Ashes Of the Führer

"Crunch. Crunch. Crunch."The footsteps of boots broke the thin sheets of solid snow.

"I don't see anything out here, Leon" I continued. "And we've been searching for hours," I muttered, scanning the treeline.

"They only attacked us twice during our travels to the village, Mein Führer," Leon explained. "We killed them both times. Also during these attacks they never traveled in groups either. They seem to wander alone — makes them harder to track."

"Maybe they're sparse in population," I replied, though even I didn't believe it.

"Mein Führer!" one of the soldiers shouted from ahead.

I turned sharply. "What is it?"

"I've found a cave. There are bones inside—human, by the look of it."

"Really?" I muttered under my breath.

Leon and I moved forward, boots crunching against the uneven snow. The rest of the unit followed — nine soldiers in total, armored in furs and chainmail, swords sheathed at their sides. Only I carried a rifle, the weight of it pressing against my back with each step. The bullets at my hip clinked softly as we descended through the trees.

The soldier was already waving us over. "Over here," he called, pointing toward a dark split in the mountainside.

The cave mouth was angled sharply, like a gash torn into the earth — not wide, but enough to permit entry single-file. Snow had gathered at the edge, but the stone beneath was rough and dry. Slanted, but not slick. Navigable.

As we neared the entrance, the air grew colder — not from the wind, but something else. A kind of stillness. A quiet too complete.

Leon stepped beside me, eyes narrowed. "You smell that?"

I nodded. "Death."

We moved in closer.

Bones littered the shallow slope leading into the cave — ribs, femurs, pieces of spine. Some bleached white by sun and snow, others darkened by rot and time. A skull rested near the entrance, jaw cracked, eye sockets filled with frost.

The soldiers fanned out around the opening, swords drawn, breaths misting in the air.

"They're human," Leon confirmed, crouching beside a ribcage. "Clean breaks. Some of them gnawed."

"Teeth marks?" I asked.

He nodded grimly. "Not animal. Something bigger."

I glanced into the dark. The cave's tunnel dipped deeper after the entryway — sloped just enough to disappear into shadow.

"Form up," I ordered. "We're going deeper."

One by one we walked, the sound of our boots echoing softly across the stone. The inside was wider than expected, tall enough to stand comfortably. No carvings. No fire pits. Just jagged rock and scattered remains.

We reached a good hiding spot after a short walk — maybe ten meters in. It opened just enough to allow us to sit, wait, and watch the entrance.

Leon leaned in close. "Orders, Mein Führer?"

I looked around, then at the bones once more. Whatever killed these people may return to do the same again.

"We wait," I said flatly. "For a few hours. If it hunts… it will come back here."

The men exchanged glances but said nothing. They trusted the order.

"Let your eyes adjust," I added. "No noise. No light. If it comes, I want to see what it is before we capture." I continued.

"You all still have the potions?" I asked, my voice low, sharp, and steady.

"Yes," they answered in unison, a hushed whisper of discipline. One of them, a younger soldier with mud on his cheek and fear in his eyes, raised his hand slightly to show his vial. The green liquid inside shimmered faintly under the light from the cave entrance, sloshing with each subtle tremble of his hand.

"Good," I said, nodding once. "Throw that at the beast. Throw it hard enough for the glass to shatter on its skin. It will pass out seconds after. If it does not..." I paused, letting the weight of the next words settle into their bones. "...then we kill it. Understood?"

"Yes," they echoed again, firmer this time.

And then we waited.

Time passed slowly, dragging across our nerves like rusted chains. The cave stank of wet stone, sulfur, and old blood. We stayed hidden behind the scattered boulders and broken crates that littered the perimeter.

It felt like hours — perhaps it was only one — but at last, we heard it.

The faint scuff of claws against stone. The scrape of a massive body brushing against the narrow walls of the passage. Then, it stepped into the chamber.

A beast.

Its limbs were long and knotted with thick, tense muscle. Its skin clung to its body as if the flesh itself were trying to contain something far more powerful beneath — veins bulged, twitching with unnatural rhythm. It walked on two legs, towering at least seven feet tall, and its shoulders stretched wide enough to fill a doorway. Its eyes glowed faintly in the dark, scanning the space with a predator's calm.

It did not roar, or snarl, or charge. It simply moved toward the center of the chamber, slow and deliberate. And then, to our surprise, it began to settle. The monster lowered itself to the cold floor with a groan of its joints — muscles flexing under the tight sheath of skin — and laid down as if preparing to rest.

Now.

I gave the signal.

No words — only a clenched fist raised, then snapped open.

Four vials flew from the darkness like silent bolts of death. Glass arced through the air, gleaming green in the torchlight — and then shattered across the beast's back and sides with sharp cracks. The liquid hissed on contact, bubbling against the skin like acid.

The creature roared. A deep, guttural, spine-rattling roar that shook dust from the ceiling. It jerked upright, eyes wide and rolling, foam gathering at the edges of its fanged mouth. Its limbs flailed as it twisted in place, sniffing and snapping at the air, searching — hunting — for who had dared strike it.

Then… something changed.

The roar became a wheeze.

Its body swayed.

It turned in a slow, drunken circle, struggling to find balance. Its claws scraped the ground without rhythm. Its vision blurred — it blinked rapidly, confused, disoriented, as if the world had spun sideways.

Ten seconds. No more.

The beast let out a final, strangled grunt. Its knees buckled. And then, with a shudder that rippled across its grotesque form, it collapsed forward.

THUD.

The ground trembled beneath us as the monster lay still — breathing, but unconscious. The potion had worked.

I exhaled.

"Secure the beast," I said. "While it still breathes."

The air outside the cave was colder than before — thinner, even. As if nature itself was holding its breath. With the beast bound in chains and leather, the real challenge began: moving it.

"Get behind the shoulders. Don't let the arms drag — if they catch on a root, we're losing a spine," I ordered.

The soldiers heaved together, groaning as the full weight of the creature shifted forward. Each step through the forest was slow, the chains rattling in rhythm with the drag of flesh over dirt and stone. Roots snagged at its feet. Thorns clawed at the men's sleeves. The trail back to the camp was narrow and winding, carved through hills and over uneven ground.

"Gods, it weighs more than a wagon," one soldier muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Stop whining and pull," another snapped. "You'd rather carry it awake?"

They pushed on. Birds scattered overhead. An animal that looked similar to deer bolted through the brush at the scent of blood and potion. Somewhere behind us, a low, sickly groan escaped the beast's throat, but it never rose. Not fully.

It took over an hour just to reach the river crossing. There, we paused.

One man fell to his knees, chest heaving. "Can't we just leave it here? Bring the cart here?"

"No," I said. "We don't risk the eyes of strangers. We bring it to camp — all the way."

They nodded, defeated but obedient. And so they pulled again, through mud and shallow water, over tangled roots and slick stones. By the time the camp's outer posts came into view, shirts were soaked, boots filled with grit, and arms strained near their breaking point.

But we had made it.

And then — the valley saw us.

Wilhelm's camp stretched before us — lines of fresh recruits drilling under barked commands, rifles held rigid, boots stomping in unison. Their formation faltered as we approached. One by one, heads turned. Rifles drooped. Conversations halted.

Then came the gasps.

"What in gods…?"

"Is that… real?"

"My god…"

Soldiers backed away instinctively, eyes wide with awe and confusion. Some even stepped behind their comrades for cover, unsure whether to be afraid or impressed. The beast's pale, knotted flesh glistened in the sun, streaked with potion residue and dust.

"Bring the cart!" I ordered.

Two oxen pulled a flatbed wagon from behind a storage tent. The beast was heaved up with great effort, ropes creaking as its weight shifted the frame. The wooden planks groaned, threatening to splinter beneath its mass, but held.

One of the younger men stepped forward — a freckled soldier no older than eighteen, still catching his breath from the haul. "Mein Fuhrer… how long's it gonna stay out?"

I looked at him, then at the unconscious beast sprawled across the cart, motionless except for the rise and fall of its chest.

"Two to three days," I answered calmly. "Maybe longer. It's a strong potion. The kind that puts demi-humans down for weeks. But this... this is a gamble."

The boy nodded, swallowing hard.

I turned toward Wilhelm, who stood a short distance away, arms folded, eyes locked on the beast. His men stood frozen behind him, watching us as if the creature might leap to life at any moment.

"Let this be a lesson," I called out to the trainees. "This is what we face. And this is what we conquer."