He walked amongst a path. The smell of burning wood mingled with delicious, charred flesh, the scent of blood lingering in the air. He took a deep breath, his hands clasped behind his back.

Ah, how delicious.

His eyes took in the beautiful sight before him. Broken buildings spilled onto the cracked pathways - jagged shards of stone, burning wood, and smoke. Then, something splintered above him.

“Oops.” He gracefully sidestepped the burning pillar of wood, but in doing so, he stepped on something squishy.

“Uhhh…help…help me…”

It was the upper body of a charred man. Not a single bit of him remained uncarbonized, like a severely overcooked chicken. He took in the particularly captivating smell of char the man’s body emanated, followed by a rich scent of blood. Looking lower, he found the man to have lost everything below his waist.

Blood, guts, and other innards of the human body lay strewn behind him in a trail. I assume he crawled from somewhere? It made sense for the human to crawl this way, as the town’s entrance was only a few feet behind him.

“Your tenacity to live inspires me. You are the only soul to survive. A shame that you were too weak.” He crouched.  

“Do you wish to live?”

“Yes….” The body moaned.

“I can help you. Promise me you will never be complacent. Promise me you’ll never remain weak again.”

“I...promise…” The man weakly moaned. He held no anger, sadness, or fear in his voice – he only longed to live. Good. Very good.

He reached out with his lanky, red arm. It was smooth without fault – save for the blood of Braedon Town’s citizens dripping from it – to the point of unnaturalness. He had five fingers but sharpened, cone-like ends replaced the tips. He also had an extra joint near the tip to better grasp objects – for example, corpses – that acted as a replacement for the lack of flat finger ends.

“Henceforth, your purpose is to garner your strength. You must obey my command, striving for greatness whilst eliminating the sinners who refuse to become strong.”

“For you have fought and overcome the pestilence of weakness, I shall grant you the strength of a wyvern.” He poked into the man’s head. Blood and brain matter leaked out, but he injected even more blood into it. Moments later, he took his finger out.

At first, nothing happened. The man continued to moan and groan in satisfying bursts of pain, but suddenly, he trembled. Then, he trembled again. And then, he began trembling violently as if something were trying to escape its body.

Good. Very good. It’s working as expected.

The man screamed horrifically, his guttural screams plaguing the air. The man writhed about, screaming for help, but he refused to aid him. Through his own strength must he prevail.

The man squeezed the ground tightly, grabbing onto the soil poking its way through the broken stone path. Tears streamed from him despite his charred eyes. The man emanated agony on a primordial level. How delightful.

Suddenly, the man’s lower body began to grow. Skin, flesh, bone, and muscle grew at an astonishing rate until his legs were fully grown – but instead of regular, ivory skin, his skin was a bright red, like tomato juice. A similar process occurred on his upper body, and soon enough, the man was fully healed, but with many differences.

Attached to his arms were wings, his hands remaining at the end. A winding, barbed tail grew from his back and curled, black horns grew from his head. A draconic mouth lined with razor-sharp teeth replaced his human mouth, and a two-foot-long tongue flopped out. Its merlot-red scales stopped at the base of his short, brown hair. The man’s ears had also been replaced by draconic ears as well.

What a terrific artifact. Its capabilities never cease to amaze me. He looked at his hand, placing it on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. But along with it was the ever-so-faint whir of the artifact that had attached itself to his heart over ten years ago.

It rose. No longer was he a man, but something better – a half-wyvern. It looked at the sky, the ground, its sides, and finally at him. It then bowed on one knee.

“I greet the savior.” His voice was soft and soothing yet contained a terribly evil undertone.

“You will hover above the skies, observing the devastation I bring with utmost pleasure. Henceforth, your name shall be Corpsewatcher.” His arm cut across the air, declaring to the universe the appointment of his newest general.

“Corpsewatcher thanks the master for this name.” Corpsewatcher placed a hand on his heart and rose. “But, master, may I have the pleasure of hearing your name.”

“My name is…”

“Bloodstar, we’ve checked the area. Everyone’s dead. Fucking weaklings, the lot of them. They deserved to die.” A woman with two flaming wings that retracted into her body appeared from around the corner of a massive pile of rubble. Her fiery red hair matched the crown growing from her glabella and splitting into two sharp parts. Orange feathers of a similar hue to her hair covered the undersides of her arms and legs and completely covered her back. The rest of her skin resembled a human’s yet had a faint, orange undertone – a half-phoenix. She possessed a striking beauty that had resulted in countless men losing their minds over her.

It is by fate’s will that my name not be revealed through my own vocals, it seems.

“We must not use such crude and unrefined language, Bruisefury. Have I not taught you such?” Bloodstar frowned in displeasure.

“Oh, whatever, you’re such a stickler for words like that. I can’t imagine speaking with such respect like you do all the time.”

She remains one with zero respect. But it matters not, for her strength is sufficient. Of course, it has to be grown – it always has to be grown.

Bloodstar cared not for tone – she had the right to speak however she pleased, as she had garnered the strength to do so. Naturally, she was far from reaching his own strength, so he could punish her if he so wished. Yet Bloodstar never took offense with her attitude – he found no benefit nor pleasure in holding such a petty attitude.

Bloodstar remained silent as he turned around. Another one of his beloved Disciples had appeared.

“Darkfinger greets the venerated Master Bloodstar.” Another woman descended from the sky but bowed immediately upon landing. Unlike her name, she had waist-length, silver-white hair tied in multiple braids that began at her chin level. Her skin contained a dark-blue undertone with blood-red swirls and other such patterns, both of which described her curved wings. Elongated ears took the place of regular human ears – a dark elf. She wore an extremely revealing outfit that covered just the necessities and nothing more. Her eyes were red like the spilled blood of her enemies.

Quite contrary to Bruisefury, Darkfinger possesses too much respect for me.

Bloodstar could tell from the fervent expression in her eyes – present from the day he transformed her – that she loved him. But he possessed no inclination to return the emotion.

After all, while love beckons strength, it hinders the long-term accumulation of it. I shall not reciprocate those feelings for the sake of her growth and mine. I only pray that her current feelings for me do not hinder her present growth.

Bloodstar only hummed in response to her greeting. He then gracefully introduced Corpsewatcher with his outstretched arm.

“You have gained a junior brother who now goes by the name Corpsewatcher. He was the sole survivor of this cleansing, so I have granted him the chance to pursue new heights.”

“I shall be in your care, senior sisters.” Corpsewatcher executed a perfect 90-degree bow. Bruisefury and Darkfinger (who had already gotten up) raised an eyebrow at the newcomer.

“You may test his strength later. Contact the other two; we are leaving. Investigators will appear soon. The time to stand in valiant battle against them has yet to come. But I ask for your faith when I say the time shall very soon be nigh.” Bloodstar turned around, hands clasped behind his back, and sauntered forward. His upper body was straight as a tree, and his lanky legs pushed forward in an arrogant stride. His powerful, wide steps oozed with primordial apathy towards all life.

He sensed the other three walking behind him. Despite having the ability to fly, they never exceeded Bloodstar and followed him subserviently. He never commanded them to – they chose to do it willingly. Glancing at the two women, Corpsewatcher followed their actions.

He learns quickly. Very good.

The sound of splintering wood and crumbling stone came from next to Bloodstar.

“Oh my.”

The two-story building adjacent to him came crashing down. Unfazed, Bloodstar slowly pulled out the scythe slung across his back over his shoulder. Its night-black color glistened dangerously in the evening sky. It radiated a cruel, red glow, hungering for blood and violence. Three additional short blades were attached below the main blade. If he happened to overshoot his swing, the smaller blades would ensure his opponent’s gruesome death.

Bloodstar casually executed a diagonal slash. The air seemed to scream. It cried in pain as a wave of crescent-shaped darkness erased the rubble from existence. It screamed even more, like a banshee. But it wasn’t just the air – the ground, the debris, the very molecules in existence screamed in delicious agony. Bloodstar took a deep breath, reveling in the nightmarish cries.

It all came to an end when he slung the weapon back. Cut off from the flow of mana within his manacore, the scythe went dormant like a satiated beast. But it was far from satiated. It could never be satiated. It existed for endless slaughter, endless pain. Never would Bloodstar allow it to be dry, unstained by blood.

“As expected, Master’s power is unfathomable.” Corpsewatcher’s smile stretched from ear to ear, obviously ecstatic from Bloodstar’s display of strength. Bloodstar merely smiled.

“This is far from enough. There is never enough. Only from the endless pursuit of strength can I find purpose in life.” He advised Corpsewatcher. “Always grow your strength and never be satisfied with your current position.”

“I will take your words to heart, Master.” He cupped his hands and bowed.

They walked at a leisurely pace, unconcerned with the surrounding devastation. But as they walked, Bloodstar grew more curious at Corpsewatcher’s attitude.

“Do you not feel resentment towards me? I slaughtered the town you once grew within. Your family, friends, and lover have perished.” Without stopping his walking, Bloodstar glanced back to look at Corpsewatcher.

He remained silent as if organizing his thoughts. His fingers nervously drummed against his leg, and his head remained down. He fears offending me and receiving retaliation in return.

“You need not be afraid, Corpsewatcher. I do not take offense to thoughts. Speak freely in my presence, for I am not one to force my mannerisms on others; I only suggest.”

Bloodstar’s words seemed to ignite confidence within Corpsewatcher, and he spoke.

“Master, I am an orphan. I never knew my parents; I had no siblings or friends. I was bullied and beaten for my differences, called useless and weak. The town treated me like scum that was to be discarded. Even still, I hoped their attitudes would change one day if I worked hard enough. I sought their approval, but alas, it was a fruitless endeavor. I was a dreg of society, forced to clean up after their messes, subserviently accepting their abuse, and having my trust betrayed by them far too many times to count.” Corpsewatcher smiled, happiness radiating from his very being.

“When you attacked, a group of bastards was beating me. No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn’t hope to beat five people. Then, one of the buildings exploded, crushing them and me beneath the rubble. They were immediately smashed to paste while my lower body was cleanly torn off. It was horrifically painful.” He shuddered as he recalled the pain. “I asked myself what I did to deserve this life. First, my life had no good qualities to it, but then my death had to be in the most excruciating of ways. I cursed the world for giving this pathetic life.”

Corpsewatcher then stopped and bowed so low his head touched the floor. The sound of a muffled sob came from his voice.

“But then, you appeared, Master. You offered me everything I wanted. It was only then I realized it – my purpose in life was to serve you. I am your blade; I am your watcher. I will abide by your will and watch with pleasure as you slaughter the populace and catalyze rivers of blood and mountains of corpses!” Corpsewatcher lifted his head from the ground, fell to one knee, and slammed a fist against his heart. “I am yours to command, Master!”

This…this…!

Bloodstar threw his head back and cackled. The pure, maniacal laughter felt so good – it was so natural. He was elated. No, he was ecstatic because of his new Disciple.

“Good! Good! Very good! I accept your loyalty.” Bloodstar walked up to the kneeling Corpsewatcher and extended an arm.

“From now on, you are a Disciple. Together, let us leave rivers of blood and mountains of corpses in the pursuit of strength!”  

Corpsewatcher accepted the hand. They eventually exited the town. When they began making their way into the mountain range, Bloodstar turned. He unslung his scythe for a second time and took a deep breath.

He bent his knees and jumped tens of meters into the air with a boom. When at the peak, Bloodstar aimed at the center of town and shot down.

“Return back to the land whence you came from.”

Bloodstar slammed his scythe into the ground with a supersonic boom. The ground quaked as waves of darkness engulfed the town’s perimeter. Screams plagued the night. Anguish resonated in the air. Then, it ended. When the darkness receded, all that remained was Bloodstar standing in the center, ruptured, upheaved ground surrounding him. The only evidence of the town’s existence was piles of rubble and scorch marks, everything else rendered into primordial ash that filled the air with a gray, smoke-scented haze.

“Let us proceed.” Bloodstar slung the scythe back and proceeded into the mountain range, followed by his Disciples. He looked back one more time.

“Axer Vasilios, I eagerly await our battle.”