Instinct taking over, Devon moved off the path, dropping into a crouch. He advanced slowly, using every piece of undergrowth and shadow for cover. The sound of a crackling fire and low voices eventually reached him, confirming the presence of people.
He crept toward a large, dark oak-like tree near the perimeter of the camp. With practiced ease, he gripped the rough bark and began to climb, moving silently into the high canopy. He settled on a thick, stable branch, the tree's leaves providing a natural blind. From this vantage point, he had a clear, unobstructed view of the camp.
The camp itself was minimal. A small, haphazard pile of gear sat beside a lean-to of stretched canvas and branches. The fire, built in a shallow pit, threw light onto the two men and their captives.
The first man was broad-shouldered and dressed in patched leather. He had a scarred face and a sword resting across his lap.
The second man was thinner, wiry, and carried himself with a more rigid posture. He wore robes beneath a canvas cloak, beside him rested on a tall, dark wooden staff that was banded with metal near the tip.
Directly behind the two men, tethered to a nearby tree, were 3 humanoids, clearly not human. They were connected by a single, heavy chain that ran through rough metal collars around their necks and wrists. They looked utterly miserable, their bodies thin and gaunt, shivering visibly from either the evening chill or the terror these two men had most likely inflected upon them.
"System," Devon whispered, "The captives. What species are they?"
[Query acknowledged. Analysis of nearby sentient lifeforms:]
[Canids: The two figures with gray-brown fur and lupine features are Canids. This race is known for its strength and loyalty, often targeted for manual labor or use as specialized scouts and soldiers. They possess enhanced senses of smell and hearing.
Cervid: The figure with small antlers is a Cervid. This race is renowned for its exceptional speed and endurance, making them excellent messengers and long-distance runners. They are highly sought after, but also tragically valued for their meat, which is considered a delicacy among many Human elites.]
Devon watched the Cervid shift, trying to hide her face in the shoulder of one of the Canids. The knowledge that he was witnessing a common, profitable atrocity hardened his resolve for what he knew he had to do next.
The System's cold facts about the Cervid being valued both for speed and as a delicacy twisted the knot in his stomach. He was far from home, stripped of his old life, yet humans were just as vile here as they were on earth, maybe even moreso.
He thought of his own miserable existence on Earth. He had been down, hungry, and helpless. No one had ever risked anything for him. No one had stepped in when he needed help. Could he truly live with himself, knowing he had the power to stop this, only to slink away into the night? The memory of his family's kindness, however brief, warred with the lifetime of cold indifference he had faced. He couldn't be like the indifferent people of his past.
Devon made his choice: he would not retreat.
The two men were discussing their haul, their voices low.
"The Human cities pay well for the runners," the swordsman said, looking back at the shivering Cervid. "We'll get at least fifty silver for the lot of them at the main market. Enough for a few weeks in the city and a new blade."
The mage scoffed. "Fifty is low. The Cervid alone is worth that. The master chef at the Southern Gate is always looking for new stock. He'd pay a premium for her."
The swordsman leaned forward. "I haven't had Cervid meat in a while, and we don't want to risk transporting her the whole way only to have the chef lowball us. We should mark her up." He picked up a small, wicked-looking knife from beside his seat. "Maybe just a small taste. Prove the meat is fresh and tender. That'll up the price."
The mage, fingers absentmindedly tapping his staff spoke. "The blood might attract some unwanted attention. It's not worth the risk tonight. We keep the stock clean and quiet. We'll sample her after we make the sale. Put the knife away."
The swordsman grumbled but tossed the knife aside. The Cervid, hearing the words, pressed herself into the side of the Canid next to her, letting out a faint whimper.
Devon remained motionless in the oak, his eyes locked on the swordsman's knife. The man's suggestion of "testing the meat" had solidified Devon's decision. He had to act.
The conversation drifted, the men complaining about the harshness of the road and the lack of decent liquor in the settlements they passed.
"Roads getting worse every season," the swordsman grumbled, tossing a twig onto the embers.
The mage shrugged, leaning his staff against a rock. "More chaos means more need for guards, and more money for us. The Human cities are the only safe place left, and we control who gets in." He yawned deeply. "I'm turning in. Need my rest if we're going to push hard at dawn."
The swordsman extinguished the fire with a slosh of water, and both men retreated into their tent.
The two Canids were motionless, their bodies curled tight against the chill. He couldn't tell if the Cervid was awake, but he saw no movement from her.
After what felt like an hour and the camp had settled into silence, Devon began his move. He slowly descended the thick trunk of the oak, making sure his boots found purchase on the bark without dislodging a single leaf or twig.
Once on the forest floor, he became a shadow. He moved with the practiced stealth of a scavenger, placing his weight only on soft moss and dirt, circling wide around the perimeter of the camp. Every nerve ending was on high alert, listening for any shift in the sleeping men's breathing or the slight jingle of the captives' chains.
He reached a position ten feet from the tent, kneeling low behind a bush. He couldn't see the men, but he could hear their heavy, rhythmic snoring.
Taking a deep breath, Devon focused his energy. He quickly materialized a fist-sized Void Sphere. He held his focus steady and then, without hesitation, propelled the dark, silent sphere directly through the thin canvas wall. He pushed the thought of the horrific, slicing effect out of his mind.
The sphere plunged into the tent, the heavy snoring was abruptly replaced by nothing.
Then, a sudden scream erupted from the tent, followed by the violent shredding of canvas.
The swordsman burst out of the lean-to, tearing the remaining tent material to ribbons as he lunged into the open. He was alive but hideously wounded. His right arm was gone, cleanly erased just below the shoulder where the Void Sphere had clipped him. Blood streamed down his side. His face was a mask of shock and fury. He looked around wildly, his eyes struggling to pierce the gloom for any sign of their attacker.
Devon didn't hesitate. He thrust his hand forward, quickly conjuring and launching a second Void Sphere.
The swordsman reacted with impossible speed. Despite his gruesome injury, he spun, using the momentum to dodge the dark projectile by mere inches. The sphere flew harmlessly into the forest behind him.
With a roar of pain and blind rage, the swordsman charged. He was fast, closing the distance in three terrifying strides, his remaining hand gripping his sword. The weapon swung low and fast, a horizontal arc aimed to cut Devon in two. Devon twisted away, the sharp steel missing his body by a hair.
The attacker was relentless. Missing an arm did nothing to slow his pursuit. Panic seized Devon, a cold terror overriding all his careful planning and practice. He was exhausted, he was exposed, and his training failed. He managed to dodge two more swings, but the next one was moving towards him at a blinding speed.
Devon stumbled, and the sword found purchase, biting deep into his left forearm.
A bolt of pain erupted through Devon's arm. He cried out, scrambling backward as the swordsman advanced, the blade lifted high for a killing blow. Devon was exhausted, exposed, and now bleeding heavily. Panic seized him, a cold terror overriding everything. He knew he couldn't dodge the next strike.
"NO!" he screamed, abandoning all control. A primal terror overcame him and the Void Field erupted out from him as a devastating wave of distorted space centered directly in front of himself.
The swordsman, mid-swing, slammed into the field. The effect was immediate and catastrophic. His body was crushed, imploded by the localized gravitational force. The sight was horrific, reducing the man to a mangled mess that fell to the dirt with a sickening thud.
The immense, sudden drain on his energy reserves was too much. The world swam violently, turning black at the edges. Devon felt all the energy drain from him in an instant. He had just enough time for his mind to register the final, brutal confirmation.
[Combat Log: Entity Designation "Human Slave Trader (Mage)" Neutralized. Void Energy Reserves Greatly Increased.] [Combat Log: Entity Designation "Human Slave Trader (Swordsman)" Neutralized. Void Energy Reserves Increased.]
The weight of the two kills, and the final terrifying lack of control, was the last thing Devon knew before he pitched forward and collapsed, unconscious, onto forest floor.