A woman's laughter slowly faded as she heard the word "migration." Her gaze drifted across the desolate landscape, sensing the urgency in Demos' voice. Her eyes narrowed. Her expression turned determined.
Woman: "Three moons?"
She repeated, her voice low and steady.
Woman: "Isn't that too short? What's the reason for this migration, Tribe Leader?"
Her gaze swept across the horizon, as if searching for any sign of danger lurking beyond the void—responding to her growing unease.
Woman: "We need to know what we're up against,"
She continued, her voice firm.
"What's the nature of this threat? Is it the Perezoso… or something else entirely?"
Demos stood before the tribe, his expression resolute.
Demos: "We must prepare to leave for a new home,"
He announced once more.
Demos: "The Tall People have been tracking us. We cannot stay here. We will depart on the third moon."
The woman's expression turned pale. She collapsed to the ground in fear.
Demos: "I will scout ahead to ensure our safety."
He continued.
Demos: "Within two moons, I will gather information on the safest route and prepare the way for our tribe. When I find a new home—we will start anew."
His eyes swept across the faces before him, his gaze steady and reassuring.
Demos: "Let us work together to prepare for our journey. We leave on the third moon. Let us be ready."
The tribe nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of their situation. They would follow Demos, trusting his guidance to keep them safe.
The tribe began to disperse, each member returning to their respective tasks. Demos watched them go, his mind already turning to the challenges ahead. He knew the journey would be fraught with danger—but he was determined to protect them.
As he stood there, lost in thought, a figure approached him. It was Akira, the tribe's skilled healer.
Akira: "Demos, I've been thinking,"
She said, her voice low and serious.
Akira: "We'll need to be prepared for injuries on the journey. The Tall People are relentless. They won't give up easily."
Demos nodded grimly.
Demos: "I know, Akira. But we have no choice. If we stay, we risk being slaughtered on these rocky plains we once called home."
Akira's eyes flashed with determination.
Akira: "I'll do everything I can to help. I'll make sure our people are healthy and strong for the journey."
Demos offered a small, tight smile.
Demos: "I know they can count on you. Your skills as a healer will be crucial."
Over the next two moons, the tribe worked tirelessly to prepare. They packed what little they had, gathered food, and readied their supplies.
Demos stood tall, his eyes fixed on the towering mountain ahead. He had traveled for one moon, searching. Finally, he had found it—a hidden valley beyond the mountain, lush and fertile. A sanctuary.
But returning would not be easy. He would have to cross a raging river and climb the mountain again. He steeled himself for the challenge.
When he returned, the tribe was huddled in the death-stained rocky plain, surrounded by twisted trees. The air reeked of rot.
They couldn't stay.
Demos: "I've found a new home,"
He declared, voice brimming with hope.
Demos: "A valley beyond the mountain. We will be safe there. We will thrive."
The tribe listened, hope flickering in their tired eyes.
Demos gathered fifty souls—including children, elders, and his five elite warriors: Gorthok, Ryker, Kael, Maverick, and Thane. Together, they began the journey.
At the mountain's base, a raging river blocked their path.
Then—from the shadows—Perezosos emerged. Massive beasts with fangs and claws glistening with malice.
Demos drew his axe.
Demos: "Take the children and climb the mountain!"
He shouted to Akira.
Demos: "I'll hold them off!"
Akira grabbed a lagging child. Demos pushed the boy forward, urging him up.
He stood his ground.
His warriors joined him—Gorthok, Ryker, Kael, Maverick, and Thane—facing the nightmare together.
The Perezosos attacked.
The battle was brutal. The beasts were fast and ruthless. Claws slashed through flesh. Screams echoed across the valley.
Ryker fell back, his arm torn. Maverick dropped, his leg twisted grotesquely. Gorthok clutched his bleeding side. Thane and Kael, too, were badly injured.
Demos saw the damage. He made a swift decision.
Demos: "Go!"
He shouted, voice sharp as steel.
Demos: "I'll hold them off! Get to safety!"
The warriors hesitated—but obeyed.
They retreated, climbing the mountain. As they ascended, they looked back.
Demos stood tall. Alone. Axe raised.
The Perezosos encircled him—fifty of them—snarling, snapping, claws ready to rip him apart.
With a fierce cry, Demos charged.
His axe became a blur of death.
His warriors, from above, watched in awe. Demos fought like no mortal man. His strikes were clean, precise, lethal.
The Perezosos swarmed. Claws tore through skin. Blood splattered. His vision dimmed.
Then—a surge.
Lightning exploded from his body.
His eyes glowed, blinding and divine. Electricity crackled from his wounds.
The Perezosos paused—confused.
Demos didn't.
He attacked with godlike fury, cutting them down in blinding arcs. One by one, they fell before him.
But strength has limits.
His body broke. His muscles screamed.
Still—he fought.
When the last Perezoso fell, Demos stood swaying. His body torn. Blood poured from his wounds.
Then—darkness.
He collapsed.
Maverick and Thane rushed back down the slope, panic etched into their faces.
They found Demos broken and unmoving, his chest faintly rising.
Thane dropped beside him, hand trembling on his shoulder.
Thane: "Demos… can you hear me?"
No response.
Only the shallow, labored breath of a warrior who had given everything.
They exchanged grim glances.
Demos had saved them all—but at what cost?