Shirley strode out of her hut, stretching lithely, and smiling at the steadily rising sun. Her life was simple and interesting, the Winglies so far removed from her quiet part of the world. She hadn't seen one in years, and they never cared about such a tiny village.
"G'mornin', milady." An old man from the village passed her and waved. She smiled brighter, nodded to him, and the man continued on his way.
You could easily call Shirley's life perfect, except she still knew how much the other humans all over suffered. Two people she had known while growing up had run off to help the cause, and hadn't returned in years, though there was talk that even reached them about their exploits. Lord Diaz himself was rumoured to have talked to them, and send them on a mission.
But sadly, her life was going to be changed irrevocably on that very day. She felt a slight prickling in the back of her mind, warning of impending danger, though it made no sense.
As she went about her daily chores, she kept feeling more and more uneasy, as if she was getting a warning, but in another language. She thought she even heard a strangled voice once, but when she asked another woman of the village if she had heard it, there was nothing.
"Shirley?" Came her mother's voice, and she snapped around, attention drawn.
"Yes, mother?" She asked in a casual voice, which shocked even her.
"Are you all right?" Her mother asked, holding her hand to Shirley's forehead. "You've been acting funny all day." She pulled her hand back. "You aren't feverish at least."
"I'm fine, mother. Just got a headache." She said back, feeling more impatient than she usually would. "I have more chores." She walked off quickly, grabbed a large basket of clothes, and took them to the washing well.
It was then a loud cry rang through the village, followed by a gurgle, as if a thick liquid had entered the crier's throat.
Quickly, a panic roared through the town, as shouts and cries of pain filled the otherwise peaceful mid-summer afternoon. "What is this?!" Shirley called out, as three Winglies appeared, wielding swords, and cutting people at random down.
"So you thought this village would be hidden forever, did you?" A Wingly said, levitating above the people in the square, shouted harshly.
The mayor stepped forward, though he was visibly scared, and stared up defiantly at the Wingly. "We weren't hiding at all. This village has been in this location since my father's father settled himself and a dozen other families here, decades ago." He said.
"Irrelevant. This village is in violation of Penal Code #54614 and is under order to be exterminated." The Wingly replied back, fire erupting from his hand, engulfing the mayor, who screamed loud enough to wake the dead. "Do not let a single human survive." The Wingly shouted to his cohorts, and they began casting magic on the citizens as well.
Shirley screamed as her mother's skin turned the colour of pale blue, and she froze in place. "Mother!" Her strangled words called out, even as she felt strong arms wrap around her shoulders, and pull her away. "Let me gooo!" A large hand clamped over her mouth, and she was thrown into a ditch, and a large body piled in on top of her, with a muffled apology.
The two stayed there for a good hour, as the carnage and destruction grew louder, and the screams of her villagers became more desperate. Shirley could not even scream, let alone help them. Finally, though, she felt the oppressive grip on her lax, and she leapt up from the ditch, and ran to the town centre. The entire thing was bathed in blood, as if a gigantic painter had dropped his brush on the centre. "Where is everyone...?" She asked, looking around, slowly going numb.
"We could only save a handful of your people." A gruff man's voice replied to her rhetorical question.
Murmurs followed her, and were immediately followed by gasps of shock and horror, and mostly, disbelief. No one, like her, could believe the carnage that had taken place. "Why didn't you fight them?" Shirley screamed at the man who had held her in the ditch, pounding her fists into his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"If we had tried, everyone would be dead, including us. It was hard enough to follow those three through countless small forests to here. We weren't even sure how many we could save." The man said, not moving, and letting Shirley cry on him.
"But if...if you hadn't grabbed me...I could've saved my mother!" She screamed again, and tore herself away from the man. Though her eyes will blurry from the tears, she quickly found her mother, though the older woman was nothing more than a corpse, not even warm as the others. The spell that had caused her demise was one of the worst, an ice spell, which had frozen her insides first, as she lived. It was a despicable thing for any being to do, but practically expected from a Wingly.
"She and you would've died, just like every other villager my men didn't grab." The voice shook Shirley enough to bring her out of shock.
She cleared her eyes, and looked at the man for the first time. He was taller than her, massively taller, head and shoulders and chest above her, with short curly brown hair, and a very large body. "I know... I know I would be dead. But I cannot help but feel as if I did nothing to save them." She could no longer look at her mother's corpse, and stood up, walking slowly to the man. "What is your name, and how did you follow Winglies?" She asked.
The man put a hand on her shoulder, and nodded slightly. "All in good time." And called to several of his men, who lumbered towards him, a dozen in total, though more than twenty had initially come. "We've suffered losses as well." His smile was pained, as he looked at how many children had been killed in the attack. He lead Shirley to the only standing building in the small village, and the rest of his men followed, with the villagers they had rescued, and he asked them all to stay there for the time being, at least until they could gauge the damage done.
In truth, they knew the villagers would not be willing to do much, the shock of what had happened to raw in their mind, like an open sore dripping into the unclean mud of a wind-swept, cold night. The blood would probably be there until the next hard rain, already drying in cracks and the dirt, but they least they could do was prepare the bodies for the final journey, though the souls were already in Mayfil, undergoing whatever further degradation was required of them.
"Sir." The man who had rescued spun around as she hailed him, and walked to her swiftly. "You could at least tell me your name?" She said when he reached her.
"Of course, milady. I am Belzac." He smiled and bowed slightly.
Shirley faltered a moment, and then attempted a smile, however much it failed. "Thank you, Belzac. My name is Shirley." She opened her mouth to say more, thought better, and bowed back at him, in the same manner, retreating into the building.
"Hey boss. You ready to do this?" One of his men called out, and Belzac nodded. He hated this part of the job most of all, the clean up.