Chapter 83: A Hero’s Act, A Hero’s Name, A Hero’s Power

An SUV lay nose-down in the roadside ditch, thick white smoke billowing from its hood. Luke was dragging a companion backward. The man’s feet had been mangled beyond recognition, splintered bone mingling with torn flesh as they left two bloody trails through the mud.

The others had already panicked, their gunfire erupting in ragged bursts. Even with no target visible among the trees, they kept their fingers clamped on the triggers, spraying bullets into the undergrowth and shredding leaves and branches, as though the thing in the woods would spring out the instant the shooting stopped.

But their frantic barrage failed to drive it back. In the next instant, a suffocating wave of malice crashed over them.

Every hair on Luke’s body stood on end. An icy chill engulfed him, and even the hands gripping his companion’s clothes began to tremble.

It was difficult to describe the sensation. A beast killed to feed; an enemy lashed out to vent his hatred. But the malice before them went beyond any ordinary motive. It was evil on the scale of a natural disaster.

What the hell... Where was all this malice coming from?!

He gritted his teeth and kept dragging his companion toward the back of the vehicle. Compared with this overwhelming ferocity, the traces lingering at the campsite had been a mere drop in the ocean.

"My feet... Luke, my feet..." His companion convulsed with pain, both hands locked around Luke’s arms.

Luke dragged him back another few steps until the cold rear of the SUV pressed against his back.

Almost at that same instant, a series of deafening cracks tore through the woods—the groan of trees snapping in half. The dense undergrowth split open, branches and leaves whipping to either side.

A massive, ashen figure burst out of the forest. It showed no instinct to avoid the trees in its path. As its shoulder scraped past an ancient trunk thick enough to encircle with both arms, bark and wood exploded outward, leaving a horrific gouge deep in the exposed timber.

How could flesh and blood possibly stand against something like that?

Bullets continued to rain against its ashen hide, producing dull thuds like rounds striking rotten wood. They drew not so much as a spatter of blood, let alone slowed its charge.

Behind the SUV, the two men struggled through blood-soaked mud. Death was closing around them, cutting off every way out.

"Don’t leave me, Luke..."

For a moment, Luke hated those hands clutching his arms. Every second he spent hauling this dead weight gave the creature another second to catch them.

How well did he even know this man? A handful of commissions had brought them together. A little money. Shared convenience. Since when did that make someone else’s life worth his own?

Every living thing seeks what sustains it and flees what threatens it. The instinct to survive belongs as much to a man as to an animal. The world makes room for those who keep moving; those who fall behind are left to die. Abandoning a burden was simple, sensible arithmetic. Who could blame him? What right would anyone have? Duty, loyalty, obligation—what did any of them matter to the dead? Survival was the one truth that endured.

"Luke..."

The sound of his name jolted him. He met his companion’s eyes.

They were bloodshot, the pupils pinpricks. In them, he could see the pale shape of the creature growing larger with terrifying speed. Its stench was already on the wind.

His companion saw the hesitation in Luke’s face. Saw him thinking about letting go.

"Please..."

Such a small word. Such a feeble thing to set against death.

He had dragged this man so far already. Through the mud, through the pain, until his strength was almost gone. Surely he had done everything anyone could ask of him. If he let go now, who could find fault with that? What guilt would he have to carry, even into the grave? He had given all he had. Anyone else would have abandoned the man long ago.

That was enough, surely.

...

Was it?

The cloth had barely slipped an inch before he caught it again, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white. Without knowing why, he found himself weeping, hot tears rolling down his face to fall silently into the mud.

"Hold on to me."

He dragged his companion onward, heedless now of his own life, each laboring step carrying them deeper into the abyss.

To go willingly into hell—all for the folly of a heart that would not let go.

"People call it foolishness. And yet, when someone defies every reason to save himself and stays to face death, they give that foolishness their highest praise. They call him a hero."

Far from the blood and gunfire, a girl stood barefoot in a boundless field of flowers. Petals drifted around her. Blossoms opened, faded, and fell within moments, while a long wind swept across the field in waves.

[An utter fool.]

The cold voice seemed to come from everywhere.

[He has nothing that can change the outcome. Staying will only exhaust what strength he has left before he dies.]

"I know."

The girl held her hands behind her back, brushing the flowers with the toes of one raised foot. A wry smile touched her lips.

"But that’s mortals for you. The world gives them every reason to look after themselves, and still they find someone to tie themselves to."

[...You seem remarkably interested in these little creatures.]

"They’ve lived upon me for thousands of years," she murmured. "After watching so many generations come and go, I suppose some attachment was inevitable."

White flowers rippled into the distance, until the waves dissolved into the emptiness beyond.

Click.

The last gun ran dry.

Something rushed down behind Luke. A vast shadow swallowed the ground beneath him, and the shapes of five hooked claws stretched across the mud. The hairs on his neck rose.

He bent almost double, hauling his companion forward. His muscles shook. Every step tore through what little strength remained. Against the thing bearing down on them, all that effort bought scarcely a moment.

The roaring grew distant. His senses stretched the final seconds thin, and the whole world seemed to slow around him.

So this was how it ended.

Luke clenched his teeth and forced himself to take another step.

In the field of flowers, the wind fell still.

[You truly intend to intervene?]

"Yes."

[Will he agree?]

"He will." The girl lowered her foot and looked toward the world shrouded in despair and death. "Because—"

WHUMMM—!

A blade rang out, deep as thunder, shattering the stillness.

What was that?

Hot blood struck the back of Luke’s neck and poured down his collar.

THUD!

Something heavy crashed into the ground beside him, throwing up mud and blood. ℯℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

A huge severed arm rolled through the mire. Its claws spasmed against the stones, scraping furrows through the blood-soaked dirt.

Luke stopped with a sharp intake of breath. Still gripping his companion, he looked back.

The Wendigo reeled away, clutching the gaping wound where its arm had been. Its shrieks tore through the air.

A broad figure stood beside it, clad in black scales and dark cloth.

He held a long blade lowered at his side. Blood slid along the edge and dripped into the mud.

Luke could see the faceplate in profile: the sculpted jaw, the firmly closed lips, the eye hidden deep in shadow. There was something austere in that fixed expression, a cold authority that made the creature’s size seem suddenly irrelevant. The Wendigo towered over him, yet it trembled like an animal cornered for slaughter.

The blade rose, its bright point settling on the wounded creature.

A calm voice came from behind the mask.

"Finally. You’ve been a pain to find."

At that same moment, far away among the flowers, the girl finished speaking.

"—he’s a hero."