Princess Liana, daughter of a struggling border Marquess who had cleverly elevated his title through strategic marriage, maintained a facade of royal composure that threatened to crack like thin ice. She stood amidst the carnage, the earthy scent of pine needles mixing violently with the metallic tang of newly spilled blood and the sickening, burnt-meat aroma of whatever parts of the bandits Lark had vaporized.
She stared up at the towering marble entity. Lark was a masterpiece of impossible geometry; his flawless alabaster skin was etched with faint, pulsing gold veins that seemed to glow in the humid forest air. Dozens of sapphire eyes, scattered across his smooth, featureless face and down his neck, were currently focused entirely on her, giving her the disconcerting feeling of being scrutinized by an entire constellation.
The knights, eighteen who had survived the ambush against the previous night's count of twenty-three, were doing their best impression of loyal bulwarks, but their terror was a palpable, wet blanket. Chainmail shook audibly as they kept their dented swords and bent pikes trained on Lark. Only the Captain, a muscular woman named Liora whose left arm hung uselessly at her side, held steady.
Lark read the ambient fear easily. The vibration of their dread resonated in his marble feet. He simply lifted his elongated shoulders in a gesture of dismissal, a movement that clearly communicated that dialogue was impossible under current circumstances. He turned his colossal figure toward the setting sun, intending to head west, relying on the celestial knowledge gifted by his new form to guide him.
"W-wait!" Liana shouted, her voice tight but sharp enough to cut through the tension.
Lark stopped, pivoting smoothly. The hundreds of sapphire eyes shifted to acknowledge her.
Liana took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dizzying effect of his gaze. "To the west lies the capital of Velmiron. But I must warn you, kind sir... the people there are not known for their... open-mindedness. Acceptance... of a being such as yourself... will be incredibly difficult."
She hesitated, glancing at the knights, who seemed one breath away from wetting their breeches.
"Not to be rude," she continued, pressing on despite a knot of fear tightening her throat, "but the kingdoms of the races are rarely friendly to each other. Human kingdoms, Elven Principalities, Dwarven Holds and many more all maintain deep tension and often outright hostilities. To introduce a race previously unknown... that is a gamble."
Liana forced herself to look directly at the center of his chest, avoiding the many unsettling eyes. "What exactly is your race... kind sir?"
Lark frowned, a subtle downward pull of his smooth, unfeatured face that somehow conveyed deep thought. His voice emerged, a low, echoing rumble that vibrated through the ground.
"I... do not know," he admitted simply. "And I do not wish to discuss it."
His answer was truthful, rooted in the lingering confusion of the former gamer trapped in the body of an in-game avatar.
Liana frowned, perplexed by the creature's sincerity. "Then, what exactly is your goal in visiting a civilization outside of your... kingdom?"
A brief, melancholic pause hung in the air.
"Nothing in particular," Lark replied. "The matter of fact, I didn't even know precisely where I am, or what this land is called."
Liana's shock was genuine. "What happened?"
"Let's just say I was suddenly kidnapped and woke up in this forest." Lark turned again, preparing to walk away from the political and societal burdens she represented. "Goodbye, Princess. May your journey be safer."
"Wait!" Liana cried out, taking a bold, desperate step forward. The Captain gave a strangled gasp of protest. "Do not go yet! I offer you a position. Serve under me."
Lark froze. He looked back, his head tilted.
Liana pressed her advantage, her voice gaining strength, fueled by sheer necessity. "I am in desperate need of a powerful ally. Our kingdom is small, surrounded by ambitious neighbors, and we have just suffered a crippling loss of manpower. We need strength, and you are strength incarnate."
She spread her hands in a gesture of conciliation. "With my help, you could live in human civilization. You just need a disguise, perhaps a full suit of heavy, concealing armor. I can provide the funds and the cover story. You provide the muscle and the terror."
Lark processed the offer. A disguised, normal life. Stability. A chance to observe and learn without being hunted or worshiped. He couldn't let it slip. The path before him, alone in the monster-filled wilderness, was fraught with the necessity of constant violence. This offered a pause.
"I agree," Lark said, his voice deep and echoing, sealing the pact. "But I will act as a mercenary. My loyalty is to the coin and the commission, not the crown... at least until I understand the game board better."
Liana swallowed hard, a flicker of relief shining in her eyes. "Done. A mercenary you shall be, Lord?."
"Lark."
Lark immediately walked toward the overturned royal carriage, which lay sideways in the muddy ditch, its wheels spinning uselessly above the ruin of its axle. He slipped his immense fingers under the carriage's frame, ignoring the groaning woodwork. With a smooth, effortless grunt, Lark lifted the entire gilded vehicle, rotating it until the wheels were firmly planted on the ground again. He then stepped out of the ditch, immaculate and terrifying.
"If we are allies now, my Lady," Lark noted, his voice practical, "it would be greatly beneficial to move now so we wouldn't encounter more bandits, or soldiers from your enemy kingdom, who might have heard the fighting."
Liana nodded hurriedly and climbed back inside the carriage, pulling the silk curtain shut.
The group began moving again, heading west. Lark walked alongside the carriage, his long strides easily matching the pace of the remaining horses. The knights trailed behind, keeping a nervous ten feet of distance, still pointing their weapons away from the immediate threats and toward their new, terrifying escort.
Inside the rattling carriage, Captain Liora leaned forward, her face pale beneath the grime and split flesh of her wounds.
"Princess," she rasped, struggling to speak over the pain in her shoulder, "are you certain of this? That creature is powerful, perhaps inhumanly so, and cannot be fully trusted."
Liana rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window. "I know, Liora. I know. I also know that you might hate me for this. My people might hate me for this gamble I just took."
She looked at her Captain, her eyes burning with a desperate, calculating light. "But we are left with no choice. We are just a small kingdom. We have no gold, no clear alliances, and now, barely enough men to defend a small estate, much less the capital. Our enemies smell weakness. We need a deterrent, Captain. We need a monster to scare off the bigger monsters."
As the entourage maintained its swift pace, Lark's dozens of sapphire eyes surveyed the knights trailing slightly behind him. The air was thick with the stink of festering cuts and the slow, rhythmic drip of blood pooling inside their heavy boots.
They were a mess. One woman's helmet was cleaved halfway through, revealing a horrific red groove running down her skull. Another was clutching her stomach, her mail shirt split and showing a sickening protrusion of bowel that was already turning a dull, unhealthy purple.
Lark possessed a system ability, Harmonic Vigor, a powerful healing skill he had used extensively on himself and monstrous NPCs in the game, repairing shattered bone and knitting flesh in seconds. He had never attempted it on a human before, but the sight of such unnecessary suffering grated on his awareness. The pain signals of the group were a distracting, discordant noise.
Lark stopped abruptly, forcing the entire procession to halt.
"Most of you are heavily wounded," Lark announced, turning his massive frame to face the knights. His voice lowered in pitch, attempting to sound gentle, though it still echoed like chimes in an empty cathedral. "Some of you might be on the edge of death if those wounds are left untended. I could heal them, but I have never tried this ability... on human anatomy before. It might be... volatile."
The knights stared at him, still pointing their rusted steel at his marble body. Horror mingled with a flickering, desperate spark of hope in their terrified eyes.
"If anyone here wishes to take a chance to keep living and keep their limbs," Lark continued, "I would like to heal you now."
The knight clutching her gut, the one whose intestines threatened to spill, hesitated for a long, agonizing moment. Fear warred intensely with the searing, septic agony already setting in. She finally lowered her blade, taking a shaky step forward.
"Sir," the knight choked out, her voice thin with pain, "is there... an after-effect? After I'm healed, will you get something from me? My soul? My forced labor? What is the cost?"
Lark's marble face remained impassive. "No," he stated clearly. "I will heal everyone here for free. Without condition."
The wounded woman, collapsing slightly from relief and pain, could only manage one final, desperate question. "Why? Why would you offer such an extraordinary service for nothing?"
Lark looked past the woman, toward the wounded Captain Liora, then briefly toward the carriage hiding the anxious Princess. His hundreds of eyes seemed to soften, projecting a sudden, overwhelming sense of longing and kindness, filtered through the inhuman lens of his marble form.
"You don't need a reason to help someone good. Well, I hope you're actually good people." Lark replied, his echoing voice dropping to a seductive, almost ethereal whisper.