He dreamt of fire.

A blazing inferno, one so ferocious that it threatened to suck the air from his lungs. He could taste ash and cinders, felt the heat lick at his face. Soot dirtied his pale skin. He could only stare in silence as his village burned before his eyes, watch as his friends and neighbors were slaughtered by black shadows.The shadows laughed as his friend screamed, the darkness taking her. His parents lay before him, reaching for him, drenched in a pool of blood. His father's shaky hand gave out, slamming into the bloody mud beneath him. A wet sensation splashed onto his face.

XXX

He awoke to rain.

He stared up at the roof of his tent, and noticed a tear, water dripping onto his helm and slipping into his visor. He heard footsteps from outside, sloshing about in wet earth.

"Oi, it's time to move out." A voice called. The flap of his tent rattled as a hand beat on it. "We got a schedule to keep and this rain won't change it." A bald head peered into the tent and glared. "That means you, er… Shite, what was your name again?"

"Alistair." The tent's sole occupant replied. "Alistair Aquila." His voice was a smooth baritone and echoed slightly due to his helm.

"Right fancy name you got there. You a nobleman's bastard or something?" The bald man joked. "Oh Gods, you even sleep with your blasted gear on? The hell's wrong you?"

The man gestured to Alistair's armor: Dull grey steel plates strapped over black pants and arming doublet—chainmail woven into the fabric wherever plate did not cover—with white fur lining the collar. Alistair's helmet, an armet with two slits for vision, completed the set.

The armored man stared back impassively. "There could be an ambush."

The bald man laughed. "Hah! Like those orcs are smart enough to do that. Come on then, it's time to march." His message delivered, the man withdrew from the tent. Alistair sighed before rising to his full height of six feet tall. He strapped his longsword to his belt and his kite shield to his left arm, before grabbing his spear in his right hand. He exited the tent, hearing the rain splash against his helm. He saw other men leaving their tents and followed them to the camp's center.

Atop a small platform stood Vult, the leader of the Black Dog Mercenaries. To his sides were his vice-captains Hicks and Kin. They looked over the crowd of mercs gathered before them with an appraising gaze. For a moment, Vult and Alistair had locked eyes, and the captain grinned.

"All right, listen up!" The man boomed. The murmuring of the crowd stopped instantly at Vult's command, all looking up their new employer. "You men may be green as grass, but you're Black Dogs now! That means you're part of the best damn mercenary company there ever was! We, who have triumphed on behalf of the Seven Shield Alliance time and time again against the demon scourge, welcome you new-bloods as our brothers-in-arms!"

His words were met with an uproar of cheers and applause, whose fervor only stopped when he began to speak again.

"Now, it's time to prove yourselves worthy of our name! The Dark Queen's forces are coming here, to Ostagoth, to pillage the settlement! But we won't let them! These are OUR lands, OUR people, and like hell we'll just let them shit all over what is OURS! We're not just going to win, we're going to make them regret ever being born into this world! We'll show them that WE are the true demons!"

The resounding roar of approval proved nearly deafening. The men jostled each other in their excitement, whooping and howling as adrenaline pumped through their veins. Throughout it all, however, Alistair remained silent. That did not mean that Vult's words were ineffective on the man. Alistair's reaction was subtle, but no less intense then the men around him. The captain's words lit a fire in his soul, making his heart race a mile a minute. His hand tightened its grip around his spear, his knuckles turning white beneath his gauntlets. He would purge the demonic blight with his own hands.

"Black Dogs, LET'S HUNT!"

XXX

The Black Dogs were in formation, eagerly awaiting their foes to cross the horizon. They did not have to wait long, for they felt the earth rumble beneath their feet, quaking from the mass of orcs that soon came into sight. They were as monstrous as ever, easily towering over even someone of Alistair's stature and the width of two average men. Despite lacking armor, an orc's hide was thick and hard to damage. Their great strength allowed them to wield large, heavy weapons with ease. The recruits grew nervous, their earlier eagerness leaving them in droves. It was the Black Dog veterans that bolstered them, reassuring the new-bloods that they had their backs.

Alistair stood on the front lines, with Vult right in front of him. The man looked particularly bloodthirsty, grinning with excitement at the inevitable engagement. Just then, someone broke through the ranks, falling to his knees beside Vult.

"C-Captain! Enemy forces to the East!" The messenger cried through staggered breaths.

"What?!" Vult yelled at the man, who cowered before his captain.

"A-A flanking force, sir! They forded the river and hope to decimate our right flank!"

"Damn it!" Vult's gaze turned back to the enemy in front of us. They were approaching slowly, but steadily. There would be no running from them now. He turned to Alistair's battalion and barked. "You! You lot are going to intercept that flanking force!"

"W-What!?"

"We're going to face them w-without you, sir?!"

"Damn straight you are! Time to earn your pay recruits! Keep them off our backs until we finish with the main force here. You survive, you'll get a bonus! Now get going men!"

"Sir, yes sir!" The battalion cried. As they marched to intercept, Alistair took a moment to assess his battle brothers. Barely any of them were even half as armored as him. If he didn't know better, he would have thought these men mere bandits. He knew their type: The ones that joined for the glory, but with no idea exactly what hell they put themselves in. They were the kind who thought they were invincible due to the Black Dog name alone. They were the kind who died easily.

Roughly fifteen minutes passed when Alistair's battalion finally laid eyes on their target: A sizeable contingent of orcs and imps. In contrast to the towering orcs, the imps were around the size of a child. They were fast, cunning creatures that, in conjunction with the strong, yet dull orcs; made for a dangerous combination.

He could hear the men beside him attempt to swallow the lumps that had formed in their throats. Seeing the fear in the humans before them, the demons cackled and laughed. The anxiety in his battle-brothers was quickly replaced with agitation and anger. Being mocked proved a good way to bolster morale, for the battalion began howling war cries, raising their arms into the air or beating them against their shields. The imps began to scowl at the defiant humans and ordered the orcs to charge. With a ferocious roar, the orcs obeyed, stampeding towards the human forces.

With a roar of their own, the humans counter-charged, clashing with the orcs in a furious melee. Alistair used the momentum of his charge to force his spear through the throat of an orc. With a grunt, he ripped the spear out and buried it into the stomach of another. The orc yelled in pain as it swatted at Alistair, who dodged the orc's meaty limb and jumped onto the shaft of his spear. The movement jostled the spearhead inside the orc, cutting through the orc's intestines. Blinded by pain, the orc didn't see the shield strike that shattered its skull, pulverizing bone and sending the monster stumbling backwards. The dying orc fell on top of an imp, crushing the small thing beneath its weight and Alistair's.

Dislodging his spear, Alistair heard a shrill voice shouting above the roar of battle. He turned to a group of imps readying their bows in his direction. He quickly brought his shield forth, protecting him against the arrows that perforated an unintended target beside him. The imps quickly readied another volley, but the small window allowed Alistair to throw his spear at them. The impromptu missile skewered two of the imps together, eliciting a cry of fear from the surviving archers as they stared at their impaled comrades. Alistair used this opportunity to close the distance, drawing his sword and charging at the imps. Holding his longsword in a firm grip, he drove the blade in its entirety through one of the imps. He brought the sword up, watching as the imp cried in pain before brutally swinging it over his head. His sword carved through the rest of the imp's body, freeing his blade as guts and gore rained down in addition to water.

The two remaining imps awoke from their stupor and rushed to engage him. One had jumped into the air, lunging at him with a dagger. He quickly slashed at its extended arm, severing it. He followed up with a shoulder bash, sending his airborne foe flying back into its companion. They crumpled into a heap, the injured imp pinning the other as it held its stump, crying and yelling in hysteria at its missing limb. He approached them, watching as the pinned imp frantically tried to get its friend to move. It was too late, however, and Alistair drove his blade down into both of them.

Just as he was about to search for a new target, a human body was thrown overhead, nearly taking off his head as it flew past him and into a pair of Black Dogs. An audible 'snap' resounded, their spines breaking from the force of impact. He traced the trajectory to its origin, coming to face-to-face with another orc. It locked eyes with him, bellowing savagely as it charged at him.

Quickly grabbing his spear from the nearby carnage, he threw his shield at the charging orc's leg. The shield impacted harshly with the orc's shin, tripping it and sending it stumbling forward into Alistair's waiting spear. Its own momentum forced the spear all the way through the orc's large frame. The demon roared in pain and tried to dislodge itself from the weapon. However, the force of it falling had buried the shaft deeply into the mud. The angle at which the spear penetrated was awkward, causing the orc immense pain every time it moved. Alistair brandished his blade and swung down, decapitating the orc. He walked past the body, effortlessly pulling out his spear. The headless corpse fell behind him, but he paid it no mind. He retrieved his shield, kicking it back into his hand. There was a lull in the battle around him, and he suddenly found the reason why.

He was the last human standing.

All the men he came with lay dead in the mud. The demons had surrounded him, braying like savage beasts as they hoped to intimidate him, to watch as the human gave up hope. But that did not happen. Instead, a glowing red erupted from Alistair's visor, his eyes burning with hatred and fury. He stared down the monstrous horde, his gaze promising agonizing retribution to every last one of them. The demons quieted down, unsettled by the lone human they encircled. After a moment, the sea of demons parted, allowing an orc to pass through.

He observed the specimen before him, noting several peculiarities. It was larger than its brethren, easily standing a good foot above the rest. Its skin, unlike the common green, was a steely blue. In its hands was a large, menacing war axe. But the thing that caught his attention the most was its eyes: They held a level of intelligence on par with an imp. Just as Alistair was examining it, the orc was doing the same to him. 'This orc must surely be their commander.' He thought.

It roared at him, declaring its intent to challenge him in single combat. Alistair could feel a calm settle over the area. His heart began to race, his blood began to sing! Adrenaline flooded his entire being as he locked eyes with his opponent. Slowly, surely, he raised his spear and pointed it at his enemy.

"Tu moritūrus!" His words were of an ancient language long since dead. Yet this language was passed down by his father, his father's father, and the men beyond. These words were the words of warriors that resonated with the blood in their veins. Even if it couldn't understand his words, Alistair's opponent clearly understood their intent.

The combatants charged each other, roaring ferociously. The orc swung first, hoping to cleave the mercenary in two as it had the others. Alistair quickly swung his shield, knocking the axe to the side. He thrust his spear into the orc's face, though the orc had caught it just before it had hit. It lazily snapped the spearhead from the shaft, smiling arrogantly down at the human. That smile was quickly wiped off its face as the other end of the spear came crashing into its head, shattering on impact and sending splinters into its eyes. Using its blindness to his advantage, Alistair slammed his shield's metal rim into the orc's ribs. The shield compressed and cracked beneath the force of the strike, but so did the brute's ribcage. The orc shouted in agony, doubling over with an arm covering the injury. It raised its free and slammed it into the ground, trying to crush its foe. The orc's giant fist only served to launch mud into the air. It quickly looked around for its target.

"Miserum!" Face met shield in a glorious display of brutality, the orc being sent sprawling to its side. The blow had completely destroyed the top half of his shield, forcing Alistair to discard it. He grabbed the hilt of his opponent's axe and dragged it through the mud. The orc's vision danced, though it managed to see its axe land unceremoniously in front of it. Its eyes trailed up, met with the imposing form of the human. Thunder struck, illuminating his figure across the dark clouds in the sky.

"Etiam." Alistair commanded, his tone cold and merciless. The orc grew confused: Why had this human not killed it already? It staggered to its feet, using its axe as a crutch. He looked around and saw the baffled and stunned expressions of its followers. It was then it realized what had just happened. It was shamed, in front of all of its troops. They saw how utterly outmatched their leader was against this lone human, who now had his sword drawn. The human's stance was lax, almost bored: He didn't even consider the orc to be a threat.

Its vision turned red as it flew into a berserker rage. It bellowed, savage and furious, ignoring its wounds as it swung its axe. Alistair calmly dodged the strike, letting it pass just in front of him as he took a step back. This repeated in an almost comedic dance: Swing, miss, swing, miss. The orc's fury finally reached a head, raising its axe high into the air before bringing it down with all of its might.

Alistair deftly deflected the axe, letting it skitter and spark against the flat of his sword before bashing the orc's face with his crossguard. The blow stunned the orc, giving the mercenary the chance to hack into the demon's neck. The blade dug in deeply, but not all the way through. Stepping forward and twisting his body, Alistair swung his blade around and followed through, decapitating the orc.

"Īnfirmus!" Alistair yelled into the crowd. Shocked stares and fearful mutterings erupted from the surrounding demons. Soon enough, the encirclement grew tighter, the demons hoping to swarm him. Alistair pointed his sword forward, singling out another enemy.

"Nōn superstites!"

XXX

The rain had stopped. Dark clouds dispersed as the sun's rays beamed down upon them. The Black Dogs had claimed victory over their enemies.

"Think any of them survived?" Kin asked, nursing a few injuries from their battle. It was hard-fought, and many of their new recruits perished in the conflict.

Hicks gave him a look. "That battalion was almost entirely comprised of new-bloods Kin. I doubt they made it."

Vult said nothing, marching in silence. The rest of the Black Dogs followed behind, with the heavily injured returning to camp to rest and heal. They soon came upon the battlefield, noting the many bodies strewn about.

Hicks whistled at the carnage, strolling through it with his hands at his hips. "Wow, can't believe the rookies had it in them." He nudged one of the orc corpses with his foot. "Damn shame they all died."

Vult paused, smiling as he playfully hit Hicks in the shoulder. "Check again Hicks. You missed one."

"Eh, wha-?" He followed Vult's gaze, landing on the armored figure sitting atop a small mountain of demon bodies. His hands were folded over each other on the pommel of his sword, his helmeted head leaning on them as if in some sort of prayer. The clouds above parted in such a way that the man was bathed in a pillar of light.

"Hey, Black Dog!" Vult called, moving closer to Alistair. The armored man's head rose and turned to regard his employer. "Get your ass down here!"

Alistair quickly slide down the mound of corpses and approached his captain. "Sir."

"You did all that?" Vult asked, head nodding towards the pile of demons.

"Yes."

"How?"

"Decapitation, impalement, blood loss through major arteries, blunt force trauma to the head." Alistair's voice remained calm and steady, as if he were talking about the weather. He glanced back at his pile. "They were weak."

"How did you survive?" Kin asked, stepping forward and eyeing the man with caution. "How is it that out of the entire battalion, you're the only survivor?"

Alistair looked down to his feet, where a fallen Black Dog lay. "They were also weak. Weaker than the demons."

Vult stared hard at the man before breaking out in a raucous laughter. "So it would seem! You know, I had you pegged from the moment I saw you. You've fought before. Killed before. I could see it in your step."

"I've spent the last five years fighting the demons as a freelancer." Alistair confirmed.

Vult gave him an appraising look. "What's your name, recruit?"

"Alistair Aquila." He replied.

Hicks chuckled to the side. "That's a noble's name if I ever heard one. You a bastard?"

"No." Alistair replied quickly, but calmly.

"A fallen noble house then." Kin interjected. "Aquila is the surname of an ancient house of warriors."

"Is that so?" He replied. His tone was 'matter of fact', like he had just learned a trivial piece of information. "Doesn't matter in the end. I'm a mercenary."

"No," Vult rebutted, putting his left fist on Alistair's armor. The emblem of the Black Dogs glistened proudly on his left pauldron.

"You're a Black Dog now!"

Alistair looked down at the appendage on his chest. Then, he placed his own fist on Vult's chest, echoing the sentiment.

"Yes."

XXX

So, this is another response fic to Wimblegurk Brigade's Kuroinu Rebellion Challenge. Just happened to be scrolling through the fanfiction categories and came upon the Kuroinu archive by chance. I never would have thought it existed. Read The Irregular by Omegas Prime and was starstruck. Now, here I am.

Now, I decided on the Mercenary Origin and also somewhat based my character on Goblin Slayer. However, I have no intention of copying Omegas Prime's work. Not only is that plagiarism, it's downright disrespectful.

In that regard, I wanted to play up more of Goblin Slayer's personality in my OC, Alistair: Short, concise responses with a single-minded obsession on demon slaying. However, his fighting style is heavily inspired by the characters in For Honor, primarily from the Knight Faction. I felt that since Alistair will be fighting more than just goblins, he'd have a different style of fighting to reflect that.

For those of you who want to know what Alistair said during his fight, he's speaking in Latin. Translations will be listed below; as they will be for all future chapters.

Special thanks to TheSinful and Primordial Vortex, who were generous enough to proofread this chapter and give their insights on how to improve it.

"Tu moritūrus!" – "You are going to die!"

"Miserum!" – "Pitiful!"

"Etiam." – "Come on! / Keep going!"

"Īnfirmus!" – "Weakling!"

"Nōn superstites!" – "No survivors!"

Note that all the above translations are directly taken from the For Honor Wiki.

If you're interested in where this fic is going, make sure to follow. If you wanna give any criticisms, or just want to say you liked it, then please leave a review.

Until next time!