Buggy Monsters and Super Weeds

It was quiet. That's exactly what he needed, some good old-fashioned quiet. Everything was peaceful and for once, if only for just a few minutes, there was no violence or death or mayhem. He sat in a field of flowers, looking over the beautiful Welsh village of Merthyr Mawr. It took him a bit but he finally recalled the English name of those flowers, daffodils. For once everything was how it should be.

He came to this place seeking refuge. He wasn't in any particular danger, all things considered, but he had nowhere to go. He'd be damned if he went back to living under her roof, and even if he wanted to it was a long walk back to Munich. So with permission from a local authority, he took refuge in the historic Merthyr Mawr House. It may have been a local landmark, but these days trying to preserve culture didn't exactly take precedent in many peoples' minds. For the sake of preserving what little was left of it, he chose to sleep on the floor with a blanket that he'd been carrying with him since he'd reached the Czech Republic. People were kind and willing to share resources with a "fellow straggler". It was nice. And now after all this hospitality, he got to sit in a field of daffodils on a hill with a perfect view of town. It was the perfect time to rest.

And then he smelled it. Something faint on the wind. It was a strange mix of live snails and rusted iron. The way the scent crept into the air around him, slow enough for you to not notice until it was already choking you, was all too familiar. They had finally arrived. He didn't know what to do. Despite all of his travels, he'd never been so unsure of how much time he had left. Seconds? Days? There was no way to know. The scent was everywhere, but still so faint. He was about to get up from the field. Maybe warn people if he could. She's coming. But as soon as he got up though, he could see it. The witch's invasion had already begun. He'd always managed to avoid the worst of carnage, never having to witness it, let alone take it head-on. He may have been her "son" but that did not guarantee his safety from her hordes. This time was different though. As he got up from his spot where he lay among the flowers, his eyes were lined up perfectly to get a full view of all the violence. Houses were being burned down and people were dying. Monsters of all kinds coming in from the perimeter of the town.

This didn't make any sense. Attacking Merthyr Mawr served no strategic purpose, didn't her plans and attacks always have a purpose? So why here, why now? The lack of logic was hurting his mind, and the panic was not helping. He raced across the meadow, over rocks and twisted tree roots, towards the village. There had to be survivors left, the invasion had only just begun and the number of troops was surprisingly small this time. He scoured ruined houses with his panicked eyes, hoping and pleading that his wicked mother didn't take this away from him too. He just wanted a break, a chance to weather out the horror that was this new five-part world. Why, why here? Why now? And most importantly, why couldn't he find any bodies? Turns out that last question was a lot easier to answer. In his hasted search he failed to notice the approaching creatures, grumbling in excitement at the thought of a runner among their victims. As the moldering form crept behind him, it proved to be not as stealthy as it first seemed. The sound of a large, heavy foot snapping a piece of debris quickly awoke the lad from his frenzied search. he quickly turned, and what he witnessed cruelly solved the most fervent of his many mysteries. Hanging limply from the gnarled and filthy teeth of a hagrid two-legged monstrosity, green-skinned and purple-veined, was a small human hand. This was the tipping point. A sight far worse than he could withstand. he was not unfamiliar with death, but he'd never witnessed the corpse of a child, let alone one younger than he himself. He felt... something awful welling up inside him, a part of himself that he never liked. A great emotional whirlwind of rage, sadness, guilt, and mourning. It felt like it would burst out of him, make him do something he was normally incapable of. And then he blacked out.

When he came to, they were all gone. All the monsters, and people too. no... not gone, definitely not. He could still smell snails, still feel their horrific presence bearing down on him. Despite that, not a creature in sight. The peace had returned physically, but not spiritually. He knew what he had done, and the realization only caused him further grief in his heart. Another one of his awful "glitches", which gently nudged at reality and caused the most unusual things to occur. He sat in painful awe at what was possibly his greatest feat yet. A living grave, dedicated to the kindest people he'd ever met, and the cruel beasts that destroyed them. To this day, the ruins of Merthyr Mawr are said to instill a faint terror, even in broad daylight.

As he marveled, the winds gently blew against a meadow that was once populated by daffodils, now covered in waves of sky blue petals and blood-red seeds.