The world was not meant to change that day, yet its denizens marched endlessly towards it, with steel in talon and hand, with cries of pain and a single sunflower swaying in the wind unaware of the world.

  Crimson blood splattered over the sunflower.

  The ground next to the sunflower shuddered as a hoof stomped merely an inch from it, skidding back as its owner struggled for ground. A tempered steel sword sung through the air as its wielder forced the owner of the hoof back.

  A humanoid hovers in the sky, silhouette almost godlike against the sun behind him. In place of arms he possesses a large set of silver wings, gorgeous feathers awash with specks of blood. Just below his calf it transitioned to scute, bird legs and feet holding a sword of steel. His short hair showed his pointed ears, dowry feathers fluttered in the heavy winds. His light armour no longer shone, in need of maintenance.

  His grounded opponent gasped for air, exhausted as he held a blade of obsidian in hand, magical sigils down the length of the blade aglow with power and occasionally flickered as the two swords clashed. In place of his hips and legs a scarred horse body buckled under each blow from the harpy opposition.

  The centaur’s eyes kept flicking to a run down holy building, a mess of deteriorated wood and shaky grounding, but it would deny the harpy any ground to move. With a flick of his sword arm the harpy was forced to back off. He thrust out an empty pale hand, index and middle finger out. “[Rune]!” Magic pooled at his fingertips, creating a large runic circle in the air that bubbled with magic. He turned to start a gallop, just to have to bring up his sword as the harpy front flipped over the large rune, bringing down his steel sword with enough force to make all of the sigils flicker at once.

  With a fierce push the harpy was sent through the air with a dumbfounded expression, slamming his back into the rune then to the ground in a heap. He got to his talons as the centaur fled, the harpy brushing the petals of a crushed sunflower off his shirt and chestplate. With a few flaps of his wings he was in the air again, flying to the run down building. The centaur bounded up the run down stairs and twirled on the spot at the entrance to face his enemy. A hasty deflect turned into a riposte, disforming the scales of the harpy’s left leg as the flat slammed against him. The battle then enters the building.

  “You’re at a disadvantage, Hydra Slayer.” Another rune is cast, a simple flick of the wrist sends it forward with intent to break on the harpy just for him to jump to the side. The rune broke just before a large marble statue, mana fades to the wind as amethyst eyes watch over the fight.

  “I disagree, Mage Lord.” The harpy sneered at him before he twirled, blades collided. “I didn’t earn my title by sitting around, I’ve plenty of grounded experience.” With both of them grounded it’s no contest as to who has more strength. The centaur slowly slid back as the harpy pushed him back, broken stones shifting under his weight. With a ferocious push the harpy lost the initiative, a new shallow gash on his face. He sailed through the air for a second time.

  “[Rally Flame]!” the centaur held his blade high, the runes sparked with light red power. The blade was coated with a brilliant flame. He levelled a smirk as he slowly approached, blade pointed at his foe.

  The harpy got to his talons, collected his blade and spread out his wings. “[Rally Reject]!” The flames die out on the rune sword, a red essence leaked out and flew to the harpy’s sword, blade coated with fire instead.

  “I hate [Knight]s.” The centaur mumbled before being pushed onto the defensive. His arms burned under the exhaustion and literal flames that licked at him in each clash. Yet he saw a small weakness to exploit. With a quick step back the harpy overextended with a swing, yet recovered in time to barely block the counter attack. A second step, this time to the side rattled the harpy as the blades slammed together too early for him. A fist to the face finally opened him up.

  The sword raked its serrated obsidian edge across the harpy’s stomach, chest and shoulder. Blood splattered over the statue, slowly running down as the harpy collapsed in front of it. “Finally,” He lazily stepped in front of the dying harpy, “The Hydra Slayer is gone. Your army shall collapse without your leadership.” He lifted a hoof and hovered it over his wound. Some marble landed on the floor next to them, shattering.

  The bloodied statue silently shook with enough vigour to make spiderweb cracks all along the apparently thin marble surface. A piece from the statue’s face broke off, nose shattering just above the harpy’s head. Even he found the strength to shift his head back to witness the statue. A shimmering storm of lights resided inside the statue, a colourful mist slowly leaked from it, the light inside slowly grew brighter, the statue shook with more ferocity, the ground itself seemed to shake.

  With a shard of marble slashing the centaur’s face as it flew by he turned and fled, not wanting to be part of this unnatural event. Barely conscious, the harpy also began to shift his body, agreeing with not wanting to be here. The sound of something smashing was preceded by what he could classify as hell itself breaking loose. His sight was immediately engulfed in such an intense light he momentarily went blind.

  The centaur turned just in time to witness the end of an era. The broken and decayed roof of the holy building blew up with enough force for some shards to enter the upper atmosphere, being caught in the planet’s orbit. He drops his weapon in shock and fear at the sight of a colossal beam of coloured light that shot into the sky, splitting into an endless stream of much smaller beams that flew over the evening sky. With the slowly darkening sky having turned into a worldwide aurora borealis. The world watched with confusion and worry.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Then fear as the beams of coloured light fell. The centaur who had started it all jumped to the side, a beam just tall enough to engulf him missing by an inch. He watched in terror as the beam turned back on him, flying past his other side and boxing him in. With a last ditch effort he attempted to jump the beam.

  It flew into his path, engulfing him, and he was no more.

  The harpy slowly recovered his eyesight, honestly surprised he was still alive. He could see the events outside, but not the fate of anyone yet. He didn’t have the energy to jump when he felt a burning sensation on his right leg, he just moved his eyes to the new entry to the destroyed building.

  A humanoid creature that consisted exclusively of the light beams outside, grasping his leg. It pulled and dragged him into view of the former statue, now an oval of coloured light, ever shifting. He tried to grab a rock with his hurt leg, but had no strength to grip. He stared at its face, black holes for eyes and mouth in a devilish grin. It stepped into the oval, talons being pulled in.

  An incredible burning overtook his entire body, only able to muster a gasp before his entire foot entered, and darkness took him.

  Talons clink on the stone floor of a small house, holding a book in her wings as she paces. A harpy of canary yellow feathers, pale skin and sundress reads aloud from the book, titled “Recounts of the Old World, by Old World Harpies who were there.” The harpy herself was barely twenty, in front of her was a classroom of nearly twenty all her age or just below.

  “When the Death Aurora had finally departed, all of the harpy, centaur and lamia men were gone, from the elderly, young to eggs. Yet, that night a miracle occurred. Someone had taken pity on us and sent some of the men from other worlds, reincarnated to assist us. Those born of these men are New World Harpies. Before that, Old World Harpies.” She looks over the clearly uninterested crowd, hearing things they have known their entire lives. “You need to remember all this you know.” She chastises the group, expertly balancing the book with a single wing to wave a single outstretched feather at the end of her wingspan as if it was a finger at the group.

  “We know all this!” A harpy of black feathers and tan leather armour slams a wing on the table, sharp eyes narrowed. “The men fall in a red shooting star, the Old World Harpies call us halfbreeds and by the gods do the Beekaline men know their plumbing! We didn’t have that twenty-four years ago!” This quickly devolves the lesson into what men of varying worlds have brought to them. Crop farming methods, crossbows and plumbing being mentioned among others.

  “Crossbows suck.” A harpy of forest green feathers commented, while taking a moment to brush her similarly coloured hair out of her pointed ears, soft down feathers growing out to almost encase the inside of the ear, yet not restricting her hearing at all. “There isn’t even a classline for it. I expected maybe [Sniper] or [Ballista] but nope,” She threw out a wing in frustration. “Nothing. So what if it’s easier to use, just use the weapon your class gives you.” Murmurs of agreement can barely be heard.

  “Fleur.” The teacher narrows her eyes at the green harpy. “Crossbows are a fine tool for those who can’t natively use bows. [Impact] still works on them, making them a good ranged attack for any class. As a [Magic Archer] I know you aren’t starved for range, but sword classes certainly are.” Fleur just responds with a nod as the conversation continues to shift away from the Death Aurora. The teacher rubbed at her temples with her wings, increasingly frustrated with the class. “Enough! One last thing, then you can all go!” She placed the book on the table with a loud thud, startling the class into a deadset focus.

  “The men are expendable. During the three years a man will always be replaced if he dies. The nation that kills a man of another nation receives his replacement, to our knowledge. If you have the choice between you, or a man during these years, let him die.” She focuses her sharp gaze at the group. “Kill any men of other nations if you get the chance, so we may continue.” Her gaze lifts once she finishes, stepping away to tap the board with her wing joint. “For those who are working at Silverfield, don’t worry about lessons. Work hard so we may all eat. That is all.”

  Chairs shuffle as the group gets to their talons, picked up bags slung over shoulders and the group walk to the door. Fleur is last to stand up, collecting her magic bow, a silver coloured magically reinforced pewter bow, sleek and dripping with mana, with a thick ring around the grip, small magic runes lit up as she elegantly hoisted it onto its leather hold on her back. With a quick adjustment of the leather strap over her shoulder she stepped into the aisle. “Farewell, Fleur.” The teacher wavered a wing to her. “Seeing your sister in Millwater, or heading to Telford for another contract?”

  “Millwater, Maribelle hasn’t responded to my last message and I think that's due to the dastards there. I’m gonna convince her to come back to Birchlea, back here. Millwater is supposedly good, but I don’t quite trust the brochures.” Fleur idly waved a wing to her teacher, already knowing it was going to be a tough challenge. “I’ll drag her ass back here if I must. I’ll head out tomorrow morning.”

  “I wish you luck.”

  “Thanks, Fir.” Fleur finally left.

  The moon had long risen above the horizon, a half crescent that lit up some of the land in a dim glow. Fleur had settled down for the night. A soft silver nightgown hung off her shoulders as she stares out the window, looking over the moors as a candle burns on the windowsill. She blows out the candle, ready to go to sleep. Fate didn’t intend for her to rest so easily. A red spark in the sky catches her attention, blazing across the sky before abruptly descending to the ground with nary a sound.

  “No fucking way.” Fleur was a feathery whirlwind as she got herself as barely prepared as she could. A sleeveless fur coat is thrown over her nightgown, a small black belt whipped around her waist, magic bow and holster pulled over her shoulder and vulnerary in a metal bottle tied to the front of the leather. She ignored the hip bag her instincts were telling her to put on. “No way!” The window was thrown open, clattering against the wall as she threw herself out said window. Her wings caught the frosty air as she ascends before throwing her legs back, straightening up as her joints lock, tail feathers shifting up to help with her balance under the heavy coat. She glides quickly towards the red light in the moors, excited to who she was going to meet.