One of the greatest certainties one could have is that disaster can strike when least expected; there is no way to prepare for the unforeseen. Sometimes this calamity has severe consequences: hunters become prey, luck turns to misfortune, and life can be replaced by death.
It was just another raid on a human village in search of easy prey for the beast-men, with an experienced warrior leading the hunt; everything proceeded without a hitch.
By nightfall, they celebrated around a bonfire, toasting to the successful hunt, drinking and feasting until they could no longer, save for those who had the "fortune" of being on watch duty. Everyone was drunk when a shout came from the edge of the camp.
"Identify yourself!"
Splash.
The sound of flesh being cut was heard, decapitating the guard cleanly and precisely. The smell of their kin's blood awakened the senses of the beast-men, snapping them out of their stupor.
What followed was…
A massacre, a complete massacre.
The figure clad in attire as dark as night began to swing its blade with a superhuman speed, almost imperceptible even to the enhanced eyes of the feline beast-men.
Blood and cries of pain mixed with war shouts were heard as the blade reaped all without distinction. Strong or weak, it didn't matter. A larger ant is still an ant, incapable of dealing with an elephant.
Amid all the chaos, I was one of the few victims who escaped with my life, perhaps thanks to my exceptional vitality and strength even among the members of my tribe.
Gradually, I could see the figure more clearly, managing to distinguish its face as belonging to…
'A human?'
The demonic creature that mercilessly slaughtered all my companions while bathing in crimson blood was just a human?
It can't be, that's impossible! This thing that radiates such a dense killing intent that you can almost smell the metallic scent in the air is just a mere human?
With a voice trembling from fear and hesitation, I let out the breath I had been unconsciously holding in my lungs while roaring with all the strength I had left.
Going against my race's instinct for submission and admiration of the strong, and ignoring the growing urge to turn and run away as fast as possible, I began to tense my muscles as hard as I could to use my characteristic powerful axe strike, as a last attempt to resist imminent death.
It was then that my field of vision shifted abnormally. I could see the back of a muscular body with which I couldn't be more familiar, except for the head, which was missing from where it should have been.
The last sight I had was a glimpse of those frightening, solemn, and bored crimson eyes, as if all of this were natural.
I understood that expression very well. As someone endowed with strength, that face showed the disappointment of not finding worthy opponents, of being too strong to enjoy a good fight.
It was then that I understood.
There wasn't the slightest chance from the beginning. As soon as I thought of fighting back, my fate was already sealed. Even fleeing would have been a better choice; perhaps that demon would have taken pity and let me escape.
The battlefield, which just minutes earlier had echoed with the symphony of death and the shouts of numerous warriors, was now deathly silent.
The man responsible for it swung his sword to shake off the excess blood soaked into it, then turned to leave calmly.
The scene was terrifying: a man walking calmly through a sea of corpses, his attire stained with blood, his naturally ruby-red eyes and hair only heightening the contrast.
This was the first public appearance of the one who would come to be known as the Martial God, the Celestial Demon Zarkan.