Human.
A fragile kind, not created to be the top of the food chain. No, not even close.
Their limbs were thin and weak. Their body was slim and prone to sickness.
They didn't have claws like tiger, strength like trolls or at least the structure as hard as a dwarf. And by no mean could they reach the level of an elf, no.
They were at the bottom of the food chain called 'sentient kind'.
And thus, they were treated like one.
An old man was dragged on the ground. Or to be more precise, he was dragging himself on the ground, while his hands held tight on the orge's leg.
The orge snorted. He carried a big club made of hard wood in one hand, the other held a human girl.
Annoyed, the orge kicked the old man away.
The old man cried and tried to get up. But two goblins pinned him down with their spears.
The goblins giggled. They stomped the old man numerous time.
The orge didn't care much. It felt a rumble in its stomach, and decided to take a bite.
The chewing sound came from the orge shocked the old man to the core. He screamed, but the scream was cut short with a spear through his throat.
The whole village was on fire. Human corpses scattered around the houses.
The storehouse was raided. Sacks of grain and dried foos were stolen by goblins.
Outside of the village was a river. In the reeds on the river's shore, a boy hid. When the village was attacked, his father threw him to the lake, hoped that he would survive. But that hope had turned into vainity, as the goblin started to move toward the river, scavenged everything they saw.
The boy held his breathe, tried to shrink himself as much as he could.
A goblin walked by the reeds. It poked its spear into it. Lucky for the boy, the spear hit the ground next to him. The goblin retreated the spear, then moved on.
The boy let out a small breathe. His whole body was shaking.
The orge finished its quick meal, but its face showed disappointment. It looked at the old man, then shook its head. The orge saw the goblins near the river, decided to follow them to see if it could find anything to fill its stomach.
The boy felt the earth trembled as the orge made it way to the river.
The orge raise its head up and sniffed. Something in the wind attracted it. It walked toward the reeds.
The boy paled as if all of his blood was drained from his body. The orge reached the reeds, used its big and rough hand to move them aside.
An axe dug deep into its skull. The orge fell forward, right next to the boy.
The sound of heavy steps made the boy raised his head.
The goblin near the river panicked. They yelled, shouted at the newcommer.
A humanoid figure, with metallic black skin and golden veins ran toward the goblins. In one hand, it held a round shield, the other was an axe.
The creature charged toward the horde and crushed at least three of them with its shield, then started to kill every goblins in sight with its axe. A single blow from its shield was enough to turn a goblin into a pile of meat, and each axe strike cut the goblin into two.
The goblin inside of the village heard the cries from the river and ran toward it.
There, they saw a slaughter. Goblin corpses and blood painted the grass. Amid the red ground was an unholy figure, of a demon in black. Its golden veins shone under the sun and red coats of blood still fresh and hot covered its blades, its shield and splattered on its armor.
The natural instinct of the goblin kicked in. They ran, ran fast, ran far, ran for their life.
The creature saw the goblins fleeing away. It took the blade behind it, a strange curved blade with no handle and threw it at the fleeing horde. The blade flew toward the horde, cut down anything it touched, then returned to the creature.
The creature caught the blade and put it back to its place.
When the commotion was over, it turned to the reeds.
The boy was beyond horrified. He started to hyperventilate, his heart was beating so fast he could hear its beat and even the blood bumping through his veins.
The creature walked toward him. The boy screamed and closed his eyes.
The memories of his short life surfaced. His brave father, his caring mother, his great grandfather. The girl who often played with him on the field. The fishing rod his grandfather gave him. And the warm smile of his mother.
He waited. And waited. And waited.
He waited for an eternity.
But nothing happened.
Did he die?
Was this the afterlife?
He opened his eyes.
No, he was still in the reeds nearby the river.
The creature was still there. Blood started to dry on its skin.
But it was still.
The creature kneeled before him on one knee, its head bowed slightly.
It offered one of its hand. An open palm, made of leather, its back covered in the same black carapace as its body.
The creature's eyes was shining. A dim, peaceful shade of blue.
It spoke, with a language alien to him.
"Be not afraid, little one."