The road stretched before Vyros and Taren Holt, the soft crunch of their footsteps the only sound in the silence of the night. The moon hung high above them, casting an eerie light over the desolate landscape. A thick, unsettling fog had started to creep across the ground, turning the night air cold as they approached the eastern farms.
Vyros felt the weight of the dark magic lingering in the air. There was something wrong here, something ancient. The usual sounds of the night, the rustle of leaves, the chirp of insects, were all absent. The wind had died, leaving only the oppressive silence that made every step feel heavier.
Taren walked ahead, his lantern swinging in the dark, though his eyes constantly scanned the fields around them. His earlier bravado had faded, replaced with an undeniable fear that gripped his chest.
"The fields should be up ahead," Taren muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But don't expect to find anything normal. The ground's been cursed, I'm sure of it. I've worked these fields my whole life, and I've never seen anything like this."
Vyros nodded, his gaze focused on the path ahead. Taren's words confirmed what he had suspected. Goblins weren't the cause. This wasn't the work of thieves or wild animals, it was something far older. The magic in the air tasted different, cold, ancient.
As they neared the edge of the farm, the tall stalks of wheat seemed to move on their own, swaying without a breeze. The moonlight filtered through the clouds, illuminating the land in soft silver hues. But the fields before them were far too still, far too quiet.
Ahead, the scarecrows stood, just as Taren had described. Three figures, each one roughly humanoid in shape, their heads made from burlap, stitched tightly together in grotesque patterns. But it was their eyes that caught Vyros's attention. They glowed faintly green in the dark, the light pulsing rhythmically, as if they were alive. Watching.
Taren stopped dead in his tracks, his breath hitching. "They're still there…" he whispered.
Vyros stepped forward, his senses heightened. Every fiber of his being screamed that something was wrong. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, the familiar cold weight comforting him as he prepared for whatever came next.
Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the night air. The sound came from one of the scarecrows, the one furthest to their right. Its arms snapped free from the wooden cross that had held it in place. The scarecrow jerked to life, its burlap face twisting grotesquely as it turned toward them.
Taren stumbled backward, dropping his lantern in a clatter of glass. "By the gods—!"
Vyros didn't wait for the man to finish. With a fluid motion, he drew his sword, the blade shifting into the shape of a great scythe as darkfire swirled around it. The scarecrow dragged its rusted sickle from its waist, the blade shining faintly under the moonlight. It lunged at them, its movements jerky but fast.
Vyros's body reacted before his mind could catch up. He met the scarecrow with the full force of his power, his scythe cutting through the air with precision. The blade sliced through the creature's wooden arm, severing it cleanly. The scarecrow screeched, its voice more human than Vyros expected. The sound sent a chill down his spine, but he didn't hesitate.
With a quick twist of his wrist, Vyros slashed downward, severing the creature's head. The green light in its eyes faded as it collapsed to the ground in a heap of hay and cloth.
Taren's voice was filled with awe and terror. "What in the gods' names was that?"
Vyros took a deep breath, his grip tightening on his sword. "That wasn't just a scarecrow. It's a reanimated construct. Something, or someone, is controlling them."
Taren, still shaken, nodded. "I've seen magic, but nothing like that. We're not dealing with goblins. This is beyond anything I know."
Before Vyros could respond, he heard a faint rustling behind him. His senses flared. From the shadows of the field, two more scarecrows emerged, their eyes glowing even brighter now. One of them carried a pitchfork, the other's hands had transformed into claws of bone.
Vyros's mind raced. These creatures were no mere pests. They were creations of dark magic, controlled by something far more sinister.
"Get back," Vyros said to Taren, his voice commanding. "I'll handle this."
Vyros stepped forward, his body poised for the next strike. He didn't have the luxury of time. The scarecrows were closing in, and Taren, terrified, had no idea what they were truly facing. Vyros was their only hope.
Vyros's magic surged through him, and with a swift incantation, he raised his hand. The fire within him ignited, crackling to life. He twisted his wrist, sending a wave of darkfire coursing toward the two advancing scarecrows. The fire spread quickly, catching their hay-filled bodies in an instant.
The scarecrows faltered for a moment, their movements slowing as the flames consumed their forms. But they didn't stop. They advanced, even through the fire, the magic keeping them alive, fighting despite the inferno.
Vyros stepped into the flames, unafraid. With a roar, he swung his blade again, the great scythe cleaving through the creature with terrifying precision. One scarecrow crumpled to the ground, its body consumed by the dark magic within it.
But the second was still standing, the pitchfork swinging wildly at Vyros's chest. Vyros ducked and slammed his blade into the creature's side, sending it to the ground with a shudder. The green light in its eyes faded for good, and the creature collapsed, lifeless once more.
Vyros stood in the smoking remnants of the field, his chest rising and falling with the exertion. The night was eerily silent again. The scarecrows were no more, their reanimated magic broken by Vyros's strength and his dark fire.
Taren approached cautiously, his face pale. "I… I don't know what to say. That… that was not what I expected."
Vyros cleaned his blade, the darkness swirling around the edge. "The villagers were right to be afraid. These creatures weren't just simple scarecrows. They're part of something much larger."
Taren nodded, still shaken. "What do we do now?"
Vyros turned toward the fields that stretched into the darkness. "We need to find out who or what is behind this. The threat here is far from over."