Spirit Game

"No, General," one of the scouts reported, his head bowed in deference. "It seems a stray wolf wandered too close to our camp."

"A stray wolf?" The General\'s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"That\'s right, General."

"I thought Vraka had already eliminated the nearby Quillwolf den. There\'s still one that escaped? That Shaman was useless. He got himself killed and couldn\'t even eliminate all the enemies in the south. Now we\'re here because we have to clean up his mess."

The scout shifted nervously. "What are we going to do, General? Should we give chase?"

The General sneered, his lips curling in disdain. "Leave it. What harm could a stray wolf do?"

He turned to address the rest of the camp, his voice booming with authority. "Return to your posts! We move at dawn!"

"YeEeAarRgH!"

The Hobgoblins resumed their activities, the tension in the air easing slightly as the General\'s command restored order. The fires burned lower, and the night stretched on, unaware of the danger that now lurked within their ranks.

Unbeknownst to every Hobgoblin, the beetle released by Pup began its insidious work under the cover of darkness.

The camp had quieted, with most of the Hobgoblins resting in preparation for the battle at dawn. The beetle, small and nearly invisible in the dim light, moved with deadly purpose.

It crawled silently through the camp, drawn by the scent of its first target. It climbed up the leg of a sleeping soldier, its tiny mandibles piercing the skin and injecting its venom.

The soldier stirred slightly but did not wake, the bite no more noticeable than a mosquito\'s.

The beetle hopped to its next target, repeating the process with ruthless efficiency. Each bite left behind a small, almost imperceptible mark, but the venom spread quickly through the victims\' veins.

The beetle continued its journey, moving from soldier to soldier, its path of destruction unnoticed in the stillness of the night.

As the hours passed, the venom began to take hold. The first symptoms appeared as faint sweats and slight discomfort, easily dismissed by the sleeping Hobgoblins.

But as the night wore on, the venom\'s effects intensified. Fevers spiked, and soft, sporadic coughs punctuated the air, growing steadily more frequent and severe.

By the time the sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn, the camp was stirring with uneasy movements.

The Hobgoblins rose from their makeshift beds, preparing for the day\'s march. The General barked orders, and the soldiers moved to comply, though many did so with visible discomfort.

Suddenly, one soldier collapsed, clutching his chest and gasping for breath. A violent coughing fit overtook him, and his skin was slick with feverish sweat. He writhed on the ground, his comrades staring in shock and confusion.

Before anyone could react, another soldier fell, then another. Panic rippled through the ranks as more Hobgoblins succumbed to the mysterious affliction.

The air was filled with the sound of labored breathing and hacking coughs, a cacophony of suffering that spread like wildfire.

The Berserker General stormed through the chaos, his eyes blazing with fury. "What is happening?" he roared, grabbing a soldier by the arm.

"I-I don\'t know, General," the soldier stammered, his own face pale and slick with sweat. "It\'s some kind of sickness. It\'s spreading fast."

The camp was in turmoil. Hobgoblins who had been healthy moments before were now on the ground, burning with fever and racked with coughs. The General\'s fury turned to a cold dread as he realized the scale of the disaster unfolding before him.

"Healers! Get the healers!" he bellowed, but even as he spoke, he saw that some of the medics themselves were collapsing, their bodies betraying them to the same relentless illness.

A scout stumbled forward, his eyes wide with terror. "General, it\'s everywhere. It\'s some kind of a disease that couldn\'t be healed!"

The General\'s mind raced. "How? How did this happen?"

The scout could only shake his head, too overcome by his own symptoms to offer an answer. The Generals looked around at their decimated forces, their heart sinking.

This was no ordinary sickness; it was a weapon, and it had struck them with devastating precision.

The once-organized camp was now a scene of chaos and misery. Hobgoblins fell where they stood, their bodies wracked with uncontrollable tremors. The few who remained standing looked around in horror, their confidence shattered.

As the sun rose, it cast its harsh light on a scene of utter devastation. The Hobgoblin army, ten thousand strong, was now reduced to a desperate, suffering mass.

The two Generals snapped into action. "Get your asses up now! No sickness will crumble the mighty Hobgoblin army! Everyone, we leave now! Those who can\'t move will be left behind to rot!"

The harsh command was followed by the forceful march of the Hobgoblin army. However, as they moved south, their ranks began to thin, with Hobgoblins collapsing under the unbearable sickness.

Finally, the two Generals could no longer ignore the dwindling numbers and ordered everyone to carry the sick. Their progress became unbearably slow. What should have been a day\'s journey stretched into three grueling days.

With no visible cure at hand and too late to turn back, the sickness claimed more lives, but the two Generals and the remaining soldiers were determined to see their mission succeed before the illness could take them.

They will conquer the south just as their King wanted.

Meanwhile, under the cover of darkness, a shadow appeared. The Necrovenom Beetle, minding its own deadly purpose of infecting every living thing it encountered, scampered toward the shadow. The shadow\'s hand reached out, and the beetle merged with it.

"So they\'ve already found a cure," the shadow muttered under its breath. "A Hanamori, huh? An extinct race. Long ago, they were the prime healers of their time, producing flowers and medicinal plants that could cure any disease. But using their bodies as test subjects decreased their lifespan drastically each time."

The shadow\'s eyes narrowed. The Hanamori were his mortal enemies. Time and again, they thwarted the plagues he unleashed upon the Spirit Realm. Yet, he took pride in knowing he was the reason for their near extinction. The relentless diseases he spread forced the Hanamori to use their bodies to find cures, sacrificing their lifespans with each attempt.

Their constant battle against his malevolence had drained their vitality, but now, the last remnants of this once-great race stood in his way once more.

It grinned. "So there are a few of them left . . . Still, using the Necrovenom Beetle that nearly wiped out all the races in the Spirit Realm thousands of years ago against his enemy . .

. Keekeekee . . . such a devious boy. My mistress will be pleased."

With a delighted grin, it vanished into the night.