Micah - 3.0

With a deep breath, Master filled his lungs before forcefully exhaling at the chandelier above, extinguishing all of the little red dancers atop their white podiums. The light vanished, plunging the room into darkness. The darkness wrapped around us like a velvet shroud, thick and impenetrable. Then, I heard the creak of door hinges across the room, and where the street once was, my eyes found a staircase descending into candlelight. Master's silhouette moved toward the stairs, followed by Uncle. Not wanting to be left alone in the dark, I too ventured into the mysterious place. Whatever magic this was, it was surely epic.

"Go on, Micah. Ask him," Uncle urged, sensing my curiosity.

"Master, what sort of magic is this?" I asked, my voice echoing in the chamber like a whisper in a cathedral.

Master paused and turned his head slightly, his face obscured by shadows. "I apologize, my new squire; however, I can only speak to this: if you extinguish all the candles in the chandelier simultaneously, this dungeon will appear, and the wicks will relight themselves."

"Fascinating," I murmured, reaching out and touching the walls.

The cold stone under my fingers felt real and solid, not the stuff of illusions. We descended the masoned spiral staircase, each step echoing in the cavernous silence. We must have been dozens of feet underground if location could still be trusted.

Down below was a well-lit corridor with several doors flanking the walls and one final door straight ahead about fifty paces. The air was cooler here, carrying the faint scent of earth and old stone.

"Behind each door sleeps one hundred wardens, each trained to be a human weapon," Master explained as we walked. His voice was steady, a river of authority that flowed through the corridor.

We continued until we reached the final door at the end of the path. From within his blue cloak, Master produced a key and turned the large lock present on the front of the door. Inside was a rather luxurious space for what was called a barracks. Oil paintings adorned the walls, six beds lined up three on each side, and several more doors stood on the far wall.

Master pointed to the doors. "On the left is an interior bathhouse, the middle a weapons depot, and the right an armor closet. Pick any bed that you desire."

I walked over to the bed closest to the bathhouse before lying down. The mattress was unlike any I'd ever used—not of wood, straw, nor feathers, but something softer, almost cloud-like.

I stood up and opened the door to the bathhouse. Inside, I found a marbled bathhouse with a large bubbling pool with steam rising into the air, as well as several doors on the left side. Inside those doors, I found identical chamber pots connected to the floor.

"Uncle Ulysses," I began, my voice tentative as I sat on the edge of my bed, "what exactly are you building with all those materials from Sebastian?"

Ulysses glanced up, his eyes briefly meeting mine before returning to the satchel. "Oh, just something, really just odds and ends," he replied, his tone light and dismissive.

"Something?" I pressed, sensing his reluctance. "What kind of something?"

He paused, fiddling with a small gear in his hands. "Just... some thing to help with the future of the bakeries. You know how it is."

"Ulysses, you've bought enough stone and iron to build a castle and not a small one at that. It seems like more than just 'something to help with the future of the bakeries.'"

He chuckled, but it sounded forced. "Well, I suppose I might have gotten a bit carried away. Don't tell him but this is really a favor to Sebastian, the wardens need more money than the royalty is willing to spend!"

I narrowed my eyes, not buying his explanation. "And this is all for your project?"

Ulysses' hands stilled, and he looked at me, his expression unreadable. "It's just a little project I've been working on. Nothing to worry about."

"A full-fledged project?" I echoed. "You said it was just some thing?"

He sighed, clearly wanting to end the conversation as I caught him in a contradiction "It's... well, it's complicated, Micah. Something I've been assembling for quite some time. I'll show you when it's ready."

"But why can't you tell me now?" I insisted, frustration creeping into my voice. "You're always so open about your work. Why is this different?"

"Some things need to be kept secret until the right time." He stood up, closing the satchel and placing it out of reach. "Trust me, Micah."

His avoidance only fueled my curiosity, but I could see he was resolute. "Alright, Uncle," I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "I'll wait."

Not satisfied but unwilling to pry further, I returned to the bed and fell asleep immediately.

I awoke to the loud sounds of metal clanking, iron scraping, and leather snapping. Uncle was still sound asleep. I followed the sounds out into the hallway and found men in armor scrambling up the staircase from the side rooms. Dozens and dozens of wardens poured into the hallway like disturbed ants in a ruined hill. Their coordinated movements, despite the urgency, spoke of rigorous training.

I stood mesmerized by the passing of well-trained men, so anxious and so distraught as they frantically ran for the stairs up. After the way cleared, I followed carefully. Round and round up the stairs we went, back into the room where we were sipping mead the night before. The room stood full with a hundred or so knights and myself. We all crammed into the space like preserves in a jar.

Some of the men gave me odd looks, perhaps wondering how a chubby child could find his way into their secret abode. I saw their eyes drift around before landing on my lapel, at which point they immediately righted their posture and stood at attention. Seconds passed, and the lights above relit. The stairs vanished, and the door swung open to the streets.

The knights responded with a unified shout, their voices filled with determination. I felt a surge of pride and a sense of belonging among these warriors. I might have been young and inexperienced, but I knew that these men lived for this moment.

The wardens surged forth from the interior like gushing water through a compromised dam, their armored bodies moving in a synchronized torrent. The clanking of metal, the rhythmic pounding of boots, and the unified war cries filled the air, creating a cacophony that echoed through the narrow staircase and spilled into the streets. I followed in their wake, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

As the final soldier passed through the doorway, I caught my breath, stepping out into the chaos of the rising morning. The streets, once quiet and serene, now ablaze with combat. The amber sky highlighted crimson paint staining the cobblestone. The smell of smoke and the sharp tang of blood filled the air, mingling with the cries of the wounded and the clash of steel.

And then I saw him—Sebastian Beswick—locked in fierce combat with a monstrosity the size of a building. The creature was a patchwork horror, stitched together from countless parts, its massive limbs moving with a grotesque semblance of life. Its skin was a quilt of mismatched flesh, and its eyes glowed with a malevolent intelligence.

Sebastian moved with the grace and precision of a master swordsman, his blade flashing like lightning as he parried the creature's massive blows. Each strike from the monstrosity sent shockwaves through the ground, but Sebastian stood firm, his expression grim and determined.

"Master!" I shouted, my voice barely audible over the din of battle. He didn't turn, his focus entirely on the beast before him. With a swift, fluid motion, he ducked under a sweeping arm and slashed at the creature's exposed flank. A gout of black ichor sprayed from the wound, but the monstrosity barely seemed to notice.

I watched in awe as Sebastian danced around the creature, his movements a blur of speed and precision. Despite the dire circumstances, there was an almost mesmerizing beauty to his combat, a deadly ballet that held my gaze.

"Micah, stay back!" A voice shouted, and I turned to see Pascal pushing through another crowd of wardens flowing from the enchanted chamber, his face etched with concern. "It's too dangerous!"

But I couldn't tear my eyes away from the battle. "What is that thing?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I-I... do not know," He replied, his voice grim. 

As if to emphasize his point, the behemoth let out a deafening roar, its massive claws crashing down where Sebastian stood an instant before. The impact throw chunks of stone airborne, but Sebastian moved, his blade slicing through the creature's wrist. Another spray of black ichor, and the beast howled in pain.

Pascal weaved a veil. He gathered much more mana than to hide the chest. His face paled and his eyes grew gaunt. Light and shadow intertwined around me, nearly solid. As he finished the last measure, Pascal passed out. Two wardens carried him into the barracks.

Partially silenced by the masoned walls, a scream echoed from down the street. "My boy! It has my boy! Someone save him, please save—" The desperate plea was abruptly cut short by the sickening sound of rending flesh and splitting bone.

As I turned my head toward the direction of the cry, my eyes fell upon a heart-wrenching scene: a man cradling the upper part of a young boy's torso, rocking back and forth with the body as his hand gently parted the boy's hair behind his ear.

The wardens knocked me side to side as they brushed past my shoulders, their urgency palpable. The first two carried the grieving man and his child back here, beside the entrance to the barracks, their movements gentle but efficient. Then the next five ran into the destroyed building just beyond them. Another twenty wardens split off, running into the building to the left, across the street.

"...no. No. No. Daddy's got you. I won't leave you. Daddy's got you." The man knelt in the street, repeating the same phrases over and over as the light faded from his child's eyes. His voice was a fragile whisper, a mantra of denial and despair.

Seconds felt like hours as the battle raged on. Sebastian's movements were slowing, his breaths coming harder. The thing, too, showed signs of wear, its patchwork body riddled with deep gashes and oozing wounds. But still, it fought on, its malevolent eyes fixed on its quarry.

Five wardens stood by me, forming a protective circle as they scanned the surroundings for further threats. Five more took positions to the left, their eyes sharp and weapons ready. The remaining fifty or so wardens divided, half charging into the building on the right, and the rest sprinting straight ahead down the road.

And then, with a desperate lunge, Sebastian drove his blade deep into the beast's chest, hopefully piercing whatever dark heart powered its monstrous form. The creature let out a new, bone-chilling roar, its massive body shuddering before rising into the air and leaping over the collapsed buildings. Master followed the monster. With a strong kick to the ground, he launched himself over the row of rubble.

My brain finally registered the voices of men shouting as they fought a colossal tide of encroaching smaller foes. I needed to flee. This will cannot be my grave. My feet were not compliant. I fell to my knees, overwhelmed by the shock of death and destruction around me.

A new walking menagerie plunged its claws through reinforced armor and crashed through solid buildings. Several men were blasted back into the street from the destroyed buildings on the left, and the five wardens near me rushed to help them. Emerging from the rubble of where stone buildings once stood was a monster. This one larger but slower than Master's quarry. 

I managed to examine the beast as it remained still while it wailed. Similar to the previous, this creature was certainly unnatural- something created from unlike things, not just random appendages and sutures. Each leg belonged to a different species- the whole thing stitched together from all manner of forest beasts. 

These were not the wardens' forte; they protected the peace. They did not exterminate the vile walkers of the nightmare. Only my master had the capability to fight this and live.

The men, knocked around by the beast, righted themselves and rushed back to the fight. Even though their armor was ineffective, they showed no fear. Spears, swords, shields, and arrows all reached for this monster in unison. The fight dragged on, the men grew weary while the abomination did not. It looked like a seamstress's pincushion, littered with spears and arrows.

One hundred wardens shrunk into twenty, the best of the best struggling to just stall the creature. There was only one variable absent: my master.

"Sever his ankles! No matter how strong it is, won't be able to move without his tendons!" an nameless knight called to his brothers.

With instructions clear, every warden began synchronized to accomplish that goal. Those with broken weapons armed themselves from scavenging their fallen colleagues. They moved in sets of five, one for each leg. Twenty strikes, only four needed to be successful.

The quickest of them landed a strike on the fur-covered leg, but it was only a glancing blow. The beast remained unaffected. He quickly rolled underneath and plunged his sword into the leg above a hoof, quickly shifting it left and right, digging it in until a satisfying twang, like a rope snapping from an overload, echoed through the street. The abomination roared, and the wardens beneath it recoiled in pain. Even from this distance, my ears began to bleed.

I remained frozen- unable to cope with the violence and death. Sulfur. Ammonia. Copper. Refuse. Bile. An uncountable number of unpleasant odors formed the scent of battle. I remained collapsed on my knees.

The beast devoured two men and eviscerated a third with its claws. The two left from that set attacked in unison on the wounded fur leg. They managed to flank their target, each lunging simultaneously, driving their weapons hilt-deep into the black fur. Unable to withdraw their weapons, they attempted to roll away from the collapsing patchwork animal. The one on the interior of the beast's leg was unsuccessful, the sound similar to a melon being crushed under brick.

The intense struggle for life raged on as the men overexerted themselves to damn the monster back to whichever hell spawned it. They fought not for their own lives, but for the lives of their brothers-in-arms, for the lives of their families in the city, for the lives of their children who bare their names.

The monstrosity, spasmed in the street. While tremoring, the artificial life crushed one more warden and toppled another building. This beast culled countless denizens of the village and a hundred wardens of the realm.

I managed to find my footing. I must be in a dream. I must touch it, surely the scene will change before me.

I passed by the corpses of men and women whose names I did not know, some in armor and some in clothes some whole and some shredded. With each step, I glanced at the face of another one of the fallen. Each face had a story, a life, dreams and wants they sacrificed to ensure that someone else survived... that I survived.

I passed by exhausted wardens; they reached out and shouted in agony. They did not even have the strength to stand, let alone prevent an onslaught of freaks attacking the city. If that last attack had failed, then these men too would have died. I could have died, helpless to fate.

Before my fingers contacted with the rotten leather hide of the beast's rear right leg, a long silvery sword descended, blocking my path. I turned and saw my master. Surely the movements of his mouth were words directed at me, but I had not the ability to hear. His presence, however, was enough. The chaos around me seemed to still for a moment, the weight of his authority grounding me in the reality of the situation.

I embraced him. My heart swelled with admiration and gratitude amplified by direct alternative littered around the streets, "Sebastian, that was incredible!"

He turned to me, a weary smile on his face. This time I managed to read his lips, "It's not ??? yet, Micah. ??? just ??? beginning. ??? veil ??? safe, ??? stay away."