[story]
"Dammit, what kind of moth is this? No one said it was bigger than a dragon!"
The man shouted in frustration, his voice barely audible over the deafening roar of the wind. Before him hovered a colossal moth, its wings spanning as wide as a house. Each beat of its wings sent hurricane-like gusts sweeping through the terrain, threatening to topple the man where he stood. Keeping his balance was a battle in itself, especially on this steep, treacherous plateau. The relentless wind sapped his strength, forcing him to focus all his energy on simply staying upright.
For a while, he concentrated solely on adjusting to the rhythm of the gusts.
"What... what's happening to me?"
Suddenly, his body felt sluggish, like an invisible weight was pulling him down. Memories of the shaman's warnings flickered in his mind—something about paralysis, powder, and wings. The details were fuzzy, but the symptoms were clear. The man’s movements grew slower with each passing moment, his limbs heavy as if submerged in tar. A drowsy exhaustion crept over him, urging him to collapse and rest. He couldn't remember the last time he’d felt this weary.
It was then the creature attacked again. From its maw spewed a sticky, viscous substance, a gelatinous spray arcing through the air toward him. He dodged clumsily, his sluggish limbs barely keeping him clear. The shaman hadn’t mentioned this either—or maybe he had, and the man hadn’t been paying attention. Paralysis, powder, now this gooey spit—what else could this monstrosity have in its arsenal? His nerves were strung tight with anticipation.
"Fight it from a distance? Sure, easy for you to say," he muttered bitterly.
The shaman’s advice echoed in his mind: “Avoid getting too close. Fight from afar if you want to survive.” But advice given in safety often failed in the chaos of the field. Arrows had been useless, scattered by the gusts. Thrown spears had been swatted away like bothersome flies. Every attempt to keep his distance had only agitated the beast further.
The man’s eyes narrowed as he studied the moth’s movements. He began to piece it together.
“Avoid getting too close, huh? That must mean something...”
His gaze sharpened, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. The shaman’s warning wasn’t just about the moth’s strength—it was about its vulnerability. If it went to such lengths to keep enemies at bay, then surely that meant its defenses were weakest up close.
Steeling himself, the man began moving forward, step by agonizing step, against the gale-force winds. The closer he got, the stronger his conviction grew. It wasn’t just a strategy anymore; it was a certainty.
“If I can get close enough,” he muttered, his smirk widening into a grin, “then I’ve already won.”
Victory wasn’t just a possibility—it was inevitable. All he needed was one opening.
[chapter]
00:05 Wings of the Storm
10:05 The Moth’s Venom
20:05 In the Shadow of the Beast
30:05 Bitter Breeze
40:05 Chasing the Winds of Fate
50:05 Struggling Against the Night
[copyright]
Music, Visual and Story by Colossus Blade.
All music, artwork and animation on Colossus Blade are original, created and owned by Colossus Blade.
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