Chapter 1 The Fire of Death

I perceive the world as it truly is - engulfed in darkness that smothers the very essence of humanity. On that fateful day, monsters rained from the sky, devouring humanity until the once-mighty kingdoms succumbed to their overwhelming might.

Centuries elapsed, yet mankind persevered unwaveringly. The survivors clung together, forming small communities - some took refuge underground, while others sought safety atop high mountains, and a few even dared to dwell beneath the unforgiving seas.

With the passage of time, the past became a haze, and the descendants of humanity evolved, blessed with the strengths of beasts - possessing fists that could shatter boulders and sprinting abilities that mirrored flight.

In the heart of a once-thriving village now lay only stillness and death. The Hermit Village, once a haven of tranquility nestled amid lush forests and gently flowing rivers, had become a haunting landscape of destruction. The village's simple huts were now reduced to smoldering ruins, and the lifeless bodies of both man and monsters were scattered across the blood-stained earth

Hermit Village, nestled in the southern reaches of the Dyheart Continent, a small child found himself drenched in blood, the crimson flow emanating from numerous scratches and bites. Clutched in his arms lay the lifeless body of a woman, his mother.

Amidst him lay the lifeless bodies of both man and beast of all shape—the villagers who once inhabited this serene hamlet hidden deep in within the mountain range that protected it from the horror of the outside world.

An unprecedented wave of beast had descended upon the Hermit Village. Numbers in thousands, from wolf wolf to mutate zombies, the small fortify village stood no chance.

Aurelius surveyed his surroundings, his eyes devoid of life, sunk in darkness. Gently, he laid his mother's body to rest. The horde of beasts had been vanquished, and the survivors had departed, taking their spoils with them.

Hiding beneath his mother's lifeless form had ensured Aurelius survival; was it luck or faith, maybe even pity from the evils gods. Being only an 13-year-old boy, he possessed a small stature. Unlike his fellow tribesmen, he grew up abnormally diminutive, standing shorter and less muscular than his counterparts of the same age.

With sadness and anger swirling in his heart, Aurelius looked around at the desolation that surrounded him. The dead bodies would spread disease, or worse reawaken in the undead if not taken care of. His family and village may have died but he will not, he cannot. It is simply not in him to succumb to faith. He knew he had to act swiftly to honor the fallen villagers.

Gathering dried leaves, twigs, and branches, he constructed a makeshift funeral pyre, time passed, his wounds where festering, he use his dagger at time to scrap off the dead part and continue to build the bonfire. As he laid each mingled body on the pyre, the body was few as most have been eaten, with only arms or torso remaining. He whispered a farewell to the souls departing this realm. With great care, he ignited the pyre, and flames began to dance and lick at the sky, carrying the souls of the departed to their final resting place. The smell of burning human flesh was something else, disgusting. But a treat to the beast that roam the wild.

With tearful eyes, he pledged to carry on the lineage of the Hermit Village, to become a strong force in the face of adversity. It was now his duty to ensure that the legacy of his people lived on, unbroken.