The Cur's Bite
Part 1: The Death of the Chivalrous

When I was younger, someone once told me a story about a young boy who rose to become the greatest hero in history.

He had come from nothing. He wasn't a beloved prince, nor the child of divinity. He wasn't blessed with mystic armaments, or favored by fate.

He simply was who he was; someone who wanted to save and defend others. Not because it was his duty or he was asked to, but because he knew it was right.

I've always wanted to know...

...Could I, too, be like him some day?

"...Ah..."

When I came to, I opened eyes to an unbelievably beautiful sky; A clear, deep-blue canvas that stretched on forever, without a single cloud in sight.

I was so captivated by it, I almost didn't notice the pain I was in. A low, quiet ache resonated across every inch of my body, reminding dulled muscles that they had been injured.

With a groan, I slowly brought myself up, feeling everything light up in pain from the movement. By the time I was sitting up properly, my head ached, and I was sweating and breathing heavily, as if I'd just ran a thousand leagues. All my body's sensations began to return then. The taste of blood saturated my mouth, and I could hear... shouting in the distance. Shouting, the sound of hooves on the ground, of steel on steel...

And all around me there were bodies. Some human, some aberrant. Almost all of them dead.

I guess... there must have been some sort of battle here, and I must have been one of the casualties. And a lucky one, at that.

Somewhere in the distance, a vague, blurry shape seized up suddenly. "...in the...?! Oh...! ...sel!" A man's voice called out, as the shape quickly began moving my way. As that person came closer, his features began to become more defined. He was a young man, with brown hair slicked back, and eyes of the same color. He wore a dark green vest, opened so as to leave his muscular torso bare, and two short swords at his waist. His face, which was colored by worry and exhaustion, sort of reminded me of a fox's; something about the shape of his eyes, and the curve of his mouth just gave me that impression.

"Keane!" He shouted again, "Get over here! He's still alive, Keane!"

"Wh...!" I began to ask him something, but halfway through the first syllable, my head abruptly exploded with pain. The simple act of talking made me feel as if a thousand nails were being pounded into my skull from the inside, making me shiver and feel nauseous.

"Hey, hey, easy there!" The man said, placing his hands on my shoulders to steady me. "You took a hell of a hit there. Don't fuck around too much unless you want your head to fall off. Fuck, Keane," he added, looking over my shoulder, "would you hurry it up?"

From behind me, I heard a vague disgruntled mumble in retort, before yet another pair of hands was placed on the top of my head. The contact nearly made me scream, but at the very moment that pain came, it suddenly disappeared, along with the nails inside my skull and the nausea. I was left feeling light headed and tired, slumping forward.

"See?" A man behind me said, in a softer, slightly high voice. "He's fine now. My healing magic's nothing to scoff at," he said, as he walked around me and came into view. He was... slight. Very obviously skinny underneath the loose shirt and thick purple cloak that covered him. His shaggy brown hair fell loosely down to his neck, and he wore a pair of rounded spectacles over his green eyes. All in all, he looked like he belonged in a library or a monastery more than he did in a battlefield.

"I hear ya," the first man said. "That was pretty touch and go for a moment there. So," he said, turning towards me, "How're you feeling now?"

"Who..." I tried again, trailing off to clear my throat, "who are you guys...?"

The bespectacled one blinked at me for a moment, as if I'd just spoken in a foreign tongue. "I... what?"

"'Nothing to scoff at' my ass," the other one said, suddenly changing his tune completely. "You went and scrambled all his godsdamn memories!"

"Like hell I did! If you want to blame anyone, blame the damn orc!"

"Um..."

The one with the vulpine features looked as if he was about to retort, but he stopped and turned back towards me. With a sigh, he scratched at the back of his head, before kneeling down to my eye level.

"Fuck, okay... Look, let's start this off easy. You don't remember us, but... do you remember your own name?"

My name...?

I...

I stared numbly at him for a few moments, before a memory clicked into my jumbled thoughts.

In my mind's eye, I saw an older man whose face was much like mine. We shared the same nose and chin and gray eyes, but his hair was a light brown, where mine was red. That man gave me a gentle smile, and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'll tell you about her some day, Ansel," he said.

I blinked as the image disappeared from my head, and realized that I'd been staring listlessly forward for quite some time. I shook my head and cleared my thoughts. "...Ansel," I finally said. "My name is Ansel."

At that, he gave me a wide grin, whilst his friend let out a small breath, practically deflating in relief. "Attaboy, I guess like it's not as bad as it looks! How about me?" he said, pointing at himself.

Again, I could feel my brain attempting to collect itself, trying to regain any memories of this man.

He did look familiar, but...

...Ah!

Those fox-like features, that voice, those swords...

"You... you're Hicks!" I yelled. "And you...!" I turned around and pointed at the other man. I remembered the glasses, his face, his aloof attitude. This man was...! "Um... you're Keane!"

Though many things were foggy, clarity was slowly returning to me.

These men were mercenaries: members of the free company known as the Black Hounds. Hicks was the second in command, whilst Keane was a mage, whose role essentially kept the entire free company together.

And I was... a foot soldier from the fortress, Ken.

I closed my eyes, and focused even further on that information.

I was part of a detachment of soldiers, sent with the Black Hounds to a town far to the north, right near the border. And... our mission was to defend it from... some type of invaders...?

I frowned at my inability to remember what our enemy was.

They were... aberrants? Monsters. Orcs and imps and goblins, ruled by...

By the...

"Agh, dammit," I cursed, as the details eluded me again.

I felt a hand poke my shoulder. When I opened my eyes, I saw Hicks looking back at me, an eyebrow tilted in concern.

"You okay?" He asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm just trying to gather myself. But man, that really hurt," I said, rubbing at the back of my head, in an attempt to switch the topic. "It felt like my head was just about to split in two."

"Well, you're not far off." Keane gave me a grim smile and turned his hands, letting me see his palms. For a moment, I thought he was wearing a pair of tight red gloves... But then I smelled the strong metallic stench, and noticed the way light glinted off them.

"That... That's a lot of blood," I said, dumbly stating the obvious.

Again, Keane nodded, and then he pointed to the ground behind me. The spot where my head had been laying just a minute ago was entirely painted red by a startlingly large pool of blood. My blood. It spread out at least a good three feet in all directions.

Hesitantly, I raised the shaky hand with which I had just rubbed my head. When it came into view, it too was painted entirely red.

"I... What...?"

"An orc hit you over the head with its club," Hicks explained."Fucker got you real good, too." He then folded his arms and gave me a smirk. "Honestly, you're one tough son-of-a-bitch to be walking and talking like you are now, you know? Either tough, or lucky as hell. I can't tell which."

"At any rate," Keane cut in, "now's not the time to stand around and celebrate. We're still needed elsewhere. Ansel, go get some rest," he said, gesturing to a tent off to the side. He then turned to Hicks. "Let's be off."

"I... wait," I called out. "I'll go with you!"

Both Hounds stopped and turned, looking at me blankly as if I'd just said something outrageously stupid.

...Which to be fair, I had.

"Uh, no," Keane said simply, taking a tone as if he were talking to a child. "What you'll do is fuck off to a tent and rest."

The rational part of me knew that Keane was in the right here. I'd just recovered from a fatal blow a minute ago, and now I was practically begging to jump right back into the fray. The smart move would be to shut up, let a medic have a look at me, and rest.

...But that didn't sit well with me in the slightest. There was no way I could lay down while my friends were fighting, risking life and limb against the monsters. Not when I was right there. Not when I could still stand alongside them. So I stood strong, looked them both in the eye, and repeated myself: "I'll go with you."

I didn't bother to hold a stare-down with the two of them. Not while our comrades were fighting and dying nearby. I simply walked forward past them, towards the town's gate, and the battlefield that lay beyond it.

"Oh, you gotta be...! Stop! Stop, godsdammit!" I heard the sound of footsteps quickly approaching me, before a hand landed on my shoulder and whirled me around. Before I could open my mouth to argue, he shouted, "What the hell are you thinking, Ansel?! It's one thing to fight the Legion half-dead, but are you planning to go kill the fuckers with your bare hands?!" He grasped at my wrists and brought them up to my eye level. And I suddenly realized that I had indeed been walking into a battle without any weapons.

Oh.

I...

Um...

"...I didn't think of that," I finally said, in a rather small voice.

"Fuck me..." Hicks released my hands and palmed his face with a groan. "You are as dumb as you are stupid. Gods, even Ghirem wouldn't pull this shit."

"Hell with it, then," Keane said, throwing his hands up into the air. "You wanna fight so badly? Then here." He approached a man off to the side, whose head and arms were twisted at unnatural angles, and pulled off his sword and shield. "At least arm yourself, you damn fool."

I hesitated for a moment as he thrust the armaments towards me. "I... is it really alright to take this?"

Keane rolled his eyes and jabbed his thumb towards the dead man. "Right, because he needs it so much more than you do."

Before I could ruminate further, a particularly loud roar erupted from beyond the gates, making my choice for me. I grabbed the sword, hooking its scabbard to my belt, and strapped the shield to my right arm.

"And do be careful," Keane said. "You've already gotten yourself killed once. You're not gonna get that lucky a second time."

I nodded to them, and they nodded back to me. And with that we turned, making our way out of the gates, and into battle.

Not too long ago, I played the fan game Kuroinu Rebellion, and an idea grabbed hold of my brain, and steadfastly refused to let go. That being said, I'm not really abiding by the rules set in Wimblegurk Brigade's challenge. I hope this introductory chapter gives you a good idea into the type of person that the OC, Ansel, is; unfailingly optimistic, affectionate, and empathetic to a fault. Given the setting we're dealing with, that's a resoundingly not-optimal combo to have.

Further, and ironically enough, one of my main goals in this story is to make the Kuroinu mercenaries somewhat relatable, and perhaps even likeable, at least during these early stages. Of course, we all know where things will inevitably lead, but for now, they're just... people. People whom the OC fights alongside and hangs out with. In away, you could say I aim to invoke a sense of camaraderie somewhat similar to the Band of the Hawk during Berserk's Golden Age arc.

I originally started posting this on Questionable Questing, but decided I may as well branch out a bit. I'm aiming to update it at least once every two weeks. Please feel free to share your thoughts. Feedback and constructive criticism are always highly appreciated.