An hour after the slaves fled the caravan, they scattered in different directions through the forest to throw off the raiders. Knowing the terrain gave them a far better chance of escape than if they had stayed together.
Four individuals were gasping for breath, sprinting desperately to stay alive. Three armed raiders were hot on their trail, each wielding different weapons. One slave stayed behind, attempting to hold off the pursuers, but an arrow suddenly pierced his leg.
"Run! Live! Don't look back!"
Despite the pain, he dragged his wounded leg, determined to slow down the raiders chasing his companions.
One of the remaining adult slaves glanced at the child trailing behind them. His heart ached with pity for the young one—it was tragic for a child to endure the hellish conditions they were trapped in.
"Kid, head to the nearest cave. Don't come out until morning. Survive! Don't come back to save us, and don't think about avenging us."
The two adults halted, exchanging a knowing glance. Without a word, they nodded in silent agreement, understanding what had to be done. They hid behind trees and bushes, preparing to ambush the raiders chasing them. The child hesitated, looking back with regret, biting his lip before finally sprinting toward the nearest cave without hesitation.
Watching the child run, the two adults sighed in relief. Even if they didn't survive the day, they were content knowing that at least one of the tribe's children had escaped the calamity.
"Do you really believe you can lose us that easily?"
One of the two remaining raiders chasing the slaves scanned the forest around them, a smirk on his face.
"Do you honestly think hiding in these woods will save you? Let me tell you, you're not the first tribe to try this."
The raider tossed a knife onto the ground, taunting the hidden slave to come out and take it.
"Go on, pick up the knife. Let's settle this like warriors."
The rustling of bushes broke the silence. A man stepped out slowly, his eyes locked on the knife. He bent down, grabbed it, and rose to his feet, pointing the blade at the thin, muscular raider standing before him.
"Come on..." he growled, ready to fight.
The thin, muscular man charged toward the slave. As he crouched, an arrow whizzed over his head. The slave froze for a moment, stunned, before realizing the thin man had defied his expectations. The adult slave attempted to dodge but was struck in the shoulder by the arrow. Using the force of the impact to spin, he swung the knife in front of him, trying to halt the advancing raider.
"Now!"
He glanced toward the trees, hoping for his companion to join the fight, but there was no sign of him. He was alone. A tear of sorrow rolled down his cheek as he let out a bitter, mocking smile.
Turning back to the two smirking raiders, he steadied himself.
At least... survive without me…
Inside the cave, a child leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. He slid down to sit, hugging his knees tightly, and tried to calm his breathing to muffle the sound escaping him.
Suddenly, a man crept into the cave, his eyes darting around with a panicked expression.
"Kid... where are you?" he whispered urgently.
In a hushed voice, the man searched for the child. The child peeked out cautiously, unsure if the figure was a tribesman or a raider due to the dim light inside the cave. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the man slowly approaching, brushing the cave wall with a bloodied hand.
"There you are..."
When the man's gaze fell on the panting child, a wave of sadness washed over him.
Why does this child have to endure such cruelty at such a young age?
The child stared at the man, his eyes filled with curiosity.
"Wh... where is the other one?" he asked softly.
The adult man sighed heavily. He had fled the scene when he saw one of the raiders notch an arrow, realizing there was no chance of winning. He gently patted the back of the child's neck, trying to calm him.
"He escaped..."
As the child sighed in relief, he suddenly felt the man's hands tighten around his neck. The child struggled, clawing at the man's bleeding hands, but their strength was unmatched—like a lion overpowering a cat. No matter how hard he fought, he couldn't break free.
"Don't... pl... please... I... want... to... live..."
The child kicked and thrashed, but the man showed no sign of letting go. Tears streamed down the man's face as he cried uncontrollably. He wanted to escape, to end the child's suffering in this chaotic world. Maybe... just maybe, if they both died, the pain they endured would finally stop.
As the child's struggles weakened, his nails slipped from the man's bloodied hands. His breathing ceased, and his arms fell limply to the cold ground, lifeless. The child's heart stopped.
The man wailed, his cries echoing through the cave. He begged for the raiders to come and end his life too. But then, suddenly, everything fell silent. The sound of dripping water vanished, and the world seemed to freeze in place.
Thump...
The man's eyes snapped open, and he instinctively placed a hand on his chest, wondering if it was his own heart pounding.
Thump...
Terrified, he turned his gaze to the lifeless body of the child, a deep fear of the unknown gripping him.
Thump...
At the third beat, the blood pooling on the ground from the man's wounded hands began to rise. The child's body floated upward, defying gravity. With the next beat, the child's eyes flew open—crimson and glowing. Then, with another beat, the child's lips curled into a chilling smile.
This blessing was bestowed by the self-proclaimed God of Death itself—an ability granted to His chosen followers when the Church of Death was still known to the world. It was the power to control blood, a gift that struck fear into the hearts of many. Other churches united to purge the Church of Death, not only because of this terrifying ability but also due to the madness and chaos it unleashed upon the world. The followers of the God of Death were deemed unkillable as long as blood surrounded them. They could manipulate blood to heal their wounds, but this power came at a cost—an insatiable thirst for blood that drove them to massacre countless lives.
In response, all the churches joined forces to eradicate the Church of Death, burning its followers and erasing their existence from history. Only a select few across the world still know of this history, more than a thousand years old, and even for them, it is considered a forbidden topic. The knowledge was buried to eliminate any chance of the Church of Death rising again in this world.
As the adult slave stared at the child suspended in midair, a wave of terror washed over him. His body trembling, he tried to shuffle backward until the cave wall blocked his escape.
"Mo... monster!"
The child clenched his fist, and the blood from the adult slave began to gather in front of him, forming a thin, crimson thread. With a swift motion, the child pulled the thread, and it transformed into a simple, handleless red knife.
"I'm sorry..."
The adult slave watched as the child, holding the bloody knife, waved his hand. Confusion filled his mind—until he saw his own body collapse to its knees, blood pouring from its neck. His headless body slumped to the ground in front of him, and darkness claimed his consciousness.