Rogue Razor

“Stay quiet.” Alice whispered.

Hadwyn crouched down in the tall grass. His camouflage flickered as he moved. He squinted.

A group of Orcs were screaming at the top of their lungs, chanting some sort of song. They were moving single-file, covered in various trophies. The one in the back was beating a drum. The one in the front wielded a staff with a human head on it. And the rest were equipped with weapons, like swords, shields, and bows.

There were ten.

Alice gripped the handle of her sword. Hadwyn tensed. He too gripped his sword. She tilted her head.

“Hadwyn, stay here and watch for other enemies.” She addressed him.. That’s your way of telling me to stay out of your way.

“Wait, those orcs are under an enhancement spell.” He warned. “Let's wait for Mateo to catch up at least.”

He gave him a we are not equals look, then she took off.

Hadwyn muttered a curse under his breath and drew his sword. He launched himself out of the brush. No way was he going to let Alice take all the experience.

The orcs immediately noticed the two and they screeched with glee. Their bodies shimmered.

One might wonder why orcs were out in broad daylight. It was because orcs and other humanoid creatures all worshiped similar gods. The day of worship for them was to spill the blood of all humans, humanoids, and other sentient beings as sacrifice. This was also the day of slumber for them. Which meant those who died on this day would come back the next reborn.

The orc with the head on the stick roared and shot the spear forward. Hadwyn slid under it and slashed the orcs' stomach open. His organs came out steaming, but he was not yet dead. He drew a machete from his back and slashed back at Hadwyn. Hadywn blocked the attack. His heart beat with fear and energy. He drove his blade forward and stabbed right through the neck of the orc. It gurgled blood and died. In this amount of time, Alice had slain two orcs.

I’m getting better. Hadwyn thought.

An arrow whizzed by his head. The orc with the drum had dropped it and had his bow drawn and primed. He was cut down by Alice, who appeared to Hadwyn only as a blur, not not before he pulled off another shot.

The arrow hit Hadwyn in the leg. He grimaced in pain. But for now his leg still worked as it should have. He sprinted towards another orc, who simultaneously charged at him as well. He weaved and slashed until the orc was nothing more than mutilated flesh. He had half-expected Alice to come and steal his kill, but she didn’t. Perhaps she pitied him.

Hadwyn didn’t want her pity, but he needed all he could get.

Sure enough. Alice had disemboweled the remaining orcs. Hadwyn had no doubt that she had done it even before he killed his. She nodded her head at him.

A horn blew in the distance. West.

Alice sheathed her sword. It disintegrated into sparkles.

“We gotta go back to Loyd.” Hadwyn insisted. As much as he would rather fight alongside Alice, he didn’t know how long they would last out in the open. Small groups made easy targets.

Hadwyn pulled out his golden scale. He took it out for good luck, then quickly put it back in his pockets.

Alice sighed, then turned to him. “I guess you’re right… He’s probably expecting us to return soon.”

The clanging of swords rang out. Some sparks and explosions rocketed outward from the battleground. It was complete chaos, which made Hadwyn glad he tagged along with Alice instead of hanging back.

Mateo flipped through pages of a book that floated in front of him. He flicked his hand, causing a bean of energy to fly out from nowhere and impale an orcs approaching him.

And then there was Loyd. He swirled his broadsword, Daunt Taker, and tore through groups of monsters.

Loyd paled in comparison to others on the battlefield. Flashes of light in the distance shimmered. Craters, ditches and other products of destruction laid about. A man in a gray vest was firing pieces of stone.

After Loyd got done completely eviscerating the horde he turned left and right, scanning for his next target.

Hadwyn too looked for his enemy. His eyes fell on a wounded Fyrexias which had been trying to retreat from the battle. Fyrexias didn’t like being in large, open areas. It roared when it saw him approaching.

Out of the corner of his eye. He saw another adventurer looking at the creature as well. They both met eyes.

Hadwyn waved.

The guy immediately burst into a sprint for the wounded creature.

Hadwyn was closer, but the guy was faster.

By the time Hadwyn was halfway to the Fyrexias, the man had already engaged in combat with the creature. Dodging and goading it to attack him. The man was too fast for the Fyrexis’s boiling bite, so it swiped at him with its claws, to which the man responded by lopping off.

The man was going to deal the finishing blow, raising his sword over the beast.

Hadwyn wasn’t going to let him have the kill.

He was tired of being pushed around and being underappreciated.

They don’t need me… I just need to show them I don’t either.

Hadwyn leapt over the man’s head. He stared down in confusion, wondering why there were shadows where they weren’t supposed to be, then looked up and realized why.

Hadwyn was applying a move that he had only read in instructional books, one that he never practiced.

He watched the man’s gaping jaw and widened eyes as he brought his sword down on the Fyrexias neck.

The Fyrexias twitched, then it ceased and died.

Hadwyn twisted his sword for good measure, then he pulled it out. Blood coated his sword and his hand. He felt the essence of the creature crawl up his sword and up his arm. He felt it tingle throughout his entire body. He had ascended one level.

The man shouted a curse word that was unintelligible to Hadwyn during his trance.

The man punched him. But immediately pulled his hand away in pain. No one quite understood why, but if you made solid physical contact with someone it would shock you with energy. Perhaps some sort of rudimentary safeguard to prevent another person from siphoning off your collection of essence. Hadwyn vaguely recalled reading an entry about it in some book. It had said that and that it was possible to actually siphon, or ‘share’ essence. But only with special training.

Whether it was the man’s punch or the flare of energy following, Hadwyn was snapped from his daydream. He turned to the man, unfazed.

The man clutched his hand. He glared at Hadwyn. “What the fuck is your problem man?”

Hadwyn now had the time to take in the details of this person. He wore casual pants, but armor on his torso. His hair was like a bush and he had a small amount of facial hair growing. He wore leather gloves and wielded a curved sword.

“That was my kill!” The man shouted. When Hadywn didn’t respond right away, he bent down and wringed his hand. “Man that fucking hurt.”

“I saw it first.” Hadwyn blurted.

He turned back at Hadwyn. “My asshole, you saw it first! Why don't you just kill some slimes?” He swung his hand in an arc. The battlefield had not ceased. If anything, things had seemed to have gotten more energetic.

Hadwyn felt tempted to answer despite the question obviously being rhetorical. I stole your kill because, I saw it first and I waved, for fuck’s sake!

But Hadwyn kept his mouth shut, just like Loyd had told him to. Maybe it was for the best, because a group of people Hadwyn could only assume were the guy’s party mates, approached them.

“Hey! The boss wave is about to start, Dale!” The guy shouted. “Why didn’t you-”

He stopped.

“Dude, what are you doing bro?”

The other two party members, consisting of a half-elf guy with a redwood bow, and a woman who wore a cloak caught up and stood to watch.

“This motherfucker just stole my kill!”

“So?”

“So?!”

“Stop being a bitch-ass pussy about it. There are like, a hundred Fyrexias out there to kill! Go do literally anything else.”

Dale mumbled something under his breath. And tore his glare away from Hadwyn. His team escorted him back over the hill.

When they disappeared over the large hill, Hadywn let out a relieved sigh. He had expected things to escalate.

Why did I just do that?

Hadwyn didn’t know. He had been overcome with the sudden impulse to try and lash out in the form of stealing a kill from another member.

It wasn’t really a steal though, We both saw it at the same time.

Stealing kills was one of those ambiguous rules. If the situation’s importance demanded it, like a strong monster that was killed at the last second, then an arbiter could be called to settle the matter. In this case, it was just a Fyrexias, so even if an arbiter was called, they would simply laugh it off, or more likely just ignore it. Of course, if you were infamous for stealing kills frequently, regardless of the significance of each kill, you would face penalties. But Hadwyn was practically invisible to most, so he knew that no one cared.

He stared down at the dead Fyrexias, steam leaked from its mouth condescended on the adjacent blades of grass and his boots, its body already beginning to decompose.

Hadwyn quickly retrieved a tagbook from his satchel. He tore out a page, which, like all the others, was enchanted with preservative, and laced with sting powder. He removed its metal pin and jabbed it into the creature, then, he sprinted back to the field.

As he got closer, he felt the temperature rise drastically. Magma slimes were pumping together just a few meters away. Guild members were slicing and chopping away at it. One guy was trying to use some sort of fire related spell against the creature. It was about as effective as one would expect.

Hadwyn almost tripped over a rock as he ran. A dwarf-Aldarian was beating an orc to death with his fists.

There. It was unmistakably Loyd. He was swinging his blade alongside Mateo. Who had a small shield bubbles around himself. He fired small projectiles from his hand. A group of Orcs were going at the shield, it flickered.

Meanwhile Loyd looked like he was incredibly euphoric. He looked absolutely deranged, for he was covered in blood and guts.

“Come on! Come and get some, you gray freaks!”

He drove Dauntaker forward and twisted it. Orcs were obliging to his request. They screeched with glee as they careened to their deaths.

It was said that one of the gods they worshiped, Snarl, would snatch them while they fell to hell. This was because they believed that if they died on this day, they would get another chance, as they would be given a second chance the next day. If they managed to slay an Aldarian, or a powerful opponent, they would go to a pleasant afterlife, this was the day they could practically throw themselves to death and not have to worry about where they would end up.

Gods rarely helped Aldarians. But that was a long story.

Mateo grimaced. “Loyd… I can’t- Hnng… H-hold up this fuckin’ shield much longer…”

“Turn it off then!” Loyd shouted. “I don’t need your pussy shield.”

Mateo turned off his shield. He muttered something in a different language. Zyenurian? Hadwyn knew for sure Mateo was cussing him out. Hadwyn felt the heat for the shield die down, and longer did he feel like he was standing in front of a warm furnace. He took a step forward, almost slipping on some mud.

Alice almost slipped too. “Damn waterbending Alukuma!”

Loyd was gleeful, swirling his blade around so fast, that any blood iit came into contact with had no time to stain, being flung off in red spirals.

One of the tree trunks came crashing down, and a massive, probably senior, orc came lumbering out of the forest. It, and two others, came out wearing armor. They wore darker war paint, not like it had been simply smeared on, but as if they had put it on with the talent of an esteemed artist.

The senior orc had several rings, which Hadwyn read represented not just lives they took, but Aldarians they had slain. Hadwyn’s heart filled with fear. The first wave were just the young fanatics, these orcs were older, closer to death. They were taking this seriously, and Hadwyn knew somehow that they wouldn’t leave this fight. Not without taking the life of…

Then something horrific happened. The biggest orc, just emerging from the forest, swiveling his head side to side, searching for an opponent, locked eyes with Hadwyn. And Hadwyn, too shocked to think, could only stare back, completely unable to tear his gaze away.

The orc then raised his stone sword, while still glaring directly at Hadwyn.

Hadwyn, out of force of habit, pointed his finger at himself, as if to say, You pointing at me?

Everything around him dissolved into unintelligible blurs. The battlefield, the noises, the lights of energy flying everywhere. Until it was just him, the orc, and the ground between them.

Looking back, the worst part was that any possibility of the orc ignoring Hadwyn, was erased when he made the gesture.

The orc roared, as if to say, this is the fight you asked for. Now, show me that you are an Aldarian!

Hadwyn thought about running. He thought about everything actually, and everything else buried his idea of running away, erasing such a simple response from his brain. Practical drowning it with things like: I wonder what the afterlife is like… Was I good? I… I think it was nice to most people… Does Loyd count? No… I don’t think I would have to be nice to him, right god?

Hadwyn didn’t even know which god he was talking to. He would be happy to have divine intervention from any god who was watching.

What will Bernard think of me? Of what a failure, of what a coward I am?

But Bernard was gone. The only thing that he had left of him was the golden scale.

He had rubbed it, and he got bad luck, instead of good.

Silence. Just complete silence, as the orc barreled towards him, with his sword pointed to Hadwyn’s heart.

Hadwyn closed his eyes. Alone. He was born alone, and he would die alone too.

I wonder if anyone would miss m-

YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT HADWYN.

Hadwyn’s eye shot open.

What? What was that thought that I just-

Suddenly, he felt an enormous force strike him in the right shoulder, he felt the sickening pop reverberate through his spine as his shoulder dislocated from his torso. He felt a bit of fluid, which he knew laid between the sockets, seep out.

At first, he thought for sure that the orc had hit him. But it took a moment for his brain to register where the impact came from; the back.

His absorption of the event around him began to clear up again, slowly.

Loyd… Loyd!

Raaaaah!

That was Loyd’s voice, not the orc’s.

He hammered past Hadwyn. He felt his shoulder twist and contort under his skin. The world spun around him.

Loyd blew past Hadwyn and leapt up in the air.

“Eat my diiiiiiick!”

He spiraled into the orc, chopping his head in half, right down the middle.

Struggling to keep balance, Hadwyn slipped on the mud, falling. His shoulder erupted with pain. He writhed in the mire, he watched Loyd continue his onslaught against the senior orc.

To Hadwyn’s surprise, the orc didn’t die right away. Instead, It produced a sound from its mouth that Hadwyn never, ever heard from an orc, a shriek. A shriek that sounded like a hundred children being slaughtered. It made Hadwyn’s heart wrench. It made him feel like this, from the sound alone, despite knowing well that these creatures- monsters, who worshiped and offered sacrifice to gods who were the embodiment of bloody twisted evil, being that had not a single drop of humanity in the blood.

Loyd didn’t seem to be fazed by this screech, not as Hadwyn did. If anything, his grin grew wider. Hadywn had never seen such euphoria, such a gleeful, pleasured look on a man’s face as he took life, regardless of the justification.

Loyd spiraled his body down with impressive speed. Slicing the orc down the middle. Its body steamed and tore in two. And Loyd stood proudly, a glistening red figure.

Hadwyn felt sick, he didn’t know where though.

Right at that moment, the horn blew. It had to be exactly twelve o’clock.

Hadwyn got to his feet. He didn’t want to look like a coward. He staggered, his shoulders pain was so immense, he felt as if he were to black out. It was only the thought of collapsing in front of a bunch of people that kept him conscious.

The blowing of the horn meant the orcs were retreating. They would return after six hours, and a second battle would commence, which would last until twelve in the morning, which would be exactly the next day.

The moment the horn blew, the fighting ceased. The orcs retreated back into the forest. Some especially bloodthirsty Aldarians followed them, but quickly returned out of inconvenience. Most of them were, in fact, tired. They had been fighting since the crack of dawn. At five o’clock, Hadwyn awoke to the sound of hundreds of blades sharpening, his head popping out the window like hundreds of other disturbed neighbors. Lines at the whetstones stretching across blocks and blocks.

The sound of another hundred creaks and groans of bows being tightened, dozens of sets of armor being put on (and of course, being dropped in a hurry), and of course. The mixed chatter of both excited and annoyed. All to which Hadwyn responded by slamming his shutters and burying himself underneath the covers of his bed. Hiding from the voices that filled the halls, of guildmates and rivals chatting excitedly and irritably, of some astray calling out for their party, or, some unprepared members knocking on doors outside, asking if they have any arms to spare, some of which, even going to knock at the doors of properties known to be owned by Anivors. Anivors who shut their windows tightly, and hid under their covers, pretending to be asleep.

Just like Hadwyn.

Hadwyn left a small part of his blanket up, so that he could see his room. There was no point to such caution, for Ike’s mansion was gated with a razor sharp spiked fence, coated with modified sting powder. But looking over a shield was just instinctive for Hadwyn. As he observed his unvarying room, he looked at his sword. It gleamed in the rising sun. It beckoned to him.

Today is the day. This was what he told himself when he finally made up his mind, to join the fight alongside his party members. But he did this for a reason he saw as different from his peers. He did it because he knew, he knew that all of his neighbors, those he knew were Anivors, who closed their windows and hid, they had no other option. It was common knowledge that Anivors couldn’t defend themselves adequately, especially from organized, brutal battles that took place on days like this. So that morning, Hadwyn had told himself not only that this was the day, but also that this was his duty.

So Hadwyn dragged his unwilling body towards the sword, a sword that he used so little, he barely recognized it as his, he gazed at his own reflection, in an unstained blade. And then, he was up for the day.

Hadwyn’s shoulder was in full, unsuppressed, excruciating pain. He didn’t dare look at it, for he feared that would be the thing to make him black out. There were spells that you could cast to numb pain, or even turn off pain completely. Hadwyn was familiar with no spells. He practiced, and like everything he practiced, it was all in vain. So he stood there, clenching his teeth so hard that he thought they might crack.

Hadywn followed a few droves of guild members to a bunch of stumps and rocks near the edge of the forest, to take rest and shade. Pouches were guzzled, and oat bars and other jerky were scarfed down.

Most people seemed to be relieved that the battle was over, even if they knew they would be fighting later. But of course there were some crazy or in Hadwyn’s opinion, absolutely demented, mad, unhinged individuals, who cried out in disappointment or frustration. One of them, from a crowd of people, the exact location of which that Hadwyn couldn’t pinpoint, had the audacity to shout that he was just getting warmed up, and another person, which Hadwyn could spot, a man dressed in mismatched armor, took it even further to shout that anybody who was tired was a coward.

Naturally, thankfully, these people were met by the majority of their peers with rejection or criticism, like the example made of the man who made a fool of himself, which again, Hadwyn was thankful for. No one, he thought, no one who treats a battle like this a game should be enabled when they cheer for more.

Unfortunately, Loyd was one of these people.

He didn’t shout anything foolish, nor did he directly display his yearn for more blood and glory, but Hadwyn saw it in his eyes. He was engulfed in pride, hands on hips, and his sword still buried in the corpse of the orc he had slain.

Still, Hadwyn saw it good that these people were met with such negativity. But he knew in the back of his mind that the part of this where battles were treated like a game, would never be met with the same reaction as a man demanding more work to a tired crowd. In fact, it was so normalized, that Hadwyn began to wonder if their priorities changed since the summoning.

Hadwyn had always been different from everyone else. When he attended the school for summoned, he had always found it difficult to socialize with his peers, on the contrary, however, he found it easy to socialize with Anivors. Anivors were the only group of people who showed him respect, with dignity. There was even a girl whom Hadwyn suspected had feelings for him who would always show up for his exams. Even though he failed, she still sat there, watching him and cheering him on.

Well, she wasn’t here anymore… When he saw her name on a mass grave. It choked him with grief to this very day. He had been held back many, many times. If he had been better, if he was better, he would have been able to protect her, perhaps when he graduated.

You were the only Aldarian there… At the grave. You were the only one there who felt grief, no other Aldarian took time from their day to grieve… It makes you sick, doesn’t it?

There was that voice again.

W-what-

“Hadwyn!”

Hadywn snapped out of his trance at Loyd’s voice.

“Did you see what I did? Wait until Ike hears about this shit!” His grin faltered a bit at Hadwyn’s lack of response.

“Sorry about bumping into you earlier, is your shoulder good?” Loyd said, feigning concern.

“Yeah.. I’m okay.”

“Which one?”

“Right.”

Loyd immediately patted Hadwyn's right shoulder, to which Hadwyn yelped in pain.”

“Oh, shit. My bad. I was thinking about my right.”

Hadwyn tried not to glare at Loyd, who tried his best to appear apologetic. “Yeah…sorry man.” he jerked his thumb to the dead orc. “You wanna dip swords with us?”

Mateo and Alice were standing near the orc, their bodies pulsing light.

Hadwyn took a moment to look at the orc, then look back at Loyd.

“No.”

He wanted the world to stop. He wanted Loyd to be shocked at his rejection. He wished he hadn’t gotten up that morning. He wanted a lot of things.

Loyd shrugged and walked away.

Hadwyn sat down on a tree stump, finally resting his tired legs.

Medics walked around, offering healing agents, which Hadwyn gladly took. But his shoulder would take some time to heal. And he was told that, for his health, it was recommended that he sit out of the second half of the games. Hadwyn obliged. He was done trying to prove that he was something that he wasn’t. He was done seeking validation. He was done trying.