Darkness enveloped the village like a funeral shroud. The sky had long been obscured by heavy, low clouds, from which a fine icy rain fell. Mud mixed with blood squelched underfoot, and flames burst from the windows of burning houses, devouring the remnants of the old world. Silence hung over the village, pierced only by the cries of the dying and the beastly roars of the shapeshifters. Every corner of this place had become a battlefield, every step could be the last.


    In the deserted courtyard, among the wreckage of carts and broken wooden fences, Malrian stood alone. His sword, covered in blood and dirt, trembled slightly in his hand. Before him on the ground writhed a shapeshifter, already dead but not yet cold. The beast''s claws were broken, and its neck was slashed so cleanly that its head was almost severed. It was their first success in a long night. Malrian breathed heavily, occasionally glancing at the smoldering remains. But his rest was short-lived. Two more emerged from the shadows—ugly, unnatural creatures with huge claws and gleaming eyes. They moved like predators, but their wounds from the recent fight made them more cautious. One of them shot a brief, malicious glance at Malrian and was the first to disappear into the dark silhouette of the barn. The second, hissing, followed, limping but no less dangerous.


    The third shapeshifter seemed determined to fight to the end. It moved slowly, but its growl made the ground tremble. Malrian, tensing his muscles, raised his sword and prepared. But at that moment, a cry came from the side:


    "Malrian, stop! Don''t chase them!"


    Tamion, keeping his enemy at bay, desperately called out to him. But Malrian only exhaled sharply, almost whispering:


    "Nag."


    And he took off. His mind was racing, but his thoughts were focused on one thing—to finish them all. He rushed across the yard, ignoring the mud and cold. The barn was his target, and nothing could stop him.


    Meanwhile, at the other end of the village, Novian moved through the ruins, a heavy axe in his hands. He felt as if enemies lurked around every corner. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breathing grew heavier. Every sound echoed painfully in his ears. He stopped, hearing a rustle, and prepared. A shadow flickered from around the corner. Without thinking, he swung.


    "STOP, NOVIAN! IT''S ME!"


    The shout made him freeze. In the dim light, he saw Kessel. Her eyes were wide open, and her face was twisted with fear.


    "Damn you!" she hissed, stepping back. "Can''t you even see who''s in front of you? You''re a drunk who can''t tell friend from foe!"


    Novian smirked, lowering his axe:


    "With a partner like you, it''s hard not to drink."


    Kessel muttered something angrily but continued forward, shooting him a dark look.


    Kairon, armed with a longsword, stood near the ruins of an old mill. His gaze was cold and focused. He turned to his companions, noticing their argument.


    "Where''s Malrian?" he asked sharply.


    Kessel rolled her eyes but replied:


    "He ran off. As usual."


    Novian added, shaking his head:


    "You won''t believe it, but he decided to be a hero again."


    Kairon frowned:


    "Despite his recklessness, he''s a great warrior. But his laziness and carelessness will kill him one day."


    Novian chuckled, but after a short pause, he said:


    "The ambush at Yominegem... You''d speak differently if you''d seen how he saved my life there. Though he could''ve just left."


    Kairon remained silent, not giving in to emotion. However, their conversation was interrupted by Tamion, who appeared from around the corner. His clothes were stained with blood, and in his hands, he held the severed head of a shapeshifter. Exhaustion was written on his face.


    "I saw Malrian run after them into the barn," he exhaled, breathing heavily. "I tried to stop him, but I was busy with this."


    He lifted the beast''s head, as if confirming his words.


    "We have to go after him, now!"


    The heroes immediately regrouped and ran toward the barn to protect their comrade.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Malrian burst into the barn, his breathing loud and ragged. The darkness inside was thick as tar. The air smelled of rotten hay and stagnant water, and the walls oozed dampness. Malrian slowed his steps, his breathing heavy and uneven. The wounds on his back throbbed, every movement sending a wave of pain through him, but he had no intention of stopping. Ahead, a silhouette flickered—tall, slender, with a sword at its side. In the dim moonlight filtering through the cracks in the boards, he recognized the familiar figure.


    "Tamion? Did you decide to join me after all?" Malrian smirked, taking a few steps forward. His voice was calm, almost cheerful, though his hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of his sword. "I thought you''d left me to deal with these bastards alone."


    The silhouette remained silent, swaying slightly as if unsteady. Malrian paid no attention. He was too exhilarated by his victory, too confident that the shapeshifters no longer posed a threat.


    "Alright, listen, don''t just stand there like a statue. I''m out here doing all the work while you lot don''t even cover my back! But you know what? I don''t mind. Admit it, Tamion, you''re lucky to have me. I''m your best warrior. When I finish off these beasts, the first thing I''ll do is make you all drink to my health. And yes, it''s on me!"


    Malrian laughed, his voice echoing off the barn walls. He took a couple more steps and suddenly froze. Something about the silhouette had changed. His eyes narrowed, and a shadow of suspicion crossed his face. "Tamion" stood too still, his form distorted, almost unnatural. Malrian squinted, and at that moment, the moon slipped from behind a cloud, illuminating part of the figure''s face.


    A half-transformed shapeshifter stood before him, clad in twisted, battered armor. Its face was grotesque—one side human, with smooth skin and a short beard, resembling the village elder. The other side was burned, with a missing eye, torn flesh, and bared fangs. The creature had tried to transform fully, but something—perhaps its strength—had failed it.


    Malrian froze. His brain registered the mistake in a split second. The creature roared and struck with a claw as sharp as a blade. The claw pierced Malrian''s stomach, forcing him to double over in pain. But he managed to react—his sword sliced through the air, cutting deep into the shapeshifter''s neck. The creature let out a gurgling cry but didn''t fall. It staggered, wheezing, but remained standing.


    And then, from behind, came the sound of footsteps. The second shapeshifter—less wounded but no less dangerous—had crept up unnoticed. Malrian felt the blow to his back. Claws tore through his skin and muscles, piercing him clean through. The warrior fell to his knees, his sword clattering to the wooden floor.


    "How did you... transform?" Malrian rasped, staring into the eyes of the first shapeshifter. His voice was weak, filled with pain and confusion.


    The shapeshifter grinned, spitting out thick, dark saliva:


    "We''ve completed the first part of the ritual. Times are changing, traveler."


    The second shapeshifter, standing behind him, added quietly:


    "But I''ll honor your request."


    It leaned closer to Malrian''s ear, its voice dripping with venomous mockery:


    "I''ll make sure your team drinks to you... at your funeral."


    The creature bared its teeth in a vile grin, and the final blow was precise. The claw''s blade sliced through Malrian''s throat. He tried to breathe, but his strength left him. The last thing he saw before his face hit the cold wooden floor was their backs. The shapeshifters left the barn, leaving him to die alone.


    When the others reached the barn, they were met with an eerie silence. Tamion was the first to open the doors, his sword at the ready. But inside, they found only a scene of death. The body of one shapeshifter lay against the wall, and beside it was Malrian, his eyes open but lifeless.


    Kessel froze, then abruptly covered her face with her hands, as if trying to hide her emotions. Her voice broke into a hysterical whisper:


    "Why didn''t he listen?! Why?!"


    Her fists clenched, and she shot a furious glare at Kairon, as if he were to blame. Her eyes burned with anger and pain.


    Novian silently approached Malrian''s body. He knelt, gripping his hand, but couldn''t bring himself to speak. His vision blurred, and his face trembled. For him, it was like losing a brother.


    Tamion stood to the side, his hands still stained with blood from the earlier fight. He lowered his gaze to the floor, his expression tense. He clenched his teeth and whispered almost inaudibly:


    "Fool..."


    Kairon, on the other hand, remained cold. His gaze was that of a strategist assessing losses. He stepped forward, examined Malrian''s body, then the shapeshifter''s, and said loudly:


    "Take Malrian''s body. The others too. We move on."


    "The others have names too!" Kessel shouted sharply, her voice trembling with anger.


    Kairon didn''t turn around, his tone icy:


    "Then take care of their gravestones."


    Tamion, gripping his sword hilt, stepped forward, pointing the blade at Kairon:


    "Now''s not the time for your sarcastic remarks."


    Kairon calmly looked at him:


    "Now''s not the time to waste it. The shapeshifters are already far ahead."


    Tamion hesitated for a moment, then lowered his sword:


    "What''s next?"


    Kairon nodded toward the exit:


    "We''ll figure out the plan as we go."


    They set off in pursuit. Kessel and Novian remained by Malrian''s body, unable to move. For them, this wasn''t just a loss—it was a victory for death.