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Chapter 11 - A Scimitar in the Smoke

From Captain Strix's Point of View

Venice.

A city once known for its beauty, its rich history, and peaceful waterways. But not today. Today, it was a graveyard. A broken land echoing with screams that no longer had mouths to utter them.

As we arrived, I felt my stomach twist. The wind carried smoke, ash, and the bitter stench of death. All around us, buildings had been reduced to rubble. Fires still crackled in distant corners. Statues were shattered, their heads lying at odd angles like fallen soldiers. The sky was grey, heavy, suffocating. It felt like the heavens themselves had turned their faces away.

Beside me were my comrades—Liam, Julian, Iris, and Renzo. Each one of us had seen war. Each one of us had scars, both inside and out. But this... this was different. This was horror in its rawest form.

"We split up here," I said, my voice low and steady. "Search for survivors. Save whoever you can."

They nodded without question.

I turned toward Sector 38. I remembered the mission I was assigned there, deep beyond the eastern ridge from our hunter camp at Fort Arlin, deep within Sector 8. It had been the last known point of contact from the informant who warned us of the demon threat. But something felt off from the beginning. Too quiet. Too dead.

I walked through blood-slick streets. The walls were stained red. Severed limbs lay scattered like forgotten toys. I stepped over the remains of a child, her hand still clutching a burned piece of fabric. My chest tightened. The further I went, the more I knew in my gut—the attack had happened days ago.

But where was the informant?

He was supposed to wait for me. Something wasn't right. Either he never made it out... or someone made sure he never would.

Then I heard it.

A loud crash. Sharp and sudden, like a body hitting stone.

I turned, eyes scanning the street.

I saw Renzo crash into the pillar, and though my heart screamed his name, I didn't shout it. I froze for a breath, eyes wide, thoughts racing.

He had been thrown across the air and smashed against a pillar. His armor cracked. He groaned, coughing blood.

Before I could move, Rapid appeared like a blur.

She moved like lightning, her blade forming mid-air from pure energy. With one clean motion, she sliced through the demon's throat. Its eyes rolled back. It collapsed before it could even scream.

I stared for a second, heart racing. Then I turned and ran, my instincts pulling me.

Something else was wrong. Something bigger.

I followed the broken path deeper into the heart of Venice.

And there I found him.

Minister Malcolm.

He stood alone, cornered, his clothes soaked in blood. His eyes wide with terror. Around him lay the lifeless bodies of his family. His wife. His children. His advisors. All dead. Torn apart like paper.

And the demons were closing in on him.

They laughed. They licked their jagged teeth.

I had no time to think.

I shouted, charging in, drawing their attention. Every one of them turned to me, their eyes glowing like dying suns. I didn't wait. I struck fast, cutting one down. Then another. Their bodies fell, one by one, until I stood between Malcolm and the last group.

And then... they appeared.

Taller than the others. Stronger. The air around them felt wrong. Heavy. Like fear had taken form.

Their skin was not the green of trolls or orcs. No. It was saffron red—like dried blood under the setting sun, cracked and scarred as if fire still lived inside them. Their muscles bulged unnaturally, shaped by pain, twisted like they had been forged through torment.

Their armor was terrifying.

Massive red pauldrons sat on their shoulders. They were stitched together with leather from unknown beasts, crude but strong. Bone spikes jutted out from them, stained with old marrow. Some still had bits of sinew clinging to them.

Runes glowed faintly across the armor. Whispering things I didn't want to understand.

Chains hung from their necks, thick and rusted. They clinked softly as they moved. From them hung pieces of their victims: fingers, teeth, and small skulls.

Their faces were worse than any nightmare I had known. Massive jaws filled with rotting teeth. Broken noses shaped like twisted blades. Their eyes glowed amber, filled with hate. Their lips curled into permanent snarls.

Across their chests were belts made of flesh-straps and worn hide. Their loincloths were black and tattered, reeking of burnt sacrifices. Strange glyphs burned faintly on the fabric.

Their arms were covered in bracers made from bone and metal. On them were scratched the names of warriors they had killed. Their hands were huge, clawed, gripping two axes.

Those axes...

Each one looked like it had been broken and reforged in hell. Their blades were jagged and uneven, blackened and cracked with glowing orange light. Mist rose from their tips, and when I stared too long, I swore I could hear weeping.

Even their boots were cruel—stitched leather and fur, soles embedded with glass and nails. Wherever they walked, they left scorched footprints.

Above their heads, their deep violet-black hair was tied into warrior's knots. They looked like twisted crowns.

They didn't speak.

One of them just reached out.

Grabbed the minister like a ragdoll. Drew a dagger from his waist.

I knew I had only seconds.

Limbo.

A deadly and ancient art known only to a few. One didn't need to speak it aloud—just channel it. Limbo involved drawing out one's nature energy and fusing it into a weapon, one that appeared as an extension of the soul itself. In my case, it took the form of a snake-shaped scimitar, swift and alive with power.

My nature energy exploded from within. I let it pour out, shaping into the form I needed.

A snake-shaped scimitar appeared in my hand, its scales shimmering malachite green. My speed tripled. My breath disappeared.

And I struck.

With one sweep, I severed all eight of the demons' heads.

The scimitar hissed and disappeared.

Their bodies fell to the ground, twitching, lifeless.

The air went silent again.

I turned to the minister.

He stared at me, eyes wide, trembling.

"You saved my life," he said, voice cracking.

I nodded. "Glad I could help."

He looked like he was about to collapse. I caught him, steadying him on his feet.

The war wasn't over. But for now, one more life had been saved.

I guided him carefully through the ruins, keeping my blade close. We had to get back. Back to the others.

I found my comrades waiting.

Julian held Renzo upright. Iris was healing wounds with her light magic. Liam stood silent, watching the horizon.

When they saw me with the minister, hope returned to their eyes.

"We got him," I said simply.

And in that moment, we all stood a little taller.

The city was still broken. The war was far from over.

But for the first time since we arrived in Venice... we had a reason to breathe.

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