Pavi

The cat of the plains holds his staff, and steels his resolve. He remembers when he was young, and quick to anger. Now, in his older wisdom, he stands and watches the world. The battles he saw were those of mortals that deign to be gods. Only defeat, and death, showed their theses for the lies they were. Control was fleeting, and victory never came easy.

In the woods, barely hiding among the sparse trees, the reluctant soldier waited for the monsters to come. When they did, he would issue his quick, precise judgment on the back of their fragile necks. For now, it was only him, and his sword, and his racing thoughts. He thought of landscapes that he missed so dearly, ones he took for granted when he lived in peace. When was the last time he truly enjoyed the sense of sand between his toes, of ripples under his soles? These were so simple, and he ignored them. But now they haunted him.

The front was in the steppes but weeks ago. Horrors populated the warzone. Beings never known have come to be. Each new paradigm brought new distortions of what was real, what was good. Machines of war march along, and those who call themselves people egg them on.

The abomination walked by, indifferent to its surroundings. Time to strike! The veteran combatant leapt from behind, delivered a single blow, and stood over the still, vanquished body.

Just then, he heard the rustles of the enemy, the real opponents. Three vampires, devout followers of their corrupt despot. The irony of his hatred was not lost on him—the crown he served was no less undeserving—yet seeing the blood on their chin and lips made him certain that there was something, anything at all, that separated their cause with his. He looked upon the proud brow of an enemy officer, who calmly drew and brandished his weapon.

“Surrender. You shall be detained, and offered full protection.”

Protection? Was that what they called it? The stories he heard were gruesome, and chilled him then. Would the fate those tales described be his? No. He put his sword away, and raised his hands. Slowly. All the while, he cast the spell he learned some years ago, when he was yet an adventurer.

No fear of death's oblivion persists. Arise, and see the light. Stand up, and fight.

As the spiny being that he had destroyed came back to life, its master thought of the sunset he saw on the way here. It was all he could do to not close his eyes and stay in that scene, forever.