The Runic Alchemist

"Come on now... brat... show us your light magic... show us your incredible healing..." a voice hissed from a man whose face was hidden in darkness. Sam hung from chains, his body bound in layers of restraints, his lips dry, throat parched and desperate for water, he tried yet no words came out.

"Stop messing around and show your healing, brat!" Another dark figure, cloaked in black robes, shouted in an unnatural, raspy voice.

"How many times do I have to tell you...?" A third man approached, coming dangerously close to Sam's face. His bright red eyes glared into Sam's, making him shudder.

"Show the goddamn healing, you piece of—" the biggest figure, dressed in dark armor with just one hand, struck the massive sword in his hand with anger at Sam, hacking him into tiny little pieces which fell through the endless black water, meeting into abyss of never ending darkness.

"Hah... hah... hah..."

Sam jerked awake, gasping for air. His heart pounded as he struggled to regain his bearings. Where was he? Oh, yes the forest. Rain poured over him as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was still in the forest where he had fought for his life not long ago.

"Just a nightmare... 'Hah'.. F*ck..." he muttered to no one.

His head throbbed. A quick touch to the back of his skull revealed dark red blood. He had been bleeding, but it seemed it had already stopped. How long had he been out? And where was everyone? It was dark now, probably evening.

Sam pushed himself up, groaning in pain. He leaned on his nearby sword for support and staggered to his feet—only to be greeted by a horrifying sight.

In the constant downpour all his comrades... All the people he knew, people he had slept, eaten, trained, and laughed with... dead. Their bodies lay in a muddy pool of water and blood in some nameless corner of this cursed forest. They hadn't even made it to the battlefield they had trained months for—they had perished here, forgotten.

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Desperately, Sam scanned the area for Einar and Yovan. They were nowhere to be found. The fat kid with white hair wasn't there either. But others were... civilians.

"No... no... no..." Sam scrambled toward a particular body, tripping over a limb—it was hard to tell if it was a leg or an arm in the muddy mess. He collapsed near the lifeless form of a little girl. He had heard her giggling countless times in her mother's arms as they traveled.

Now, her small, lifeless body lay there, stabbed through the stomach, her once white pretty dress soaked in blood and mud, while the rain continued to fall on the lost lives.

"Damn those bastards... What had she ever done to them? Why would anyone do this? What the hell was this f*cked up battle over nothing?"

Sam's mind raced, piecing together the grim reality. Einar, Yovan, and the fat kid—they weren't here. Nor were many of the village women. The girl's mother should have been beside her, if the Ashenvale scum had killed her, too. That meant they must have taken the others—killed the ones they deemed useless and captured the rest.

Sam's face contorted with rage. He gently set the girl's body down and stood, the rain pouring even harder now. Gripping his sword, he found the trail—a path of hundreds of footprints, clear in the muddy ground, though the rain was slowly washing them away it was hard to do so for so many.

There were so many of them who attacked from behind... and more hiding ahead in the forest with their leader. Sam knew it was foolish to even think about following them. His body screamed with pain, exhaustion radiating from every cut and bruise. He could barely walk, but...

"I'm not going to lose them too..." he whispered.

He had already lost everything—his peaceful life, his loving parents. He had nearly lost Anthony to those damned Faerunian bastards. He had lost Maximus, his brother... No, he wouldn't let them take his friends too. If there were gods, they had to hear him now. Enough was enough.

Did he deserve to lose everything just because he was weak? Did not having overwhelming power mean everything he loved would be stripped away?

If only he had insisted—threatened or even fought Captain Valen. Maybe then they would have stood a better chance. Maybe they could have left the others behind. Or maybe not... Why hadn't he listened to his instincts? Why had he obeyed those bastards' authority?

Life couldn't be this shitty. There had to be someone keeping score—there has to be someone who cared for what was right and wrong, someone keeping score of who was committing countless horrendous actions and who was suffering the most... It can't just be all for nothing..

Sam continued to stumble forward, the trail leading him to an open space—a hill overlooking a stony mountain covered in vegetation. A river cut through the base, where a large cave had formed in the mountain's belly. A natural hideout. Sam huffed tiredly, there was redness in trickling rain water down from his armor, he was bleeding from somewhere..

Below, the glow of a huge fire flickered inside the cave's mouth. Hundreds, maybe more, Ashenvale soldiers were gathered, laughing and drinking, their rowdy voices echoing through the night. Sam's eyes narrowed. He spotted women—villagers, their bodies being held against their will by the soldiers, some of them screaming as the men laughed even louder, enjoying their sick games.

Sam clenched his sword. They could see him anytime if they bothered to look up the hill. But none of them paid attention, too busy with their looted spoils.

It was the stupidest thing he could possibly do, but Sam took a step forward. If he was going to die anyway, it would be in trying to save his friends. He couldn't see them anywhere, but they had to be there.

Suddenly, the rain intensified, and a huge bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the scene below with a blinding flash.

Lightning..!! Yes, please fall on him.. Please if there were any gods listening... Sun god.. If he was there.. Any of them..

Please give him lightning damn it... He was so close to it and still he couldn't take it.. What a useless existence he had—nothing he ever did was good enough. If only he had more strength, he could protect himself... save his friends. If only he had the healing powers everyone thought he had, his parents would still be alive.

Slaving away for some lord was bearable as long as they were safe and happy. If only...

But the lightning wasn't for him alone. Finally, some of the men noticed the boy drenched in blood, water, and mud, standing atop the hill with a sword in hand, a lightning tree of immense proportions spreading behind him across the dark sky. As expected, they didn't take him seriously. The leader, enjoying the company of two women, lazily waved for a few men to deal with him.

Sam begged again, pleading for lightning to strike, to give him power. The soldiers drew closer, trudging up the hill, shouting at him in the rain. But nothing came.

"Damn it... Guess I'm doing this on my own,"