038 I AM NOT A HERO
Damen's mind strained, grasping for the feeling he'd had before when he used the Camouflage skill, but the feeling soon slipped away.
The fortress shuddered as a low thunder rolled in the distance.
Over the horizon, thousands of alien hounds charged, dark shapes boiling across the desert like a living tide. They slammed into the fortress walls, claws raking and climbing the shimmering force fields.
Damen clenched his fists. "I shouldn't have come up here for fresh air."
Then the air shifted.
A new shadow appeared in front of him—massive, and hunched, its form slipping through the fortress's barriers as if they weren't even there.
The beast's silhouette loomed, deliberate and predatory.
This wasn't a danger of flesh and blood. It was ethereal.
It was a living shadow, shaped like a four-legged hound, its semi-transparent body crawling with writhing scarabs instead of flesh. Its pale blue eyes burned like soul-flames. The most terrifying thing: it could phase straight through walls.
"Damn it…I'm faced with a real Annunakin," Damen whispered.
The beast lunged at him, but his Camouflage didn't trigger. He was frozen in place, his hand tightened around his dagger.
"Can I even kill this thing with a blade?"
Before the beast reached him, a voice cut through the tension.
"Move aside, boy!"
A soldier charged in with a energy harpoon crackling with electricity. The weapon fired into the hound's chest, and the creature shrieked with rage.
"Die, you blue bloody hound!" the soldier roared.
The strike wounded the shadow beast and pinned him to the ground, but it was not enough.
The creature tore free from the wounded limb without pain or hesitation. With a furious snarl, it pounced on the soldier. Its claws raked, and jaws clamped on the soldier's neck.
Instantly his bone snapped.
The man collapsed, dead, his eyes staring blanky at Damen.
"Shit, buddy, are you dead?" Damen cried. There was no answer or any chance of survival.
But it wasn't time to lament the loss. Survival was at stake.
The hound turned its soul fire eyes back on him.
"Come on go bugger somebody else", Damen muttered.
The creature didn't listen. It lunged at him.
Damen raised his meta shield desperately. Impact exploded against it but then…. horrifyingly, the shield shattered like a toy.
"Damit! Isn't this bloody shield already Rank F?! Am I going to die now?"
Now exposed, Damen braced for the killing blow. The beast's maw opened wide, ready to chew. When Damen was about to brace for his end again-
"Bang!"
The Annunakin hound convulsed mid-leap. A storm of auto-cannon rounds tore it apart, spraying blue ichor as the corpse crashed onto Damen.
He shoved the ruined carcass aside, panting, drenched in its blood.
"Blue Blood!!!"
Above, a drone swept by, hunting for more targets. Damen had survived, but barely.
Then it hit him.
Meta-energy surged like fire in his veins. His form melted into the surroundings, body fading seamlessly into the air.
Camouflage.
Finally, he triggered it. The realization struck him hard—fear and raw instinct had unlocked it.
"I have to engrave this feeling into my bones," Damen muttered. "Fear. Stress. That's the trigger."
Minutes passed.
Then the fortress sirens finally died down.
"Hey, it's over, Damen. Don't start daydreaming now."
Zairgid appeared with his usual grin.
Damen let the camouflage fade, still catching his breath. "The Annunakin invasion's over?"
Zairgid chuckled, shaking his head. "Not quite but sirens aren't ringing, so we're safe for now. That was probably just a probe, testing our defenses."
Damen sighed a relief.
Zairgid's eyes flicked to Damen's bloodstained clothes. "But man—you look like you peed yourself blue."
"Not funny," Damen muttered, he tried to appear calm but the tremor in his hands betrayed him.
Close calls carved deep lessons.
He tightened his grip on his dagger, his resolve hardening. "I cannot be careless again. Next time, I'll be ready," he vowed.
Damen walked over to the soldier's fallen body.
His hands trembled as he reached into his own pocket, pulling out two small medals—the Hero's Medals of his parents, who had given their lives defending the city years ago.
He stared at the soldier's still face as he clenched his parent's medals.
This man had done the same—thrown himself into danger to protect another, only to fall in the line of duty.
"Just like my parents."
A lump formed in his throat.
"I wonder… did this man have children?" Damen whispered. "Will they grow up abandoned—like me? Without someone to protect them? Why would he protect some random people and fail to protect his loved ones? Is that what it takes to become Hero?"
A tear slipped down his cheek.
He didn't know whether to praise his sacrifice or lament the sadness of his loved ones who would now miss him forever.
The thought burned in his chest.
Heroism was never just about one life. A hero's death carried ripples—broken families, lonely children, and futures cut adrift.
Yet even in that sorrow, he felt something stir inside him.
A solemn respect. A weight of gratitude. This soldier hadn't died in vain, at least according to him.
He saved his life.
"Your sacrifice… I won't forget it," Damen murmured. He tightened his grip on his dagger, the medals pressed hard against his palm.
For the first time, he felt the true cost of heroism—not the glory sung by others, but the pain left behind.
And in that moment, appreciation turned into resolve.
"I am not a Hero and never will become one."
-----
Damen's hands still trembled as he made his way to the washroom. The soldier's death, the hound's soulfire eyes, the shattering of his shield—they all looped in his mind.
As he scrubbed the blue ichor from his skin, he vowed silently:
Next time, I won't leave survival to chance.
When he returned to the bunker, the contrast hit him hard.
Dozens of recruits lounged on their bunks, scrolling through their phones, laughing softly. For them, the sirens had been nothing more than background noise.
They hadn't stood inches from death. They hadn't felt their shield shatter, their breath stolen by terror.
That was the difference between them and him.
Damen sat heavily on his bed, his eyes unfocused. Again and again, he replayed the moment before the shadow hound's jaws snapped down.
He willed the fear to return to that time, to trigger his Camouflage again—but nothing came.
"You're doing it wrong."
Damen blinked.
Zairgid stood beside his bunk, arms crossed.