The Eighth Hero
Chapter Two
The Guard Dog Of The Dark Tower
...
"Because you are the Overlord."
...
I... am the Overlord?
My fingers twitch and my hands slowly clench into a fist. There was nothing more than I wanted to do right now than to choke the life out of that hideous goblin.
But still, my body was too weak to move. It ached from everything; the sensation of the cold air and stones, the warm flowing of my blood, the shivering movements of my muscles, the stinging air that I breathed. Everything.
The other younger looking goblins look at me with concern in their eyes and spoke almost timidly at my current state.
One of them left of their accord and returned shortly after and threw a ragged red cloth over me.
"Cold?" it asked me.
How odd. I didn't believe that these monsters were aware of such emotions or capable of such kindness.
...
Hours past and little by little the burden of helplessness left me.
I stood up with my own two feet and examined the rest of my body.
I am unhurt.
I am alive.
How? Why?
"Curious indeed, milady," the old goblin said, "Do you, perhaps, still remember your previous life?"
Previous life?
"You died, lord, and it is here that we revived you," it answered once again as though it was reading my mind, "Even if your revival was a smashing success, I thought a few of your brain cells would have gone up and die. Oh, how nice, I won't need to teach you how to fight, that's one less thing to worry."
I want to kill it. I want to kill it. I want to kill it.
But I restrain myself. I need answers.
"There are evil deeds that need doing and you are the only one who can fulfill them."
Why me? I am a hero.
"And that makes you the perfect person for the task, milady. Do you know what 'necessary evil' is? It's evil that must exist for good to be spared. Like say, a man must kill all the infected people of a little village to prevent the plague from spreading any further. A good deed to the rest of the world but now he must carry the burden of blood for the rest of his life. You should have no such problem, lord."
Why not? What task would evil need to revive a hero for?
"Because evil always finds a way, milady. Your predecessor may be currently indispose but he was just one of the many evils in these realm. You do not know, since you have been resting, but after your fall and the victory over the previous overlord, the heroes were hailed by the Middle-Domains as the Seven Heroes.
And now they have attained power and power corrupts.
They have fallen to sins, lord. Possessed by evil far greater than even the overlord himself. Though the meager Alliance have won, the Middle-Domains have fallen into depravity. It's merely a matter of time until even this realm is turned utterly desolated."
That... That cannot be true. How could the others have fallen? That's...
No, it is not true. Even if it is, why should you care? Are you not a servant of evil yourself?
"Because I serve the necessary evil, lord. The sins are merely viewed as evil but truly they are forces more chaotic than evil. Evil is what evil does but the sins are exactly what they are."
And you're asking me to...
"Kill the Seven Heroes and restore balance to the Middle-Domains."
Ah.
I leap. I want to strangle this cur until it suffocates and defecates itself to death. I want my hands to crush it windpipe and my fingers to pierce its throat and draw fresh blood. I want to pull out its spine from its throat, stick my hand down, and pull out its twisted heart and crush it then smear it across the wall before beating the body with its own head.
But the old goblin threw something at me.
A powder of some kind. My eyes and throat are burning and even my skin is tingling. I slam on the empty space it once stood on and cannot stop tearing up nor can I stop coughing.
"Calm, milady. You need me."
I don't.
"The bridge to the Dark Tower had collapsed long ago and only a giant chasm awaits those who step outside. The same chasm you fell into, lord. There is no physical way to leave except to use the well-portal in the throne room, but a wild beast has made their residence there. It'll be impossible for you to kill it on your own and while the minions may be stupid they know were their loyalties lie, milady.
And while you may say you do not need my assistance, once you see the world outside, no doubt you'll require the resources of an overlord to defeat the Seven Heroes."
Hate. I have nothing but hate and contempt for this thing.
...
The goblins garb me in new light armor.
It resembles the armor I used to wear, except that my left gauntlet now holds a strange magical orb embedded into it. Even the regular clothes are the same exact ones that I wore but were now ragged and stitched together.
As a gladiator, I am used to wearing more lighter armor or just cloth for protection. I am used to having little armor to the point where there is nearly none. I am used to having to rely on both my strength and mobility to keep me alive.
I have been told time and time again that my way of fighting is reckless and suicidal but it is the way that I have fought and survived.
And so this attire feels completely natural to me.
But more important than the armor was the weapon. They gave me a medium sword.
I did not like it. I was to used to much heavier and larger swords to attack and defend with; swords that had less of an edge and depended more on crushing than actually cutting but still able to cut when enough force is applied.
"Apologies, milady, but your old blade was broken during your falling and we had no more materials and no more time to have forged you a new weapon before the Dark Tower was raided and the Smelters stolen. The blade there is just something the browns procured by from a fallen soldier."
The soldier is dead now, so I suppose they won't mind me using it. I am disappointed that I cannot use my old sword; it was as big as I was tall.
"Now that you're all dressed and proper, why don't we take a tour around the Dark Tower and learn more of your abilities, Overlord?"
No.
The beast, I want to see it.
...
The room I was revived in was the basement, a floor I had never visited before. The throne room I have been to before, it is the on the top floor. Two stairways lead up to it at the middle. At one end was the well-portal and the other end, near the throne, the beast.
A large wolf the size of two bears with horns on the top of its head. Black and red in color and golden feral eyes. Sharp fangs and claws. Broken chains and clamps linger on its neck and feet. Shrouded in hunger and madness.
The Dire Wolf of the Blazing Plains, Fenris.
Together with its partner, The Bull Dog of the Burning Lands, Garmr, the pair were one of the nightmares to the Alliance forces.
Tough. Fast. Vicious. Tricky. Many stories were told about the hellhounds and many people had without a doubt died to them.
When Oronel, Kalim, William, and I first fought the duo were realized just how deadly the monsters were. They were not simple beasts that charged in. They were calculating and cunning, always harassing us at unexpected moments. In our first encounter, they escaped unharmed as the rest of the heroes arrived, meanwhile Kalim and I were on death's edge and Oronel and William were injured.
We met them several times during the war. They were always harassing and stalling the fights before escaping after inflicting pain and fear.
Eventually the Alliance dedicated a large amount of resources to hunting down the hellhounds. They were led into a trap by the Myorzo's many illusionary spells. Garmr was killed but the Alliance suffered a heavy loss. And Fenris was severely wounded but escaped.
I never imagined that I'd see that monster once again.
Fenris is not at peak condition but nor am I.
I will die if I challenged it as I am now.
I walk back to the basement and the old goblin is aware of my questions.
"As you know, lord, near the end of the war the Alliance was exhausted of resources. By the end of the war, they had no resources to share, everything went into repairing their own territories. When Fenris had reappeared to cause all sorts of nasty trouble the Middle-Domains simply couldn't spare the soldiers to catch it, oh no, the Seven Heroes were too busy indulging in their sins as well."
I silently seethe. I do not like how this ugly creature addresses my comrade in arms.
"Thus the poor villagers took things into their hands. They created simple traps to wear down the dog but eventually someone got a hold of some explosives from the dwarves and gave the dog quite the concussion. Afterward, with mere pitchforks and torches, they were able to chase it all the here to the Dark Tower. Once cornered, Fenris got a wee bit angry and tore them to pieces. The rest of the frightened villagers then used the remaining explosives to blow up the bridge and leave it trapped here."
That explains a few things.
"That was about two years ago."
Two years ago... Two years... years...
How long have I been asleep anyways?
"Oh, alittle over three years, milady."
Three years. It's sounds so short, yet it's been so long.
"Now then, lord, perhaps you would like to learn how to control your Minions?"
...
I stand on a open circle surrounded by large rocks covered in moss, grass, and trees.
A deep breath. A slow exhale.
I move my arms and swing my blade one-handed. Two-handed. I use stances, I do not use stances. I run, jump, crouch, roll, and perform other maneuvers.
I am out of breath. I am tired.
Stronger than the average man, perhaps still fit to fight against veterans, but still I am weaker than before. I cannot definitely challenge Fenris and survive. No, I cannot challenge many other monsters and survive anymore.
I am weak.
There are five goblins, Minions as they are formally called, outside with me. The old minion and four young ones; one of them is wearing a jester hat and staff.
"I see we have no need to test your coordination, milady, I didn't want to test whether you could view up and down nor left and right properly," the old disgusting minion said, "Now then, let us continue you with the first lesson of Minion combat, lord. The gauntlet you yield is a special item, it allows you to directly transmit your intentions and commands into the lesser mind of your devoted Minions. Go on, try it! Order them to give Jester here a good thrashing!"
The jester runs up the hill.
"Bah! As if this worthless wench is worthy of becoming the overlord!" it declared in a high-pitched and obnoxious voice.
I calm my mind.
'Attack,' I pointed at the jester and the three young goblins rushed away waving their clubs.
The jester ran screaming and hurling insults from its merciless beating.
"Good, good. Now call back your Minions, milady," the old goblin said.
I do.
The jester limps away up a large fallen tree trunk and glares at me from above.
"Good, lord, now you must 'sweep' them. Command and direct them to follow a specific path to reach Jester."
I formulate the path in mind, 'Attack,' I ordered once again pointing at the jester. The young goblins eagerly follow my instructions and whack the jester off the trunk. It falls onto the ground with a audible crack and struggles to get back up.
"Excellent, milady! You're a quick learner. Now, for the final part of this tutorial of overlordship, do Jester here a favor and put him out of his misery!"
I walk over and stab my blade into the jester's head. It dies with utter hatred and contempt, its blood seeps away and form a puddle near my feet. But I do not care, I have already killed countless numbers of these goblins back in the war. Fast, numerous, vicious, relentless, always happy to fight and die with glee. I gain a small satisfaction at killing this goblin.
Ah, I see.
I hate Gnarl and this jester because they too are capable of true damnable hate.
"And now you are ready to slay the weakened Dire Wolf of the Blazing Plains, lord," the disgusting minion sneered.
...
It is but five young Minions and I against Fenris. I cannot control any more than that nor do I have much... 'Lifeforce' to call forth anymore when necessary.
We wait at the edge of the stairways. I command one goblin out.
The monster responds and pounces, the Minions is torn to pieces.
I almost cannot believe it.
It is nothing like the calculating creature I knew it to be. It was now but a shadow of its former self, hunger and madness drove its broken mind.
Fenris was nothing but a wild beast now.
I immediately jump out and easily stab my sword several inches into its side. Its flesh has been weakened, malnourishment has caused it to fester and turn soft. I drag my sword horizontally towards the tail and move away. As I do so, I order the remaining four Minion to climb up the beast and injure it; pry open wounds, pluck out the eyes, pull its fur, whatever they can do to distract the monster.
The mindless beast howls and thrashes about.
How sad. It does not even notice me.
Pain; that is all it feels now and it only wants to remove the strongest pain that it experiences. Is it the deep gash I just created? Is it the goblin that is tearing out its old fur? Is it the goblin that is tearing into old wounds and sticking their hands in? Is it the goblin pulling and gnawing on the ear? Is it the goblin clawing at its exposed flesh?
I do not know but it continued to thrash about, hurting itself in the process of trying to be free of its tormentors.
One Minion is crushed and splattered over the wall but the other three remain firm.
Carefully, I maneuver around the shattered pillars and close in. I approach from underneath the throat and make a horizontal slash; successfully cutting it open deeply. It whips it head about and I am tossed away and crash into a pillar hard.
Fenris howls but only blood spurts out it from its throat. Blood drips out its mouth. It is dying, yet continues to struggles.
But even then, it still does not notice me.
I get back up and limply walk to the beast. I slash at its foreleg, not enough to cut it off, but well enough to cause it to collapse onto the floor.
The three Minions jump off the monster and begin to cheer for our victory.
Yet this is still not over. The beast's eyes dart everywhere, still unaware of its own dying state. It is looking and looking but it has long stopped looking for its attacker.
Its eyes are only searching for the shadowy form of death now.
How pitiful.
Though it has caused many suffering, it was still something to be respected. It was a proud beast and to see it so afraid of death now was a shame. Just like this monster, I have struggled everyday to survive, but an ending like this were the inside is nothing but a hollowed out shell...
I can only believe that death is now an act of mercy.
I wonder... will I struggle this hard to survive as well? To such a bitter end...
I stand before it and plow my blade deep into its head; piercing into its brains. I pull out my weapon and wait for its bodily functions to cease.
A low growl. Then a whimper. And next death arrives.
And now Fenris was dead.
Author Notes
I'm not sure how big people were back in the, uh... 'ages' but I assume something like, 5'ft or 5'5ft tall at best for the male population? The Eight Hero is little bit shorter or alittler taller than 6'ft tall. Not quite as big as the Canon Overlord who was twice the size of everybody else, but still noticeably taller than most.