Chapter 37: The Price of One's Own Arrogance
Year 0002, XII Month: The Imperium
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A Losing Battle
The battle at the village gate had raged for hours. What began as a stalemate shattered when Christopher stepped into the vanguard role, relieving the grievously wounded Jonathan.
Jonathan had made defending the front line look effortless when Christopher observed from the rear. Now, standing where Jonathan had stood, Christopher marveled at how the man had endured for so long without a single complaint. They'd been forced to physically pull him back when his wounds became too severe to ignore.
The children fighters were also nearing exhaustion. Red and Erik had depleted their quivers long ago and descended to join the melee, lending their strength to the desperate defenders. Their efforts hadn't been in vain—they'd managed to slay three of the massive Grimfangs and critically wound two more that now lay on blood-soaked earth, clinging to the final threads of their existence.
But one remained. Standing proud and terrible before them, its silver-gray fur matted with blood both its own and that of the defenders, its eyes burning with primal hatred.
The atmosphere shifted as the remaining Grimfang's aura changed palpably. With a guttural howl that chilled the blood of even the bravest defenders, it launched into a desperate, suicidal charge. The beast crashed through their line like a battering ram, sending Christopher and the others flying backward through the gate.
The impact shattered Christopher's shield and the bones beneath—his arms and ribcage splintered with sickening cracks. Several defenders were knocked unconscious immediately. Christopher's vision darkened momentarily, and when awareness returned, blood cascaded down his face, blurring his sight. Through crimson haze, he could make out the Grimfang standing triumphantly atop a fallen body.
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A Burning Star
Jonathan had rushed back into battle when he saw their front line collapse. With paternal instinct overriding his pain, he'd managed to catch his daughter Gel before she struck the ground. Placing her gently aside, he reclaimed his battered shield and notched sword, focusing his remaining strength on the monster before him.
He could feel death's cold breath on his neck. Despite this—or perhaps because of it—he channeled his dwindling life force into one final stand. A man who accepts his mortality often shines brightest in his final moments, like a star that flares magnificently before extinction.
Jonathan released a mighty roar that echoed across the battlefield, challenging the beast that stood before him. Gel watched in horror as her father charged recklessly towards the beast, a certain death. Without hesitation, she seized her spear and rushed to stand beside him, determined that if this was to be their end, they would face it together.
The other defenders struggled to regain consciousness or find their footing, too distant to intervene in time.
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A Price To Pay
The wolf, arrogant in its dominance, merely swatted Jonathan to the ground with contemptuous ease. Jonathan crumpled beneath its massive paw, bones cracking under the pressure as the beast pinned him down. But his sacrifice created the opening Gel needed.
With precision born of desperation, she drove her spear deep into the Grimfang's left eye. The metal point pierced with a sickening sound, eliciting a howl of agony from the beast. It recoiled instinctively, releasing Jonathan from its deadly grasp.
Gel seized the moment to drag her father's broken form away from immediate danger, tears streaming down her dirt-smeared face as she whispered prayers to gods she wasn't sure were listening.
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The Arrival of The Hero
In the distance, August finally reached the bottom of the hill looking upwards where the village walls were placed. His life force had reached a critical threshold, activating his hidden ability—the TITLE—which doubled his HP REGENERATION and began healing his gravely damaged vital organs.
Through pain-narrowed eyes, he witnessed the defenders' line shattered, the remaining Grimfang standing victorious amid the chaos. Panic surged through him as he abandoned the beast he'd been dragging, reopening the deep wounds across his back. The fresh pain made him grit his teeth so hard he tasted blood, but he pushed forward regardless.
As the Grimfang prepared to maul Gel, who stood protectively over Jonathan's broken body, August's voice tore through the air.
"HEEEEEYYYYYY!!!!"
With the last of his strength, he loosed his remaining arrows in rapid succession. They found their mark, embedding deeply in the beast's back and drawing its attention away from the girl and her father.
The Grimfang whirled to face this new threat, its remaining eye blazing with berserk fury. In its maddened state, rational thought had abandoned it, leaving only primal instinct and the directive to silence the hateful war cry that challenged its dominance.
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The Final Battle
The surviving defenders had regained consciousness and rallied, taking up their weapons once more. They converged on the gate, finding August—blood streaming from numerous wounds—engaged in mortal combat with the remaining beast.
With coordinated precision born from weeks of fighting and training together, they launched a multipronged attack. Some sliced through the tendons in the beast's legs while others drove spears into its flanks. The Grimfang howled and thrashed, but each wound slowed it further.
August, summoning the last dregs of his strength, seized the moment of vulnerability and drove his short sword up through the beast's jaw and into its brain. The Grimfang froze, its remaining eye widening in what almost looked like surprise, before it crumpled to the blood-soaked earth.
As the beast fell, so too did August collapse, his body utterly spent. Only his enhanced regeneration kept the spark of life flickering within his battered form.
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In the End What was the Price of Victory?
Victory had been purchased at a terrible cost. The defenders methodically dispatched the wounded Grimfangs that still clung to life, ensuring no threat remained. The arrogant beasts had underestimated human resilience and courage in the face of annihilation, and paid for that miscalculation with their lives.
Among the defenders, the toll was grave. Jonathan and August hovered at death's threshold, sustained only by stubborn will. Christopher, though grievously wounded, would survive, as would most of the others who had fought at the back of the front line.
The critically injured were rushed to the longhouse where Theressa and her children emerged from hiding. Seeing the two men on the brink of death, Theressa immediately ordered preparations to staunch their bleeding wounds.
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The Price of Victory and Survival
An hour passed as they worked desperately to save the wounded. August's injuries were closing at an astonishing rate during the first critical minutes—a mystery that would have to wait for another day. He had stabilized, no longer in immediate danger though far from healed.
Jonathan's condition remained dire. Despite his legendary durability and indomitable spirit, the injuries he had sustained were catastrophic. Without the supernatural assistance of the system that aided August, his mortal body struggled against overwhelming odds.
Theressa's eyes brimmed with tears as she contemplated the burden of what must be said. She could hardly bear to tell Gel that she might lose her remaining parent so soon after her mother's passing. Yet the truth could not be avoided.
With a heavy heart, she embraced the girl who had fought so valiantly beside her father.
"Angel, sweet girl," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Your father... he is very strong... but... you have to prepare yourself for the worst..."
In the silence that followed, only the shallow, labored breathing of the wounded could be heard—a testament to both the fragility and the remarkable endurance of the human spirit in the face of overwhelming odds.