Shadow of the First Sin

No matter how hard I fought against the chains and the orc's grip, I couldn't break free. I needed a miracle, and I needed it fast.

"Do you ever clean those things?" I taunted, wrinkling my nose at the stench.

"They clean themselves when feasting on my enemies!" the orc retorted, unfazed.

Disgusting. Who knew what those teeth had torn apart in their lifetime; certainly not deer or cows.

If I wanted to survive, I had to think fast. I didn't have any hidden powers, so I had to rely on my cunning. The orc seemed more foolish than dangerous, more curious about my wings than interested in killing me.

"Hey, big guy! How about you take these?" I suggested, nodding toward my bound wings.

"Yes! Give them to me!" the orc's stern demeanor melted into childish excitement.

"Okay, buddy! First, let go of me and loosen the chains. Then, grab my wings with your hands and pull them out like you're plucking feathers from a bird."

"Is it trying to trick Took-ra?" the orc asked suspiciously.

"No?" I lied.

"Alright!" he exclaimed eagerly.

As Took-ra yanked on my wings, I winced in pain. But his scream of agony as the sharp feathers cut him gave me an opening.

"Agh! It lied to me!" he howled, briefly recoiling.

Seizing the opportunity, I rolled to the side, grasping the chain attached to Took-ra's arm as I tumbled off the wyvern. I hoped he would lose his balance and fall with me, but he remained steadfast, holding onto the chain without budging. If he wouldn't fall, then I needed to drag his pet down with him.

Now free from his grasp and armed with the sword, I swung toward the wyvern's belly, gripping the chain with one hand and the shortsword with the other. Adjusting my grip on the sword like a butcher handling a knife, I began carving into the beast's flesh. The blade didn't penetrate as deeply as I wanted, so I dragged it across its body, stabbing and slashing repeatedly. A torrent of blood gushed forth, scorching hot and burning my skin as it splattered over me. But the pain was worth it; the beast weakened, swaying in mid-air, ready to plummet.

With both hands gripping the sword tightly, I drove it deep into the wyvern until the belly of the beast swallowed it whole. The creature let out one final screech as its life faded, and its massive body crashed to the ground. The wyvern fell on one of the houses, destroying it; but hopefully, no one was in it.

"Victory at last," I gasped, my breath heavy with exhaustion.

As I surveyed the aftermath, the echoes of battle faded into silence, leaving only the stillness of the night. The villagers gathered around a heap of orc corpses, their eyes fixed on me, a solitary figure hovering in the sky. Their gaze unsettled me, stirring a mix of discomfort and fear. What if they viewed me with disgust? What if they couldn't discern between me from the orcs who had brought them war? Would they blame my family and cast them out of their home? It was the last thing I wanted; had I forgotten who I was? In their eyes, I was nothing but a monster, always had been and always would be. I hated that thought more than anything.

"To the hero of Emberfield! To our Valerian!" one villager proclaimed, breaking the silence and igniting a chant.

"To Valerian!" the others joined, their voices rising in unison.

In an instant, all my worries vanished as their cheers painted a smile on my face. Their kindness and sincerity reminded me that perhaps my pessimism had blinded me; their true nature was one of goodness, not malice.

A menacing growl shattered the jubilant atmosphere as Took-ra emerged from beneath the wyvern's corpse.

"Liar! You tricked me! Took-ra hates liars and cheaters!" the orc bellowed, pounding his chest with clenched fists.

"Mr. Bard! Use your witchcraft on that big lug!" one villager demanded.

„Your fierce scowl and grunts so grim,

But now it's time to shake a limb.

Forget your rage, forget your might,

It's time to dance under the moonlight!”

Silas, with his lute in hand, began to sing, a purple magical aura emanating from the instrument toward the orc's head. But to no avail. The orc simply brushed off the magic with a wave of his hand.

"Well, did it work?" the villager asked.

"Does it look like it worked? Run for your lives, people!" Silas shouted, inciting panic among the villagers as they scattered in all directions.

"All you do is trick and cheat! All my fellow orcs died to your cheap tricks; where is your honor!" Took-ra seethed.

"You speak of honor, yet you roam small villages slaughtering the weak. Where is the honor in that? If honor is truly what you seek, why not seek it in the north, among the beast-folk? Or here in the east, within the Silverleaf Forest? I know why—because you are weak! And in the end, there is no honor for the weak!" I retorted, my words stinging the orc, whose face flushed red with anger.

"Huh? You call the great Took-ra weak? I've been called many names in my lifetime, but never weak!"

With determination etched on his face, the orc strode toward the wyvern's chest, delivering a single, decisive blow that pierced through the creature's chest. With a swift motion, he extracted its heart—a melding of flesh and stone, with a burning red core from which dripped small drops of lava.

"You have fought well, Ultruk. Now, let me borrow some of your might! Bear witness, tiny one! This is the true power of great Took-ra the Red!"

Raising the wyvern's heart high above his head, the orc consumed it in one swift gulp. Instantly, he screamed in agony, collapsing to his knees as his chest began to emit a crimson glow. Veins of red spread like a network across his body, his eyes ablaze with an intense light. Transformed and stripped of his former self, he now roamed as nothing more than a mindless beast, driven solely by raw power.