eluryae

[eluryae]

Stress Due To Trauma

The wind blew like never before on the now dry plain of all life, a kind of melancholy could be felt. Like a nostalgic presence, holding between his fingers the last leaf of the season before a winter that would never end… A wind coming from all sides, it made the landscape sing, made it move, waver, smoothed it little by little… The stones crumble, the dust accumulates, the plants uproot and go away, in total universal indifference, as if no one was there to attend this show…

Yet some traces of life remain, or even are born… Grass shoots, sheltered from the wind thanks to an overturned car carcass. Ivy on the walls of a skyscraper now lying, and even a flower, protruding from the orbit of a soldier’s skull… What contrasted the most was that this street was once the busiest in the whole country, not even a year ago, people late for work were still running in the streets, philosophical debates were held, goods were exchanged everywhere… None of this, the delay was now a word almost forgotten, the philosophy and everything it brought with it no longer developed, and any trace of food had also disappeared.

Yet this new tranquillity was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the hooves of a horse, his shoes were not new. The pace of the animal began to slow down slowly, to stabilize on a calmer walk. Someone was riding the horse, masked, unable to recognize the person… Anyone who saw it thus among the debris, zigzagging between the crevasses, could have believed in a vision without passing for a fool, yet the rider was very real.

Kyria Laenec was looking for something, not a specific object in particular no. In fact, she did not know herself, deep down, this kind of walk was only to distract her from the desolation she was going through every day… Here she was sheltered from the wind now, just behind a wooden roof, and began to light a fire… Winter was felt despite the total absence of the comforting soft white coat… His horse wandered among the ruins, looking here and there for the rare traces of life, he spotted one. Kyria was watching, having nothing else to do…

A fertile mass lands on the ground, as if the horse knew the result of its beneficial needs for nature, trying to resurrect it with what it had… Her rider again lowered her eyes towards the now burning hearth of heat and fell into it, she did not need sleep, but she also did not want to think.

The fire began to crackle. She was in this kind of moment where her only desire was to stop thinking, to become the ignorant and happy idiot that she was as a child, it was not so far away, she was only approaching her 25th birthday…

Despite this, his hand remained on his pistol, part of his attention was still on alert, and the rifle stored on the horse had ammunition in the chamber. Suddenly, a small explosion of the fire she was watching made her jump, an unnatural start for a simple crackling. For a moment, Kyria was once again faced not with the gentle warmth of a flame, but with a devastating wave shaving everything in its path, a memory so unpleasant that it was now a nightmare… It did not stop, it was replaced by something else, a stick, no, a spear, bloody, a corpse, a friend, a sister…

Death.

This moment alone was enough to put the warrior in a state of deep panic, her hand trembled, her vision was cloudy, and her head hurt horribly.

With a frantic gesture, she took out a notebook and a pencil from her pocket. And she began to draw.

When the mine touched the white paper, the tremor did not stop, but it weakened, she had to draw what she remembered to better forget it. Her features began to calm down, she had to calm down, and drawing in this notebook her nightmares was the only thing she had found for the moment, to find again something she had lost: the feeling of being a complete person… Her other attempts to calm her nerves were… Dangerous to say the least… Kyria forgot her scars from a head shake and took back her arm in a more graceful movement, she felt calmer, her dark thoughts were distracted the time to become real on paper. Slowly but surely, her trembling stopped little by little, in the same way, her drawing became clearer;

An explosion, that of her country, and her reason if she let herself fall.

Kyria had finished for today, an eternity seemed to have passed, while the flames of her fire were barely weakening. She closed her notebook, then, as she watched the used leather cover, an idea came to her… Getting back on her horse, she began to gallop faster and faster across the street, then as she left the city, on the plain, she was alone for the moment, but the hubbub of the “Hole” would soon be heard… The speed and the wind required him to concentrate so as not to lose his way or fall from his mount. 'So much the better,' she thought, with the fight and the drawing, it was the only things that made her humanity. The landscapes that passed around her screamed with pain, their anger, their sadness, their history. Everyone knew it, but everyone wanted to forget it, like a general shame…

“Damnatio Memoriae”

The “Hole” was drawn as she approached, a crater of a single thousand inhabitants, the last ones, stinking, badly famished as ever this word could fit its definition, but still, full of hope and life. Today, however, only one inhabitant here interested her, she knew the other members of the Guild elsewhere than in the camp they had installed. But there was always at least one person, the same one…

As she got off her horse, she went to a small cave on the side of the crater, a tunnel that led to the other side, towards the sea… At the end of this long corridor, a woman with her back, sitting cross-legged, meditated.

Her carmine-coloured saber lay beside her, her two dusty hands resting on her knees. The wind which whipped in the plains made fly his short ruby hair and his black clothes, and his eyes closed made it possible to see in large the scar still fresh which ran the whole of the face until the right trapeze.

Morigan did not flinch when she heard Kyria’s footsteps coming towards her, recognizing them very well, however she opened her eyes, once again, the return to reality was hard.

Every time she came to meditate on this beach, she hoped to hear again the sea, instead, a warm and cruel wind, and above all, nothing as far as the eye could see, only clouds below her… Elury the Great, once the most prosperous island in the world, was now surrounded by an ocean of immortal clouds and emptiness as far as the eye can see, swept by the winds, an infertile land doomed to die. And this is where the Guild must fight its last fight.

#writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #ptsd #ptsd recovery #fiction

[eluryae]

Fight in the Arena

-Survivors! Once again! We are gathered together to witness humanity’s last glorious battles! ! I the Presager, will present you something unique today! His big voice rang out in the small arena, the crowd in the stands was as compact as it could be, and a stifling heat reigned. The rest of the guild stood beside him, speaking louder and louder, haranguing the audience. -Today! The highest spear warrior of her generation! Agreed to join our glorious games!

Afanda had never seen a "blood game", she had still participated in it, for her it was only a desire to witness gratuitous violence. But after the war, his vision was changed, it is necessary for the common people to be fulfilled through the death of others, in order to reassure themselves, that they are not monsters of killing but simply innocent citizens… “Bread and games…” she thought.

A simple steel spear was given to him as well as a pistol, the spear was oddly very well made for this kind of events. She had no time to wonder, a heavy door in front of her began to open, steps were heard… -The fight will begin when both sides are in combat position! A heavy knight came out, not a giant, but heavily equipped with heavy iron armor that did not seem to interfere with his movements, he was also armed with a spear.

In the stands, Kyria bit her lip, nothing confirmed that the Presager had any interesting information about what they were looking for. But even worse, despite all the trust she placed in Afanda, she could not help but doubt the success of her friend… She was the best warrior in a perfectly objective way, a formidable wielder of spear, she knew how to fight alone, in group, hungry, wounded, she had defeated beasts much bigger than a vulgar other pitcher But that was the problem, that pitcher, and the other members of the guild felt it as much as she did… Maganda, for her part, did not doubt the pitcher, even worse, she wondered how such games ended, although the name “blood game” seemed to her more than sufficient as an answer. Nemesis was uncomfortable, something about this man was far too familiar…

All their thoughts were interrupted by a view, the two opponents had rushed against each other in a silence of death immediately interrupted by the clatter of the metal against itself and the clamor of the crowd.

Afanda had naively hoped to end the fight very quickly by targeting a weak point of the launcher’s armor, at the level of the blow, but the latter had dodged it too easily to her liking, and had even paid the luxury of counterattacking. An attack she had to dodge instead of returning to the charge herself. She had to change tactics, and quickly. As the fight unfolded, she did not feel the energy weaken, it was rather her creativity. Each of her blows had been parried, turned against her, everything was read in advance with a formidable knowledge, both of the arena and of herself. She felt like the heavyweight in this fight, the odds were unevenly reversed.

Even his rarest and most complex movements were rejected as if the knight had been confronted with them a thousand times… However, even the only blows Afanda had been able to carry were rendered useless by the steel wall that protected the occupier. His opponent was almost his equal, the only advantage being this armor, impossible to penetrate… Something jumped into her mind as she dodged an umpteenth attack far too fast for an opponent of this size, she had never been able to reach her in the back, he seemed to defend this area very well, her armor was probably mounted by the back, a well-placed shot and…

The opponent tried to pierce her, and planted his spear in the ground, Afanda took this momentum and jumped to pass over him. Before he could do anything, she penetrated her own spear into the back protectors and found what she was looking for, in an instant the whole protection of the man’s torso was delivered and fell to the ground, immediately. In a sudden agility, he took a step back, and at the same time got rid of the rest of his armor, useless and bulky now, keeping only the helmet. He let appear another, more simple, of medium protection like Afanda, worn, an armour of the old age…

The worries of others grew, if a former soldier was here and wanted to fight against them, then something was seriously wrong…

The man rearmed his spear and ran towards her much faster than expected, the duel changed in nature, it was no longer a game of dodging and parrying, it was that would touch the other first and finish the fight with a single well placed shot… But Afanda was now confident, disturbed, but confident, she did not have time to ask herself the same questions as her comrades.

The sleeves of the spears collided again and again in an almost dancing ballet, sometimes creating a shower of sparks, one more factor to take into account. Afanda tried something, she took a step back and then advanced of two at high speeds on her opponent, she aimed for 9 points, vitals for the fight and the life of the opponent, which had to be executed very quickly, because she has give up all defense… 9 moves, which his opponent dodged again without difficulty. For the first time, Afanda lacked a little breath, and had to retreat, no, it was not the solution to his problem of constantly attacking. Changing her strategy again, she only put herself in a defensive position and began to parry the blows of man… They were quick, murderous, and precise, one brushed the artery of his left leg, another the nerves of his left wrist, he knew where he was aiming… And from time to time, she tried a counter attack, a few things that allowed her to test the limits of her opponent who was recovering from an attack, and therefore easier to penetrate. He was very aware of his strategy, but she left him no choice— A first counter-attack arrived, it para without problem… “Left right left” A second, he did the same but it accelerated the rhythm, and retained the pattern that formed his movements… “Left, right, left…” She tried a third time as fast as she could, he was on his limits, he felt it… “Left right Right!” She hit him in the face with such force that he was thrown two meters back and had to stop his movement with… Half of his spear, the other half was beside him, in the same movement, Afanda had cracked his helmet and broke a stainless steel spear in two with a precise and powerful gesture.

He got up without difficulty, and for the first time Afanda heard him breathe, or rather, she paid attention to it, what she had done having sown a slight confusion, she was entitled to ten seconds of rest… His breathing was wheezing, hoarse, and most importantly, quick and angry… She then heard, like an explosion, the sudden sound of the crowd screaming, who cried more, and the Presager screaming in his microphone as loudly as possible…

Before she could even look at her friends in the stands, the man had travelled the distance between them in less than a second, his speed was definitely much too fast… And familiar…

Yes, she was also struck by a feeling of déjà vu that was far too intense, associated with something everyone had wanted to forget… But again, no time to think, the shots rained again relentlessly, her opponent used the two pieces of spear as a double deadly steel stick, and this time, if her thinking was right, then she doomed to lose… Her opponent was more than impenetrable now, he was unpredictable, she no longer saw any window of parry, of counter attack, her breath also wheezing, hoarse, of exhaustion, a drop of sweat fell on the sand of the arena, soon she would stumble, make a fatal mistake…

The Presager rejoiced in the stands, he knew what his gladiator was capable of, his pride was proud of him…

Suddenly a red blade interrupted the deadly dance of the man’s steel sticks, Morigan intervened… Even before she could utter a word, or the crowd protested, he changed his target and rushed at her furiously, the glove thrown had been picked up… Afanda took the opportunity to catch her breath and observed her friend who had just saved her in the distance… She kept her adversary back, his improvised weapons were no longer enough…

Morigan saw several flaws in his game, mainly due to the weapons he used, too short for attack or defense, useless… But right now she wasn’t trying to kill him, just… To confirm something or not, the man’s face was masked, she was looking for an opportunity to remove this helmet from him, because the feeling of familiarity in her had turned into a suspicion when he jumped on Afanda, then a certainty when she saw that her friend would die if she did nothing…

Someone she knew was under that helmet…

Suddenly, distracted by her thoughts, she saw the tip of the broken spear rushing towards her heart, she had no choice, her opponent had tried something when she had distracted herself, and he had just failed. With a quick and well-placed gesture, she flipped him on his back, and planted the blade of her sword in the left side of the helmet, right in the jaw.

A silence began to reign, the clamors were silent… The Presager no longer smiled, but did not display an expression of defeat on his face, rather astonishment… Morigan put his hand on the broken helmet and hesitated to remove it, a tremor coming from his hand 'No,' she thought. 'He would have resisted better than that, he could have hit me if he really wanted to'… Her tear fell on the metal of the helmet, then disappeared into the crack formed by her blade inside it…

She rose, and joined Afanda, as she raised her friend, the voice of the presolder was heard: -Even if you cheated, you didn’t defeat my most powerful Gladiator! "His body lies on the ground!" "And yet he is nicknamed the immortal!"

Suddenly the man got up again… He abandoned his broken spear, and pulled out of his belt a bluish katana…

They all recognised it immediately, nobody could have stole it by any way.

The horror in Afanda’s face could only be matched by the expressions of the other members of the guild, a mixture of anger of relief and fear… How was the last member of their Guild, supposedly killed by Morigan, still alive?

"NO!" she yelled. “He is not alive! YOU ! ARE NOT ! ALIVE !” The sadness that filled her face had turned into a fury worthy of the worst of devils, and it was she this time who rained the blows on him. She didn’t want to believe it, she didn’t want to. His sword blows were horribly disordered, having lost all the grace usually known to them, and yet effective, for he was not trying to counter-attack, he was only blocking certain blows…

Kyria in the stands pulled out her rifle and pointed it at the Presager…

-Clear the bleachers or I’ll shoot you! Some spectators had already left, the rest did not ask for their rest, the aura of anger emanating from Morigan was stronger than an angry storm raging on a single house… She had become a hurricane of pure rage… Because she was sad, because she was her friend, because he had abandoned them…

Because love is the most powerful betrayal possible…

The other members of the Guild had come closer… After a few minutes, Morigan dropped her sword of fatigue and began to throw fists, she dropped him to the ground, and hit the helmet, again and again, while screaming in pain as if she was bending herself the blows she was throwing, which she would have wishing to throw to herself.

Suddenly the helmet broke, revealing the tortured face of their comrade… His hair, once blue as night, was dusty, badly cut, discolored… His eyes were grey, and most importantly, almost the entire pulpit of the lower left jaw was missing, badly healed, sewn with sewing threads, and again bleeding after Morigan’s blows… Morigan looked down, and saw that under his broken armor, the left part of his chest was completely burned, partially missing… She said nothing and collapsed to the ground, while the other members came to see the inanimate but still alive body of the miraculous…

Nalcov Grady was alive, the one who tried to kill them, after years of camaraderie, was still of this world…

Note: Most of The Illustration are from the manga: Kenshin Himura

#fighting #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity

[eluryae]

Bar Fight

TW-Blood-Torture-Death

She leaned towards him, he did not move, whispering:

-We are looking for someone, a former partner who worked with you, Reslie Leslie, who could lead us to an old Eluryian mafia weapon cache. Instead of helping him, he answered in a loud and clear voice so that everyone around could hear them… "How does a cache of weapons interest a band of terrorists who are already a little too armed for my taste?" Seeing that it was not useful to keep any discretion, she slowly sat back towards her file trying to appear comfortable as well, her leg tapping nervously on the floor.

-Mr Charman, it is in the interest of everyone that we find this place, these weapons are necessary to allow the government to conduct exploration campaigns. He seemed annoyed. "Why don’t you go straight to Leslie, instead of pissing me off at home, I don’t want to help you, your sophisticated weapons and so-called magic powers don’t impress me." Surprised at the answer he gave her, as if offended, she tried to keep her calm, her leg tapping the ground faster. -We don’t know where he is, we just know his name, we thought… He interrupted him suddenly, the anger showed in his voice… "Oh, did you think so? Wow, how amazing … I’ll tell you." He pointed at the window.

-Not even 50 metres over there, you have a government camp that will have no qualms about killing anyone, so much so… He pulled out a silver pistol from his jacket and pointed it at her. His annoyed tone had become threatening, ready to explode and empty his magazine on Morigan… "If I wanted to, and I want to, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to put a bullet in your head." Bam, like that. And you know what? I’m sure your little friends wouldn’t even dare to fight back.

Because you would be afraid to kill me, not me… He reloaded and brought his pistol closer to Morigan’s forehead, she did not flinch, any expression, even stress had disappeared, his leg had stopped beating, but he did not notice it. -Because I am in control, without me, everything collapses, I have food, I control you. And you know it… As soon as he touched Morigan’s front, two shots were heard, coming from Kyria’s pistol next door, which had just shot two of the four guards who were supposed to protect the man in supposed control of the situation.

-What is… The latter looked away for half a second, Morigan reacted immediately, she took her head and put it on the table, took the weapon from his hands and shot without hesitation at the two guards who were already in bad shape and wanted to run away to get help. With a skillful hand, she then began to disassemble the gun piece by piece. -Taaah, raaah, ah boordeeel…You little…Uuugh… "Why don’t you have a drink?" As she said this, she looked at him with contempt and fury, and the pistol she carried herself on her belt itched him… Maguanda brought him two glasses and a bottle full of a slightly opaque white liquid, mountain liquor… "You are going to let go of me." She shattered the glass on his head… More or less thick debris scattered throughout the bar. "Aaouuh!" He was almost moaning, she opened the bottle and poured almost all of its content on the face and especially in the hair. "Hey, oh, raaah!" She then made him sit in front of him, and took out of his pocket a cigarette which she lit before him, looking at him with disdain. While he was bleeding from the temple, he was now scared, he patted the table with his fingers…

"You will kill me." Morigan blew his face… -No, you wouldn’t be of any further use to us…We won’t hurt you, and you’ll tell us where Leslie is… -You can go to hell… And it’s not by smoking my eyes, looking at me with a scornful air, and wetting my hair that you’re going to scare me… "I know." She took the bottle and poured the remaining contents into the other glass. "But by combining these ideas, I think this drink that you like so much is extremely flammable, isn’t it?" She dipped her cigarette in the glass, and a little yellow and blue flame began to dance in the liquid… She took the glass and drank it in one go, a little smoke came out of her mouth as she put the cigarette back in. -It would be a shame to see that hair burn, it could damage the bar… An expression of terror had filled the eyes of his interlocutor. -You wouldn’t dare… She interrupted him in the same way that he had by bringing the cigarette closer to his forehead still sweating with liquor. "If you refuse to tell us where Leslie is, I’ll burn your face alive." She then took one of the biggest pieces of glass that hung on the table and held it in front of him.

-If you refuse a second time, I will poke both your eyes out and bite your tongue so hard it will be more than one of the steaks you cherish… And if you still refuse to speak, I will open your belly… You will remain alive, but your intestines will have poured out in the open air… Have you ever seen a soldier still alive calling for help while desperately trying to hold his guts out of his stomach? No… Because you never fought…

He gasped, having trouble keeping his cool, while Morigan was perfectly calm, although his face betrayed his fury. "Oh, and if you try to run. Kyria here puts a bullet in your balls." In doing so, she showed the concerned with the piece of glass still in the hand, which reloaded. In a final wave of courage, or ignorance, he began to speak.

-You don’t have the courage… She closed her eyes, and sighed for three seconds.

-Too bad

She threw the cigarette at him with one finger, which slowly burst into the air and landed on his forehead which caught fire instantaneously, the burning continued from the hair to the neck, and the inflamed liquid fell on the ground like drops of lava. He began to scream in pain, his hair forming one great flame… "Aaaaah, help me !"

Morigan did not move, impassive, she watched him burn on the spot as his skin melted and fell into shreds, inflamed on the table, he tore his hair in pain and began to strike his head against the table. Morigan seemed bored and got up, she pulled him out of her seat and dragged him by the boot out of the bar into the street as his flaming head scraped the ground. His screams were less and less human. She put him on the ground in the muddy street, and shoved his head into it with her boot, the fire extinguished quickly, Morigan saw that his cape had also caught fire, she also extinguished it with a gesture… Removing his boot from the man’s face, and raising it, his nose was twisted, broken by the kick, his skin was black and reddish but he did not bleed, the fire had closed his wounds, but not the pain. His eyes were surprisingly intact, but he was looking into the wave. His wheezing revealed burnt lungs…

Morigan, without a look of compassion, said: -Second chance… She lifted him up, he dyed standing in front of her for two seconds and began to run away, but took his feet in the mud, the incident and his lack of balance made him fall to the ground on his back… Someone raised him, Kyria, who without a word, kept his promise in a skillfully placed shot. He started screaming again and fell back to the ground, holding his crotch, already red with blood flowing… "Answer the question, or I’ll make you worse! I’ll tear your eyes out of your skull and feed them to fucking pigs!" She reloaded and stuck the gun on her forehead, the pain that it should have caused him did nothing, he no longer had the physical strength to react. -Last chance! He raised his hand before him, as the last barrier of an animal to protect himself from his predator.

-Uuuh… Uuuuh… Please… Leslie was a good friend… But he’s been missing for weeks… I don’t know where he is… "Tell us where his room is."

-His camp is in the shallows, just behind the river… This is the last time we met…

-Well, here we go… Kyria put her pistol in her holster and started walking towards Morigan who was looking away and finishing his cigarette with the rest of the group. Suddenly, in an almost inhuman voice, the man hails them.

-Eh…

Morigan looked at him with curiosity and walked toward him. He continued to speak in a desperate voice. "Why have you given up all morality? You were a model for Elury and its people…. He looked disgusted with what was left of his muscle. "To kill and torture, huh? Why?" She leaned towards him but did not look at him.

-I will soon die… So answer me… She raised her head towards him, tears flowed, her mask of fury had disappeared, only regret was present…

-Not a day goes by without my regrets, I have lost loved ones, I have lost my home, all… Do you understand this concept? This implacable truth of the death of a person who will never come back, with whom you will never again be able to laugh, fight, evolve, age… No… Because the only thing you care about is keeping control of others, you don’t love anyone, you have everything… His expression changed, in his fury that man knew only too well.

-So no, I have no regrets about a coward like you, and I would do anything to give Elury a second chance, even if I have to leave my humanity there… He looked at her almost comprehensively, perhaps sympathetically, but he could not say anything else, Morigan preceded him. -Kyria, finish her suffering please… She stepped forward and pulled the pistol out of her holster, as she lifted it up, the eyes of the man met his own, he saw the same thing as in those of Morigan, from regret… These women and these two men were martyrs, angels bearing death who had not chosen the path they followed, but the only ones capable of doing so…

A last shot was heard…

#tw blood #tw death #tw torture #writers on tumblr #writing #cinema

[eluryae]

TW Blood-Death-Horror

A Rainy Night

When the winds in the sky are no longer strong enough to hold the water in suspension. It falls, creating the natural phenomenon so well known to men: rain.

That evening, it had turned into a torrential storm, the winds had held it for weeks.

With his lightning, he tore the sky. Drops of water fell and hammered the ground, making it moist, then viscous, muddy, a slimy vase clinging to all, anyone wanting to walk that night was sure to lose at least his shoes, if not life. But no one dares to go out, it is too cold, too dark; people barricade themselves at home and console their children petrified by the fear from the light of white lightning… The peasants are not bold enough to go and guard their fields from thieves, hoping that the rain will fulfill their roles as guardians…

How wrong they were.

In times of famine like these, anyone would dare to brave the storm, die of it or drown in the mud, if in the end they manage to gather some food for their comrades. That night, three men made their choices, walking alone between the houses, ponchos hiding their faces and clumsily sheltering them from the rain, their boots sinking into the vase and leaving repeatedly, dodging the channels of water as they climbed a slope, and trying not to trip down a hill; they looked like a group of three soggy rats looking for a piece of food.

They approached the field, surrounded by iron and barbed wire, the only entrance being a heavy metal door, useless when guarded by a rusty padlock… A simple pair of shears overcame this poor protection. The three men looked around them, still persons.

It’s open, let’s go…

"Close behind you fool!"

-It’s okay, it’s okay, nobody’s there anyway, we’re the only pecnos here… Even with this "reassuring" sentence, the group can’t help but look around inside, no one.

-Okay, the reserve is about 100 metres away, we’ll run, we’ll have to hurry, we’ll get a bag and off we go...

The group advanced in the rain, their ponchos floating in the wind giving them the air of birds flying close to the ground. The plants of more than 2 meters among which they progress did not interest them, inedible for whom does not have the art of preparing them.

No, what was interesting was the reserve in the center of the field, housing bags of valuable food already ready for consumption.

When the three men arrived at the door, it did not resist them, not even having a lock. Inside, wooden pallets with top and protected by a plastic sheath, the precious bags. The group entered, they removed their hoods, revealing their faces. They were not even in their twenties, yet their youthful faces no longer had the innocence that we usually know young people of that age. And their wonder at food betrayed a gigantic hunger in them…

"By Eluryae! What kind of selfish man cares for this field to keep so much food on his own?"

-Not everything is for him, this farmer is at the command of the new Eluryian mafia, the leaders are stuffing themselves with food while the other inhabitants outside die of hunger… Natei comes to help me take this one, Rotè guards the door. The so-called Natei came to the rescue of his companion while the other took out a rusty gun from his pocket. Intrigued, he spoke: But, uh, Ekyl, those famous leaders, isn’t that one of them that got his ass kicked this morning?

-Ha! You don’t think so, he didn’t get beaten up like you could imagine, no, he died from a bullet in the head, but not only, the face was burned, but like black I’m not telling you, and most importantly, he had his balls exploded.

"Wait, wait, these guys are the scariest guys in the country right now, and you’re telling me one of them died, and was tortured?"

-That’s exactly what I just told you, and there (he had trouble talking and at the same time cutting off the protection of the bags) you will ask me the question of who, most likely it would be a rival gang, but witnesses think they saw, former members of, Hold on tight, The Guild. Rotè intervened in the conversation.

-I don’t believe that for a second, it doesn’t look like them at all, maybe imitators, but not the originals, in my opinion--

"Shush! Wait! Go, go!" The bag gave way and slipped into the hands of Natei who struggled not to fall under his weight.

-You know, Rotè, war can do a lot of harm to people, it can go from a bag robbery to a street beating… Rotè did not answer, he seemed more eager to return rather than to linger here.

-Okay, let’s go.

Taking the same path, the worry of fear now gave way to the success of the heist, the pride of the mischief accomplished, they would be able to eat, they were heroes.

"Ekyl, they told you to close the door, didn’t they?" -Don’t yell at me that’s what I did… "I didn’t tell you to put a new padlock on it."

But for some, they’re thieves. The joy now gone, the lightning seemed stronger, the rain more torrential than ever, and above all, the feeling of solitude was gone, leaving only a disturbing presence running, insinuating into their gut an unpleasant sensation called terror.

Rotè’s weapon was shaking in his hand. -Natè throws the bag on the other side, we will find another way out…Natè? The latter did not answer, he looked into the void, he dropped the bag, then fell face down in the mud, the blood coming out of his mouth and intestines diluting in the puddles. "Oh shit!" From panic, Ekyl began to run in fear, Rotè was alone, his companion had come out of his field of vision so quickly that he believed that he too had disappeared, suddenly, something caught Natè’s body and he disappeared in the plantations.

Rotè began to run on the opposite side, looking as far as he could for an exit, a hole, somewhere, a weakness in the fence, no, it seemed perfect, the barbed wire was impassable, impossible to climb without losing a limb, but was it the price to pay? Without ceasing to swear, the man gave up all dignity and began to dig with his hands, like a rat trying to flee a predator with all his might, a predator who seemed everywhere at once. He felt him running towards him, arriving at an inconceivable speed, it was not another man who followed him, it must have been something else. He started running again, at first on all fours, trying with difficulty to get up with his clothes soaked and heavy with wet earth.

His foot stumbled, no, he corrected himself when the information of the pain reached his brain, he was cut in half, just like his leg, he fell to the ground in a cry of pain, his face in the mud, tried to turn, but something caught him, and lifted him from the ground by the neck… The thing, humanoid, looked at him, not with curiosity but with judgment. Rotè did not even have time to ask for mercy, a blue flash passed before his eyes filled with mud before he became permanently blind. Her vocal cords died out on their own when they could no longer expel the pain, making it white, suffocating.

Burped could only feel now, his hand closed on cold and icy dirt, his other leg threw it, he tried in vain to restore his sight by removing the blood that came out of his eyeballs from his other hand. His mind stopped fighting when he heard the sound of pieces of his own spine falling to the ground.

The first cry of pain had also warned Ekyl, who was trying to defend himself from his fear with his rusty gun, containing only a few bullets.

Then he saw a figure, armed with a katana, whose blue blade reflected the flashes, his face half-lit, his short hair badly cut and tinted, and a look filled with a sad and cold hatred, almost flat… He shot, maybe it was luck or excellent mastery, but the ball was aimed at the face of the man looking at him, closer to his cheek more precisely… And crossed the void.

For a second flash confirmed this vision of horror that was this broken soldier who was missing at least a quarter of the face and the bust, exposing in a gaping way his jaw, leaving the drops to flow on the exposed bone of the face, then on the metal shoulder, from the coast, and finally fall to the ground.

He shot a second time, and the vision disappeared, to reappear in the form of a fist in Ekyl’s stomach, which folded in two, before suddenly rising with a second blow to the face, breaking his nose in passing, his weapon disappeared in the thickets when his hand was cut with it.

Ekyl tried to take the pain, pulled a knife out of his sleeve with his other hand, and attacked the man who dodged too easily, he no longer even played with his victim, he showed him how vain his attempt was. With a simple gesture, he took the knife from his hands, and plunged it into his throat, watching it die slowly, before closing the eyelids of his valid hand. The body fell to the ground, the man washed his bloody blade, and with a grunt, took the body of the man on his shoulder, to transport it in a pile with the rest of the others whose head he sliced before placing them on a peak at the entrance of the field, Next to the others, everyone saw it, but everyone didn’t know it… Then he took the bag, and laid it in the storeroom, and sat down in the storeroom, and prayed that others might not have had the same idea…

He didn't knew if he found peace or a guilty pleasure in the death of those people, but shame, oh yes he was ashamed.

Nalcov Grady opened his eyes again when he heard a padlock jump and a door creak.

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