Ashes Of the Führer

Two months before winter...

Two weeks after the meeting...

"We're almost at the village," Leon called out, his voice echoing off the valley walls.

A younger scout jogged beside the lead wagon, tapping the curled edge of his map. "Sir, we've still got twenty miles left, according to this."

Leon shook his head. "Close enough. Just keep the wagons moving. No slipping into mud or rolling off the mountain."

The scout nodded quickly and ran toward the rear.

They weren't walking on any man-made road. The path they followed was a rough trail worn into the mountainside, shaped more by rain and time than by tools. Uneven, narrow, and full of rocks and roots, it twisted downward through the cliffs like an old scar.

Around them, the Quadrumontés loomed high, sharp peaks covered in snow while the lower slopes gave way to steep pine ridges. Below, the Larrák Valley stretched wide—still distant, just a hazy green patch through breaks in the trees.

Five guards marched alongside the wagons, clad in iron armor that clanked softly with each step. Spears in hand, short swords at their sides, they kept their eyes on the cliffs above and the trail ahead. Every now and then, one of them would glance back, making sure no wheel cracked and no cart tipped on the slope.

The wheels creaked—old wood, iron-bound, straining under the weight of grain and gear. The oxen trudged forward, snorting, hooves dragging through the dirt and rock. The whole line moved slow but steady, carved through mountain silence like a blade through fog.

A piercing scream tore through the thin mountain air.

"What was that?" Leon spun toward the rear wagons—only to feel his blood chill.

Silhouetted against the cliff wall stood a creature nearly ten feet tall. Gray, rubber-slick skin stretched over corded muscle; two curved white horns jutted from its skull like broken scythes. Its forearms ended in wicked two-inch claws that flexed and scraped the rock. Yellow eyes burned through the mist.

"Where are the guards?" someone yelled.

No time. Leon vaulted off the nearest cart, boots skidding on gravel. His sword slid free with a hiss, the steel catching what little light filtered through the pines. Combat had been a distant memory—yet the old flame roared back to life.

Five armored guards closed ranks with him, shields raising. The beast roared, a guttural blast that rattled cart boards. Then it charged.

Crash—its first swipe split a shield in half and flung the bearer sideways. The man hit a boulder, spine first, and slumped—alive, but limp. Leon ducked under the second swipe and slashed upward, scoring a shallow line across the creature's thigh. Gray flesh parted, black blood splattering the dirt.

"Flank it!" Leon barked.

Two guards obeyed, spears darting for the beast's ribs. One connected, but the shaft snapped like kindling. The monster's backhand caught the spearman square in the chest; iron plates crumpled inward with a sickening crunch. The guard toppled, unmoving, eyes wide to the sky.

Leon felt the loss like a hammer, but he drove forward. He feinted high, then hacked low, carving across the beast's knee. Another guard seized the opening and plunged his blade into the creature's side. The monster howled, whirling—its horned head smashed the soldier aside, sending him airborne. The man slammed into the cliff face and crumpled, unconscious.

Three left—Leon and two guards—circling, blades dripping.

The beast limped now, black blood pooling under its wounded leg. Leon saw the weakness. "Hamstring it!"

He darted in, sword whipping in a tight arc. The edge bit deep behind the creature's knee—tendon snapping like wet rope. The monster buckled, one leg folding. A guard seized the moment, chopping at the other knee. With a thunderous groan, the giant dropped to both legs, chest heaving, claws flailing in wild arcs.

Leon kicked a discarded spear haft against its claws, buying a heartbeat. Then he stepped in close—so close he smelled the sour stench of its breath—and drove his sword straight down between the horns. Steel punched through hide, skull, and brain. The beast convulsed, a final shudder rippling through its massive frame…then sagged forward, impaled to the earth.

Silence rushed back, broken only by the labored breathing of the living.

One guard knelt beside the fallen comrade—no pulse. The other staggered to the unconscious man by the cliff. Alive, but out cold.

Leon wiped black gore from his blade, chest rising and falling in steady, measured breaths. Years away from battle hadn't dulled him; the fire still burned—and in this valley, it would have to burn hotter than ever.

"Secure the wounded," he ordered, voice low but steady. "And haul this carcass off the trail. We move before more of its kind catch the scent."

Wooden wheels creaked back into motion, the convoy inching past the slain brute. High above, the peaks watched in stony silence as men and oxen resumed their crawl toward the village—blood and black ichor marking the path they carved through the mountains.