Gods among us

The night smelled of ash and blood.

Marr rode at the front of his company, his grip tight around the reins of his warhorse. His heart pounded like a war drum, his mind racing with unanswered questions. Ammasoma, the district of his mother, had gone silent. No messengers. No survivors.

Jorge, his closest companion and the only man who understood the fire burning in him, rode beside him. He spoke in a hushed voice, but the words barely reached Marr's ears.

"Something is wrong. Too quiet."

The countryside villagers had already told them the horrors. The King had come. He and his forces had wiped out everything—the people, the houses, the market squares, the very soul of the district.

But Marr refused to believe it.

Not until he saw it himself.

They reached the city gates, or rather, what remained of them. The wooden doors had been burned to blackened husks, their once-mighty iron hinges twisted into unnatural shapes. The walls, once adorned with the banners of the people, were drenched in dried blood.

Then they saw the first bodies.

Mothers, fathers, warriors—all of them slaughtered, their corpses left to rot in the streets. Marr's stomach twisted. He jumped off his horse, stumbling forward. The scent of decay hit him hard, but he pushed on, his boots splashing in puddles of darkened crimson.

Then he saw her house.

Or what remained of it.

The roof had collapsed. The walls were scorched black. His mother's garden, where she used to hum soft melodies while tending to her herbs, was now a field of death.

Marr felt his breath hitch. His throat tightened. She wasn't here.

He dropped to his knees, fists digging into the dirt.

Then came the sound. A low growl.

His warrior instincts snapped back into place. He turned his head sharply, gripping the hilt of his sword just as the monstrous beasts emerged from the ruins.

The Kangal Lion Monsters.

Creatures that should not exist. Twisted things, created from flesh, alchemy, and dark magic. Their bodies were the size of warhorses, their fangs glistening in the moonlight. The King had left them here. As guards. As executioners.

They lunged.

Marr met them head-on. His sword clashed against fangs, slicing through one of the beasts' throats in a single arc. Blood sprayed. Another one pounced, but Jorge was there—his spear pierced its ribcage, pinning it to the ground. The battle was chaos, blood and steel dancing under the pale moon.

Marr fought like a man possessed. He wasn't just fighting for survival. He was fighting for vengeance.

One of the lions slashed at his arm, tearing through his armor. Pain burned through his body, but he didn't falter. With a savage roar, he drove his blade through its skull, the steel sinking deep.

And then—silence.

The last of the beasts collapsed. Marr stood there, panting, his body covered in blood that wasn't his own. His sword was still trembling in his hand.

The realization crashed over him like a tidal wave.

His mother was gone. His entire district was gone.

His lips parted, and suddenly, a broken, guttural sound tore from his throat. It was a sob, deep and painful. He collapsed, his forehead pressing into the bloodstained earth.

He wept like a child.

Not just because of the loss, but because he knew—he needed her.

Not just emotionally. Physically.

There was only one thing in this world that made Marr stronger than the King. His mother's milk. The sacred nourishment that had been passed down through their bloodline, the only thing that could awaken the full power inside him. And now—

It was gone.

Jorge stood over Marr, watching the once-unbreakable warrior reduced to a man drowning in sorrow. He had never seen him like this.

The fire in Jorge's chest ignited.

He would not allow Marr to stay like this. They would have vengeance.

And for that, they needed answers.

Jorge turned swiftly and found Owei, a young scout he had sent weeks ago to watch over the district. The boy had been hiding among the ruins, waiting for their arrival. Jorge grabbed him, dragging him into a dimly lit chamber within the wreckage.

"You will tell me everything," Jorge growled.

Owei, his face pale with fear, nodded frantically.

And so, the interrogation began

The night deepened, the fires burning outside casting flickering shadows over the ruins. But Marr… Marr could not sleep.

Rage boiled beneath his skin, consuming him. He turned to his lover, her eyes searching his. She reached for him, and he let himself fall into her arms, not with tenderness, but with raw, burning need.

He took her with the force of his fury, his body moving against hers in a desperate attempt to quiet the storm inside him. Three times he released himself into her, and still, the anger remained. Only exhaustion finally claimed him, his body still buried in hers as sleep took them both.

At the same time, Jorge sought his own solace.

Owei, shaken from the interrogation, found himself pressed against the cold stone wall. Jorge's lips crashed against his, and soon, their bodies were tangled in fire and desire. It was not gentle. It was not loving. It was hunger, raw and consuming.

And when it was over, they lay still, the weight of the coming war settling upon them.

The next morning, the bloodshed continued.

Marr and his warriors rode through district after district, cutting down the King's nobles, tearing through the rot of the kingdom.

Then, in the ruins of a temple, they met her.

A witch, draped in shadows.

Her lips curled into a smirk as she stared at Marr.

"You haven't drunk the milk in a while, have you?"

A chill ran down his spine.

Before he could react, her fingers—sharp as the Devil's claws—ripped through his chest.

Pain exploded through him. Blood poured down his body.

Jorge did not hesitate.

With a roar, he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her against the stone wall. She tried to vanish, but Jorge's magic was stronger.

He cast his spell. She was dragged back into existence.

"Where is the King?" Jorge demanded, his grip tightening.

The witch laughed, her lips stained with blood.

"He has gone… to meet the Father of the World. To plot your destruction."

A cold silence filled the chamber.

The battle was far from over.

Marr clutched his bleeding chest, his vision swimming.

And in the depths of his mind, one thought consumed him.

He needed to find a way to drink again.

Or he would never defeat the King.