I was Drafted Into a War as the Only Human

The air reeked of iron and smoke, thick enough that every breath felt like inhaling rusted nails. Blood soaked the churned earth underfoot, mixing with ash and shattered armor, turning the battlefield into a nightmarish mosaic of destruction.

"Why the hell are you here, Human?!" Tara roared, her voice hoarse but still sharp enough to slice through the din of war.

Lucy met her furious glare with a cold, blank stare.

The sight of her gave him pause—Tara's spotted fur was drenched in blood, her long brown hair clinging to her battered face in sweaty, filthy strands.

Ragged cuts marred her arms and legs, the raw red of torn flesh peeking through her ruined armor. The pungent stench of blood clung to her, thickening the already suffocating air between them.

"You can thank me later," Lucy said flatly, his voice stripped of warmth. "Besides... you look terrible."

The words slipped out harsher than he intended, but he couldn't summon the energy to care, not after everything. Not after the endless waves of disdain he kept swallowing down.

Tara's amber eyes flared with fresh rage. She jabbed a clawed finger just inches from his face.

"I don't need your help! And if I look terrible, you look abysmal!"

Lucy's jaw tensed. She wasn't wrong.

He looked like a corpse that refused to stay down. Cuts from Ayas's relentless blade crisscrossed his battered body. Blood trickled down the deep gash slashed over his left eye, blurring half his vision. His once wild and defiant black hair now hung in heavy, red-soaked clumps. His silver armor was cracked, dented, and stained so deeply with blood it reflected the battlefield in dark, twisted patterns.

And still, here she was, screaming at him like he was the villain.

Biting down the bitterness rising in his throat, Lucy lowered his sword slightly, anger flashing across his bruised face. His voice cracked like a whip through the smoke-choked air, rising over the clash of steel and dying screams.

"Can't any of you say thank you?" he shouted, his tone razor-sharp with frustration. "Here you are, struggling to stay alive, and what do I do? I risk my damn life to save you, and what do I get for it? Nothing but an annoying cheetah screaming at me!"

His words echoed out, drawing a few startled glances from nearby soldiers.

But Tara didn't back down.

She stomped forward, the heat of her fury radiating off her battered frame. She thrust her face close to his, her breath ragged and hot with rage.

"I didn't ask for your help!" she bellowed, sharp fangs flashing. "And even if I did, why the hell would I thank you?! You're just going to get killed by Fenara anyway!"

Her voice cracked at the end, more emotion bleeding through than she likely intended. For a brief heartbeat, Lucy saw past the anger—the fear trembling beneath her rage, the desperation she was too proud to admit.

But he refused to be softened.

He turned his head aside with a scoff, keeping his blade angled between them like a wall. His temper boiled dangerously close to spilling over.

"Can you look in a damn mirror before you yell at me?" he snarled, his lip curling in disgust.

His hands tightened around the battered leather grip of his sword, raw palms protesting. A dozen harsher insults teetered on the edge of his tongue, ready to ignite.

But before he could unleash them, a cocky voice cut through the tension like a blade:

"Look at you two, bickering like lovers," the newcomer drawled lazily. "Did you forget I'm still here?"

Both Lucy and Tara jerked away from each other, their faces flushing crimson under the grime and blood.

"We are NOT lovers!" they shouted in perfect, furious unison.

Fenara stepped forward through the misty battlefield, a cruel smirk tugging at her lips. The moonlight bathed her silver hair in a ghostly sheen, making her seem almost ethereal against the blood-soaked chaos around her. Her orange eyes gleamed like twin embers, predatory and unblinking as she regarded them with lazy confidence.

The thick iron scent of blood pressed in from all sides, mixed with the sulfur tang of burnt magic and the sour stink of fear. Every breath Lucy took burned his lungs, setting his nerves further on edge.

"Are you sure you're not lovers?" Fenara teased, voice smooth as silk and twice as deadly. She tilted her head, silver hair spilling across her sharp features. "My husband and I yell at each other like that all the time."

Lucy tore his heated gaze from Tara and locked it onto Fenara.

Unlike the two of them, she looked barely touched by the battle. Her leather armor, though scuffed, was intact. Her tousled silver hair was free of blood and grime. The few marks she bore looked almost ornamental—proof of dominance rather than vulnerability.

Lucy's lips twitched. Grudgingly, a slight, foreign, almost forgotten grin appeared on his battered face. The motion stung where fresh cuts split anew.

Well," he said coolly, sliding into a defensive stance, "you should probably consider marriage counseling, then."

Tara, already mirroring his movements, shot Fenara a fierce glare."Finally, something we agree on."

The air crackled with tension.

Without warning, Fenara lunged—a blur of orange, black, and flashing silver slicing through the night. Lucy's heartbeat hammered against his ribs as he struggled to track her.

'She's fast. Too fast.'

Claws bared, Fenara came straight for him, intent on ending the fight before it truly began.

Lucy barely twisted aside, the razor-edge of her claws whispering past his throat. At the same instant, Tara struck, slashing at Fenara's exposed neck with desperate force.

But Fenara moved like a nightmare.

She caught Tara's wrist mid-swing, her fingers tightening with cruel precision. Tara struggled, her blood-slicked fur made her grip slippery, but Fenara's hold was unbreakable.

Lucy didn't hesitate.

He raised his blade and slashed for Fenara's wrist, aiming to sever the hand pinning Tara.

The wind howled around his strike, a piercing scream of steel cutting through the thick, fetid air.

But at the last moment, Fenara shifted, pulling Tara's trapped arm into the path of Lucy's blow.

Lucy wrenched his sword off course, the momentum almost throwing him off balance.

In the same fluid motion, Fenara heaved Tara forward, slamming her into Lucy's chest like a battering ram.

The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. They hit the ground hard, sliding back across the blood-slicked obsidian.

Lucy tasted copper as he scrambled up, dragging Tara upright with him. The battlefield around them swam with fractured reflections of fire and death.

But Fenara was already upon them, both claws gleaming, poised to rip them apart.

Acting on pure instinct, Lucy thrust his arm upward.

A searing cylinder of fire erupted between them, the blast of heat so intense it sucked moisture from the air and boiled sweat off his skin.

The battlefield became an oven.

Fenara, undeterred, dropped low and slid across the slick stone under the roaring inferno, her silver hair trailing like a ghost's banner.

But Lucy wasn't finished.

"I missed... two feet too high."

With a snarl, he conjured a second fire cylinder, detonating directly at Fenara's feet.

The ground cracked and hissed as flame geysered upward.

But Fenara moved with terrifying grace.

She sprang skyward, twisting through the air like a silver comet.

Tara, blood spraying from fresh wounds, launched after her with a defiant roar.

Midair, they collided with a deafening crack, the shockwave rippling across the battlefield and throwing up dust, ash, and gore. Soldiers nearby staggered, shielding their faces against the blast.

Both fighters crashed down hard, skidding across the broken field.

Lucy pushed himself upright once more, muscles screaming, blood dripping from his jaw.

Fenara rose too, dusting herself off almost lazily. Her predatory smile widened as she locked eyes with him.

"Did you think," she said, voice rich with mockery, "that I wouldn't know you stole Ayas's ability?"

She shook her head slowly, almost pitying.

"Our god sees everything."

Lucy's grip tightened on his sword, the firelight dancing wild in his bruised, determined eyes.

'She's mocking us. But she's not invincible.'

'I'll find a way.'

'I have to.'