apologetic. SORRY MA'AM," the men's voices echoed, their tone equally contrite.

The woman's frustration boiled over as the two men suddenly stopped and saluted her, their characters now more... cartoonish.

"AAAAAH!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the night. "JUST WHY IN TENGRI'S NAME DID I HAVE TO BE STUCK WITH THESE TWO IDIOTS ON MY TEAM?"

Despite her irritation, the woman kept running towards their destination. Her mask, adorned with sharp and angular features, accentuated the intensity of her determined expression. She knew that their comrade needed their help as he was such a dumbass to go alone on such a mission even though it was forbidden, knowing that a Full-Moon was around the place. She was not about to let her frustration with her teammates get in the way of their mission given by her superiors and her morals.

The two men looked at each other sheepishly, their earlier argument forgotten as they quickly took up the pace and followed the woman towards the burned-down village. The burly man with the fur cloak and leather vest adorned with metal plates and studs looked down at his boots, his expression contrite.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I know I can be a pain sometimes."

The lean and wiry man with a similar outfit nodded, his expression equally apologetic. "Me too," he said, his voice soft. "We need to work together if we're going to get through this."

The woman glanced back at them, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "At least you are honest about it..." she said as she rolled her eyes behind her mask while a full emotional rollercoaster rolled down her face. "Just focus on the task at hand," she said, her voice firm but encouraging. "We can deal with our issues later. Right now, our priority is saving Hans."

Together, the three figures continued towards the village, their footsteps echoing through the silent night. Despite their earlier squabbles and frustrations, they were united in their determination to help their injured comrade, their sense of duty and loyalty driving them forward.

As the three figures made their way towards the village, their footsteps falling in unison, they were soon joined by a group of five individuals dressed in similar attire. However, unlike the first group, these individuals wore lighter uniforms and were unarmed. They were the čistačs, a cleanup corps tasked with restoring order, providing help and attendance, and cleaning up after the battles against the Devil's Brood.

The čistačs fell in step behind the first group, their expressions serious and grim. They knew the village had suffered greatly at the hands of the Devil's Brood as the All-Seeing Owls stated to the bušaras, and they were prepared to do whatever it takes to help restore peace and order.

As the two groups approached the village, the sight that greeted them was one of devastation. Buildings lay in ruins, their walls burned down and their roofs caved in. The ground was littered with debris, and corpses, both human and animal. Their odor was absolutely nausea-inspiring. Blood stained the earthy streets and the walls of the remaining structures, evidence of the brutal battle, no merciless massacre that had taken place.

As the two groups approached the village, the sight that greeted them was one of utter devastation. Buildings lay in ruins, their walls burned down, and their roofs caved in. The ground was littered with debris and corpses, both human and animal and the stench of decay hung heavy in the air. Blood stained the earthy streets and the walls of the remaining structures, evidence of the merciless massacre that had taken place.

"FUCK!" the first man exclaimed, his voice filled with anger and frustration. "WE ARE LATE!"

The second man shook his head, his expression grim. "No shit, Sherlock," he muttered, his voice tinged with sadness.

The woman from the first group turned to them, her expression serious. "We need to focus," she said, her voice firm. "Our priority is to help those who survived and bring justice to those who didn't."

The čistačs looked on with a mixture of horror and disgust as they explored more and more gruesome dead bodies laying around. They had seen their fair share of death and destruction, but the scale of this carnage was enough to make even the most hardened among them shudder.

"We're glad you're here," the woman from the first group said, her voice somber. "Search all houses and see if there are any survivors."

The čistačs nodded in agreement, their faces set with determination. "We're here to do whatever it takes," one of them said, his voice low and steady as they soon split up.

The čistačs split up into smaller groups, each tasked with a different aspect of the cleanup and restoration efforts. The first group, including the three figures from earlier, headed towards the center of the village, where the heaviest fighting had taken place.

As they walked, the man with the furious mask spoke up again, his voice heavy with worry. "Man, I hope Hans is alive," he said, his tone somber. "After seeing all of this, I'm not so sure."

The woman placed a hand on his shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. "We'll find him," she said, her voice filled with conviction. "We have to believe that he's still out there."

The lean and wiry man nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "We can't give up hope, even in the face of such devastation."

As they reached the center of the village, their worst fears were confirmed. The area was a scene of utter destruction, with buildings reduced to rubble and bodies littering the streets. The smell of smoke and death was overpowering, and the silence was eerie.

As they arrived at the village center, their worst fears were confirmed. The place was a wasteland of destruction, with buildings reduced to rubble and bodies scattered throughout the streets. The stench of smoke and death was overwhelming, and an eerie silence hung in the air.

Splitting up, the group scoured the area for any sign of their missing comrade. They searched through the debris, calling out his name and checking for any signs of life. Just as the man with the furious mask was about to lose hope, he heard a faint groan emanating from a nearby location.

Hurrying towards the sound, he found Hans lying in front of a house, with a young man beside him who appeared to be asleep, his arm twisted at an odd angle. The man with the furious mask didn't notice Hans' injury at first, as it was obscured from view by his body.

"Oh, Tengri... Thank you..." the man whispered, his voice filled with emotion. He shouted at the young man, trying to get his attention, but he remained unresponsive.

As the man with the furious mask drew closer to Hans, he could see that the young man's left hand had been severed just above the bicep. A thick, congealed pool of blood stained Hans' uniform, evidence of the severity of his injury. But upon closer inspection, the man could see that the wound had been well-catered, likely by the young man himself.

He glanced over at the open medical box nearby, looking at the various supplies and tools scattered around it and Hans' mask as well. It was clear that the young man had done the best he could with what he had.

The man with the furious mask couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for the young man. The man with the furious mask quickly sprang into action, examining Hans' injuries and ensuring that he was stable. He was also sleeping but grunts still escaped his lips.

"Thank you for attending to Hans' injuries," he said, his voice filled with gratitude as a smile curved on his face. "We need to get him back to the base..."

However, his attention was drawn back to the young man lying beside Hans, his arm twisted at an odd angle and his hand swollen. Despite knowing that the čistačs would eventually come to take care of him, the man couldn't shake off the guilt he felt at leaving the young man in such a state.

Examining the young man's injuries once more, he noticed that his hand was broken as well, swollen up cruelly. With a confident flex of muscle, the man carefully lifted both Hans and the young man onto his back, also taking Hans' mask with him.

Running back towards the others, the man was acutely aware of the weight on his back. However, he remained resolute, knowing that he needed to get both Hans and the young man to safety as soon as possible. Despite the physical strain, he was filled with a sense of purpose and determination, his mind completely focused on the task at hand.

"HEY! I FOUND HANS!" he shouted, his voice ringing out loud and clear. "I ALSO FOUND A BOY NEXT TO HIM! BOTH OF THEM COULD USE SOME MEDICAL ATTENTION!"

"Holy shi-" The woman in the group gasped in shock as she took in the sight of Hans' injury. Her expression was one of horror and concern as she leaned in to get a closer look. "What happened?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

The man with the furious mask shook his head, his frustration was evident. "Good question... HOW SHOULD I KNOW?" he replied, his tone tinged with annoyance. He then looked at the young man on his back snoring without a stop. "But one thing is sure, without this guy on my back... he would be long dead. Anyway... we should bring them back to the base as soon as possible. I will go with Florian if it's not a problem as the čistačs already have enough problems with the cleaning-up process," he said, his voice authoritative and firm that made the woman blink a bit more than needed in her surprise.

"Man, I'm the leader, at least let me give ya' my approval," she muttered with a face of annoyance as she shook her head. "Ok, you can go... I will keep the others safe if there's still a Devil's Brood lurking around... if not Toghzan." Her expression was one of steely determination, showing that she was not one to shy away from danger or responsibility.

The man with the furious mask nodded in agreement followed by Florian, acknowledging her authority as the leader of the group. He wasted no time in preparing to leave with Florian, eager to get Hans and the young man to the base for medical attention.

Florian quickly took charge of the situation, gently lifting the young man onto his back as the man with the furious mask prepared to lead the way. As they set off towards the base, the speed and agility of the two men were evident, their movements fluid and coordinated as they navigated the treacherous terrain. The woman watched them go, her eyes following their progress until they disappeared from view.

x-x-x

As the čistač made his way into the house, where the bušara was treated. It was still nighttime but the dawn was approaching fast. The air was thick with the stench of blood and death, and the scene before him was one of utter devastation.

The living room and kitchen were littered with gruesome bodies, limbs twisted at odd angles, head smashed, and deep cuts on almost every body part, their faces contorted in expressions of pain and horror if some were lucky enough to have a remaining face. The čistač's eyes lingered on the carnage, taking in the full extent of the damage. Blood was splattered across the walls and floors, painting a macabre picture of the violence that had taken place. The furniture was overturned and broken, the remains of shattered glass and pottery scattered amidst the debris.

"Oh, boy..." he muttered with disgust. "Here I go..." The čistač took careful steps as he investigated the inside, his movements slow and deliberate as he assessed the situation.

Despite the gravity of the situation, the čistač remained focused and composed, his professional demeanor a stark contrast to the horror that surrounded him. He moved with purpose, taking note of the bodies and the damage to the house as he prepared to begin the cleaning process.

As the čistač made his way out of the house to survey the surrounding area, for possible more unnoted dead bodies, the escaping moonlights shone through the glassless window lightened up a hand, as it began slowly twitching... twitching in a violent manner... ready to rip... and tear.