Ogre-devouring Wizard

The king's decree

Noah choked on the golden blood being forced down his throat.

His teammates—all headless corpses—surrounded him, holding him in a bear hug so tight he couldn't move.

One of them grabbed his hair and pulled it, another pinched his nose, while a third squeezed his jaw open.

And hovering above them, holding its bleeding fist over Noah's mouth with a wide grin plastered across its face, was an Ogre.

But this wasn't like any Ogre he'd heard about.

Silvery white hair fell gracefully from the top of its head in a thick, lustrous mane. 

Its nose looked like that of a noble. 

Its skin looked even healthier than Noah's. 

The only proof it was an Ogre was the short horns protruding from its head and the tusks curving upward from its lips.

As Noah forcibly locked eyes with the beast, its grin widened.

Golden blood gushed from its hand like an open faucet. Very quickly, Noah couldn't breathe anymore. And when he tried gasping for air, its blood washed down his throat instead. All while the Ogre grinned even more.

Noah's eyes became slits, the light in them dimming.

He was losing consciousness.

“You should be grateful,” It said. “If you survive this, your pathetic life will be over.“ It squeezed its fist even harder. “And you'll finally have a chance at saving your brother.“

Noah's eyes shot open as he heard the last sentence. 

He tried to talk but choked on its blood instead. 

The Ogre started laughing—a deep, hearty laughter. More and more blood poured into Noah's mouth, drops falling all over his face as he struggled.

Noah's heart pounded rapidly, over and over, as if it would explode. He started shaking as consciousness rushed out of him, but his headless comrades held him in place.

His eyes rolled backwards. Sounds muffled. Thoughts ran through his mind.

If only that bastard of a king didn't make that stupid decree. If only he'd fought when his brother was being taken.

Tears fell from his eyes; he couldn't see anything anymore, and his hearing was gone. 

In the midst of despair, his mind dragged him to the start of what got him in this mess.

And as it did—right before losing consciousness completely—strange texts appeared before him.

[New host identified]

[Codex awakening]

[Initialising mutation]

****

Before history recorded a single event, there existed two things.

Magic, and Ogres.

Ogres were man-eating creatures of different forms and sizes. 

Some walked on two legs, resembling mankind, and stood taller than trees. Others crawled on all fours, covered in fur or scales. 

Some hunted in the skies, dwarfing the eagles and vultures in size and might, hunting elephants and whales. Some lived underground, resembling insects. 

Most were found in dungeons—labyrinths of unknown origin that rose from the ground at random and collapsed once conquered.

And some were unique in size and shape, the only differentiator between them and other lifeforms being the four traits all Ogres shared.

All Ogres had horns and tusks.

An Ogre's favourite food is human flesh.

All Ogres bore a weak spot—a miscoloured patch of skin, fur, or scales somewhere on their body.

And all Ogres can use magic.

But magic isn't unique to Ogres only.

All of mankind could use some form of magic, whether that be in healing minor wounds, bolstering the strength of their bodies slightly, resisting illnesses, or heightening their intelligence, which led to the creation of magical items.

But this was basic magic. It was subpar compared to that of Ogres. 

It couldn't fight back against them… at least not with the magic of your average person.

For amongst mankind stood those capable of bending the landscape to their will, utilising the innate, unique magic they were born with—magic that surpassed logic and couldn't be replicated. 

They were the only ones capable of fighting Ogres.

Those known as Wizards.

This special class of people was what Noah was not.

He wasn't even an average person. 

Noah couldn't use magic at all—not even the bare minimum that everyone else could.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Noah was hopelessly unremarkable.

And worse yet. He was the lowest a man could be in the whole of Eden.

A slumrat.

****

“Noah!“ his younger brother called.

This was Noah's fondest memory—when he and his brother were still just two kids living in Eden, the last haven for mankind. 

They grew up in Pison, one of the four countries of Eden, in the worst possible place anyone could be raised.

The nameless slums.

“Noah!“ his younger brother called again.

At this time, Noah was ten, and his younger brother, Hallel, was seven. They were dressed in rags, scavenging in the heaps of garbage that got dumped there before incineration.

He turned to his younger brother with a stupid grin on his face. “Find anything good?“

Hallel returned an even wider grin and pulled out two packs of bread with some mould growing on them. “Dinner!“

Both their grins grew wider. “Nice going, Hal!“ Noah grinned. “Quick! Stick em in your clothes! Can't let anyone steal em!“

Hallel immediately stuck them in the rag he wore as a shirt, right on his chest, making him look like a busty old lady.

“You rathead,“ Noah laughed. “You look like Cynthia,” he said before falling over from the laughter, clutching his stomach.

Hallel's face squeezed in displeasure. “Oh yeah? Well, you look like Reggie!“ he said, pointing at Noah.

Noah stopped laughing immediately; his face flashed with anger. “You slumrat!“ he spat, leaping up and chasing his brother through the pile of trash.

“You're the slumrat!“ yelled Hallel as he ran.

They ran in circles for a minute before Noah tackled him to the floor. 

They crashed onto scrap metal, trash bags, and broken toilets, laughing harder than they'd ever laughed. 

Harder than Noah would ever laugh for the next six years.

Then they stayed outside till the sun set, not going home to Reggie and Cynthia, their supposed parents, knowing fully well they wouldn't care, and would more likely than not try to steal their food.

The brothers ate the bread as they sat on the top of the trash heap. “You know, Hal,” Noah said. “We might be slumrats now,” he took a bite of his bread, “but someday, once I awaken, I'll be a billionaire wizard and become the king of this country!“ He reached into his mouth and pulled out some mould, tossing it aside. “And then I'll beat the Ogres and make em my slaves.“

Hallel took a bite of his mouldy bread with stars in his eyes. “Then…” he said, pondering on something. “Then I'll be a trillionaire wizard! And I'll buy Cynthia and Reggie and order them to clean up all the Ogre poop in the world!“ Hallel huffed like an angry bull. “See how they like it,” he muttered.

Noah laughed and punched his little brother in the arm. “You rathead,“ he said. “Ogres don't poop—they only pee. If you really wanna make em suffer, then have em clean up pee instead. Serves those assholes right,” Noah said, grinning.

These were simpler times for them. When they could fantasise about beating their owners—legally their parents—and being wizards with heaps of money and comfort.

A time before that Ogre snuck its way into Eden… before it attacked Noah and Hallel… before Hallel awakened and killed it… before everything went to hell.

Now Cynthia and Reggie are already dead, Hallel was taken, and Noah never awakened to unique magic.

“Slumrat!“ A husky voice yelled from outside Noah's cell, forcing him to open his eyes.

He sighed, shifting on the metal bed underneath him. He turned his back to the magic police officer on the other side of his cell. 

“I've still got six hours before my release,” he said, closing his eyes. “Let me enjoy myself till then.“

Noah was currently in a prison cell in one of the magic police stations somewhere in Pison. And he was there on purpose.

Ever since losing his brother and owners six years ago, he's been fending for himself as a slumrat, eating out of trash heaps and sleeping on piles of cardboard each night.

However, twice a year- once on his birthday and another on April 16th- he'd let himself get arrested by committing a petty crime, so he could have one night of non-rotting food and a proper, warm metal bed to sleep on.

This time he tried robbing a magic officer's broom—the vehicle they used for transport—the day before, knowing full well he couldn't ride one, just so he could celebrate his sixteenth birthday in a way that Hallel would understand.

“Don't turn yer back on me, slumrat! Yer times up!“ the officer barked.

Noah shrugged at first. It hadn't been a full twelve hours since his arrest after all, meaning it was still morning, and he didn't leave till afternoon. 

But when he heard keys rattling, he turned to find the officer opening the door. He immediately got up. “What!? No! I've still got six hours! I committed a crime! I should be—”

“Shut up!“ said the officer as the door clicked open. “Ya turn sixteen today, ya vermin. That means yer legally an adult.“ He swung the gates open, marched up to Noah, and seized him by the arm. “The king issued a decree two weeks ago to all new adults moving forward.“

“Sixteen? I'm not—“

“Careful, slumrat.“ The officer said, handcuffing Noah's hands and feet with magic-hindering handcuffs. They were as heavy as a broken toilet. “I'll consider lying an act of defying the king's verdict—basically treason—so pick yer words wisely.“

Noah clicked his tongue. When did that bastard of a king make another decree!? What was it this time!? Shit! Was he going to be executed as an adult for that petty crime!?

“Where are you taking me?“ he asked, trying to mask his panic. The officer didn't say anything and simply grabbed him by the arm roughly and forced him out of his cell.

With each step they took through the prison corridors, his anxiety grew. “Are you taking me to the gallows?“ That was the worst-case scenario Noah could think of.

The officer scoffed. “Ya wish.“

Noah's heart sank. What could be worse than execution!? Torture? Starvation? Memory erasure? Dismemberment!?

He'd heard that in some parts of Eden they chopped off the arms of thieves they caught stealing.

Or maybe… he was being sold again?

“Wait here!“ the officer said, coming to a stop at the registry desk. Standing there were four people.

One was a Triad—a race of people with a third eye and long earlobes—dressed in a blue vest, with twin blades at his back. 

Another was a Nixen—a race of people with four arms—with a large bow in his left hand. 

The third was a short ginger-haired woman, wearing silver armour and carrying a massive sword over her shoulder. 

And the last was a young man half a head taller than Noah, wearing a red jacket and wielding a sword that looked like a switchblade on his waist.

They were adventurers—a.k.a wizards that ventured outside of Eden to kill Ogres and bring back resources to sell—and they all looked to be in their early twenties.

Red Jacket looked at Noah, scoffed, and then shook his head. “You've got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “A slumrat!?“ he yelled, displeasure smeared across his face.

The rest of his team sighed.

Noah tensed. Was he really being sold again!?

Wait… no, he couldn't be. That's illegal. 

The magic police couldn't do that… right? 

And adventurers didn't buy people… they didn't—they couldn't!

“Alright, yer Slumrat,” said the officer as he walked towards them, holding an old shirt and trousers barely better than what Noah was already wearing. He also carried a dagger in a small sheath, and a pair of old shoes. “Here,“ he said, shoving it into Noah's arms.

Noah nearly fell over but caught himself. “What?“ he said, looking down at the items, confused. What the hell was going on?

“You never said it'd be a slumrat!“ spat Red Jacket. “How the hell are we supposed to clear a level six dungeon with a flipping slumrat in our party!?“

The officer shrugged. “A decree's a decree,“ he said, taking a piece of paper from the table and signing it.

Noah looked at Red Jacket, and then at the officer, hoping he'd misheard. “Level six dungeon?“ he scoffed. That was the highest tier of dungeon. “You're joking, right?“ He laughed.

The room remained silent.

Anxiety grabbed him by the throat. “I haven't told yer the decree yet, have I, slumrat?“ the officer said, taking a needle from his pocket and grabbing the sheet of paper he signed with his other hand.

“Two weeks ago, the king issued a decree affecting all newly made adults.“ The officer pricked Noah's thumb with the needle.

“Ow!“ he flinched immediately, but there was already blood.

“And to make sure no one dodged it,” the officer pressed the paper on his bloody thumb, “the king sent out these here blood contracts.“ He raised it so that Noah could see his blood print pressed on the paper. “Can't be burned or torn,” he said, setting it back on the desk.

“Wait,” Noah said, voice trembling. He'd been forced into a blood contract before—back when he was sold to his parents. 

His heart started pounding. 

Did he just get sold off again!?

“And once ya blood touches the appropriate spot, ya've got twenty-four hours to complete the decree, or yer heart stops pumping,“ he said.

Noah's eyes shot open. “What!?“ his hands trembled. Twenty-four hours!? That's not how slave contracts work… What the hell was going on!? “What's the decree!?“ Noah demanded.

A wicked grin crept onto the officer's face. “With no outside help other than feeding and giving ya the necessary tools,” his grin widened as he spoke the next words. “Bring back the head of an Ogre.“