Realm of Monsters

The axlean known as Grim sat hunched over a crate in the valley tribe’s encampment. He had tossed away his ripped shirt after the battle at the docks, revealing the deep gash from his ribs all the way to his collarbone; a painful reminder of his failure to kill the one known as Elohnoir Noir.

Grim’s shoulders heaved more and more as he gnashed his teeth, deep in thought, replaying the memory of how he had let her slip from his grasp… again. Even after making a deal with the Monster in the Dark, even after obtaining this power, he still failed.

“Stop moving, you’re only making this harder,” said Kyriil with a click of his tongue.

The elf was standing beside Grim, white mana glowing in his palms. Though the elf was taller than the average tribesman, an axlean towered almost three meters tall. Even sitting down on the crate, Kyriil had to stand to reach the wounds on the axlean’s chest.

“You know,” Kyriil began, “You should be grateful. It’s not every day a high master spares his time to heal someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Grim narrowed his eyes. The sclera was black and his irises were pale white, there were no pupils.

Any lesser man would have immediately shut his mouth in fear of the axlean’s gaze, but Kyriil was not a man, he was an elf.

“Ugly. Someone ugly,” said Kyriil without missing a beat. “I usually save my healing skills for beautiful women.”

Grim shook his head in disgust, “Just finish your pathetic spell.”