Becoming Legend

"No!" It was Rickart. It would be him. All the anger, frustration, and loss. It should be Sidric. But, no. All was left of the Quickfall party was Rickart. Not, until they took the parasitic beast, and find out if they could recover; and the half-dead Darwyn, with Erin. They failed

Ned wasn't sure if what would happen to Sidric knowing that he was the one who did the smashing.

Poor, Keesha. Eyes popped out its socket, tongue sticking out, saliva drooling, and skull burst open. A tiny white lump of meat was obscured by the fiery orange dancing in the middle of the settlement.

Crimson liquid sticking like a paste in-between Sidric's long fingers. He stood, struck the long-sword on the ground, and remained. He remained; didn't move forward, threw his spells ( if he had any), or bothered to follow-up on Ned. Long-sword (or bastard-sword like its holder) perpendicular to his muscular body. The white parasitic beast sticking out into his back, like a white lump of brain meat. It jiggled as its host moved sideways.

Ned halted. Boots bore to the ground, dried grasses rustled as he corrected his stance. "No," he muttered. "Sidric doesn't attack... He was guarding. What or who?"

Boom hung freely to his side, pouch waving left and right. Ned walked and stopped in front of Sidric, the two stood with a gap of almost half a meter apart.

Ned looked up, gazing straight at the warrior. Brown eyes dilated, looking straight at the forest (uncaring about Ned, as if he doesn't exist). Short and brown hair muddled with dirt and sweat. A speck of a black maybe red liquid formed a rigged line soiling his moldy-green pants. The bastard sword, stuck in-between them, shone red and orange. Crucifix hilt shining. Ned looked down, down to his arms hanging motionless on his sides. Blood dripping on his left.

Ned turned to face Rickart. If he was right, he could help Rickart fight the controlled hunter, without Sidric being a disturbance.

Gripping the leather hilt of his short-sword, Ned bolted toward the two.

Rickart fought the hunter. Fist against fist, the air hummed short and quick with punches hitting nothing and blocking. Rickart crossed his hand, blocking the punch aimed at his left lower jaw.

The lanky hunter was good without any weapons at hand. His fist was accompanied by his strange stance. His limbs flowed like water. The moment Rickart blocked one of his punches, his arms retracted in an instant and followed it up with another attack. Doing twice an attack with a single move.

Yet, the hunters who were being controlled seemed to not use their spells. No mana fluctuations, no disturbance in the air around.

Rickart stumbled with his feet after he was pushed by the lanky hunter. He stood muttering, grasses caught inside his balling arms: "No... No... Keesha... Sidric!" Must be his rural accent that made his cry crisp and clear. "Why!"

Rickart. He has lost it. Ned thought. Elegantly shaving the lanky hunter's head.

The hunter spun, bent by throwing a foot backward, successfully evading the tip of Ned's short-sword.

The air above his head whistled as the short-sword passed. Ned scorned. Raised his feet, blocking the hunters kick after he evaded Ned's attack.

At wood rank, these hunters were fast. Throwing Ned meters away after he blocked the kick. He almost fell on his butt, he then twisted his waist, rebalancing him along the way. He stood, wiping the salty sweat on his forehead.

Ned saw Rickart dashing toward Sidric, perhaps the crushed Keesha, or his dagger lying not far from Sidric.

"You won't," Ned muttered. Forcing himself to stand against his numbing feet. He then dashed—

But was stopped by a force gripping his foot. It was Malik, now conscious. Like the lanky hunter, the parasitic beast was thumping behind his back, etching its way against the flesh of the poor Runner.

Instead of dashing toward the lanky hunter, Ned bent to reach for the parasitic beast.

The lunky hunter flashed toward Ned; like startled.

Ned kicked Malik in the face, letting go of his foot. He raised Boom, blocking the flashing hunter's fist. Bones and flesh against iron. Ned was thrown off by the force of the punch.

Judging from its outfit: fitted shirt, sleeves were cut short to let his limbs move freely, long and leather-made pants. He must be a monk type warrior. Monks use their bodies as weapons instead of an extension like blades, and spears. And the lunky hunter must be a good one, that not even Rickart the fast and agile scout could hit him.

Ned stopped near Sasani, sleeping as if she was back to her manor, with a soft duvet, and chimney burned to counter the thriving cold. She twitched from time to time. The same as how the lunky hunter twitched whenever he executes his stances.

"Sasani," Ned whispered. Bent on one knee, feeling the soft, and warming wrist of Sasani. His numbing eased off. He tossed his hand mid-air, conjuring a fireball.

The fireball traveled, aiming at the lanky hunter.

For a moment, Ned saw a faint light coming out of the hunter's chest. Then, it shone brightly, a flash of green then yellow traveled from his chest ending to the tips of his arms. He raised his hand, stuck it together trying to block Ned's fireball with his flesh.

The fireball boomed and smoked. It lit the already bright settlement. Sparks flew; smoke swirled, and flesh burned to crisp. Both of his limbs tore to pieces, ending a little above his elbows. Bones pointing out like a sharp knife, flesh, and blood dripping out the wound like water leaking out a broken bucket. His face. Shows nothing. No pain, no scorn, no cry or tears. He stood impassive.

As if it wasn't enough, Rickart chose to grab the dagger, not Sidric, or the dead wind mage. He took the dagger and blurred his way toward the no-limb hunter, and snuck it in through his temple.

The hunter died without arms, he fell with the dagger clogging his head, half of the foot length dagger bore inside the hunter's skull.

Rickart needed to use the force of both his arms and foot to pull the dagger out of his skull.

"Land."

Ned turned his head. It was Sasani, distressed, and muffled voice. She coughed as if relieved of the neck she was brushing. She turned to Ned.

"Ned?" She said, rubbing her neck, and coughed once more.

Rickart fell on both knees, wiping his dagger on the dead hunter's shirt. A drop of tear fell, wiping it by the flat of his hand. He then looked at Malik, who was half-awake, and half breathing. The size of Ned's boot-prints carved on his forehead.

Rickart turned him upward, reversing him from his upside-down position, he then stretched his hand inside Malik's pocket and pulled a vial of healing potions. Three was left, the rest was broken. Liquid of the healing potions leaked on Malik's pants. Sidric might have it to his younger brother after seeing him, unluckily, both siblings were caught by the parasites.

"How are you?" Ned said, pulling Sasani off the ground, he then helped her by putting her back at the stone behind. "Your mask."