PART III: Hunting the Pig
The night's darkness slowly shifted to a powerful ray of dawn as the soldiers carrying the banners of Andras Boltmot marched back southeast, glancing back to see a towering banner with a child's head on it marking the graves of those who dared disobey Andras. One in particular was carrying Amal while walking south, haunted by the actions he had committed while serving under Andras, as his father had done before him.
"Move it, soldier, or is that kid slowing our march? Just say the word and I will take it out of your hands and rid you of the problem so fast you would never realize she even existed." The overseer of the small force sent to kill the fake hostages, Pelon, pointed at the river while smiling from ear to ear.
"I will take care of it, Lord Pelon. I am very sure as well that the ones slowing down the march would be these things we have to carry with us wherever we go." The soldier said as he tucked Amal's head to his chest, keeping her from witnessing the art pieces that were made by Pelon and his men as a gift to Andras.
"Careful, Karl. I enjoy your company, but if you so much as disrespect our leader again, I shall have your head... After all your father's grave needs decoration, doesn't it Karl?" Pelon's words were sharp and whispered to Karl.
"I am sure you will be very happy to try, Pelon... We both know you can never beat me in a fight." Gritting his teeth, Karl threatened his overseer.
"Not much of a fight if you are holding a disadvantage in your hands and protecting it, is it?" Pelon asked, drawing a knife and hovering it over the body of the infant.
Karl's hands were on his spear, ready to make a move as soon as Pelon made one himself.
"LORD PELON! LORD PELON!!" A voice ran through the few soldiers from the front of the march all the way to the middle where Pelon was arguing with Karl.
Pelon rolled his eyes before putting his knife away and asking with a firmer and more controlled voice, "What is so important to interrupt my conversation with my friend, messenger?"
"It... It is, my lord Pelon... I do not know how to say this." The messenger froze between every word or so, unable to contain his fear for his fate after delivering the message.
"Spit it out, monk!" Pelon ordered as he stepped closer to the messenger monk.
"The post between the mountain range passage and the village of Lif was occupied by a giant, villagers, and some Silver Knights, my lord."
"THE SILVER KNIGHTS?!" Pelon started laughing manically. "YOU... expect me to believe the Silver Knights, known for protecting the south for hundreds and hundreds, if not even thousands of years, MARCHED INTO OUR TERRITORY AND TOOK WHAT BELONGED TO US?!" Pelon screamed out with saliva flying all over the monk's face.
"Surely you jest with that news, monk." Karl asked with a comforting voice, allowing the monk to breathe a bit.
"No, my lords, that was the message from Lord Andras that he instructed me to deliver to you." The monk handed over a letter and as he bowed down slightly out of respect to hand it over to Pelon... his throat was slit open with a dagger sharp enough it cut off half of his head clean with just one swing.
"Go meet your god, MONK!" Pelon mocked as he spat on the crying and agonized monk.
Karl turned away from the monk as blood splattered near him his face shrank inwards drom the disgust of the killing.
Pelon opened the letter while pacing around, smiling and glancing at the dead monk as the soldiers gathered around the monk and attempted to say a prayer before Karl stopped them with a sign, pointing at Pelon.
Pelon froze mid letter his smile faded as his seriousness crawled up from underneath him starting with him stoping his pacing then flexing his armds and muscles and finally his face twisting with anger as his bald head reflected the light of the early sun.
"DAMN IT! AGAIN, KARL, I HAVE TO WAIT AGAIN!" Pelon ran into Karl's face, pushing him back two steps with just his sheer rage and yelling.
"What do you have to wait for, Pelon?" Karl asked as he tried to keep distance between himself and Pelon.
"It is Lord Pelon for you..." Pelon's whispers cut the air between him and Karl. "AND WHAT ELSE COULD I BE TALKING ABOUT... I CANNOT MEET HIM YET AGAIN AND INSTEAD HE SENT ME AWAY AGAIN." Pelon yelled out while pacing around again, unable to contain himself with knife in hand and his habit of knocking on his teeth picking up again.
"Lord Pelon, he did not send you away... He entrusted you with another important mission... AND WOULD YOU STOP THAT." Karl finally snapped, stopping Pelon's habit by force.
"Sorry, Karl... KEEP MARCHING SOUTH, WE WILL RETAKE THE POST!" Pelon was calmed by his friend finally.
Pelon and Karl grew distance between each other before Pelon turned back and stepped into Karl's face. "If she slows us down, I will make sure to kill her myself, and if you try to defend her, I will kill you as well... Okay, old friend?" Pelon added.
"Understood, Lord Pelon, my old friend," Karl answered back, annoyed, before doubling his efforts to march.
As the eyeless crow cut the wind with its wings above them, unnoticed by them, heading from south back to the north to where Nex was.
The crow did not land, for it did not need to. Instead, its voice echoed through Nex's mind from the moment it felt Amal's presence close to her.
She is here...
South...
Slow march.
Nex's stick dropped to the ground upon hearing the voice. Now he had no need for it, as strangely enough through the small journey he had, his thigh and shoulder both completely healed, leaving behind only scars.
Nex hesitated at first, taking slow steps, testing his weight against his thigh. And after making sure there was no pain, he looked at the black sun sigil on his sword, then readied his weapon, clenching it, making sure it would not drop. He started running south with all of his speed, navigating through trees and jumping huge rocks and logs, closing the distance between him and his Amal.
While Nex hunted the soldiers, in the lifeless village of Lif hid a small life—a young boy burnt almost to death... As the smell of his burnt grandfather filled his lungs and his body hugged him tightly from behind. In his hands lay the corpses of two children, a boy and a girl, hiding underneath the houses in the tunnel for days as the many loud screams of familiar voices were slowly dimmed out by the laughter of Andras's soldiers and the sound of bones breaking, along with the smell of blood.
Shaking from hunger, the young boy with his clothes burnt into his and his grandfather's skin, sticking them together, was dying with every breath he took.
He had no water... no food, unable to remove the corpses and could not bring himself to eat them for food.
In a tunnel where not a living thing was available, his only options to feed his hunger were dirt, rats, and worms...
And his only option to quench his undying thirst was abundant near him—it was everywhere, flowing from the other side of the tunnel, dripping from the wooden floors above him as well as thrown by buckets in the woods near the exit of the tunnel... Blood.
He only drank it three times within three days, once each day, and only after passing out from the lack of clear wind.
The first time he drank was the first day after they burnt his grandfather to a crisp. He was hugged tightly by his grandfather to protect him and the other two children he himself hugged tightly.
His grandfather's body was not big enough to block all the flames as most of it crept around or through his grandfather's corpse and burnt through his clothes and back, combining his flesh and cloth he was wearing together.
He endured the pain, screaming through it for minutes until he fainted and the soldiers stopped blowing fire into the hole.
With every breath he took, he would walk the world between conscious and unconscious, spotting the young prince with the infant Amal and his mother's friend from the village, Varya, escaping from the holes above them. He cried out, but his voice was not heard for anyone save the two young children he hugged tightly.
"Save... Save them..." He went asleep again as his pain woke him up hours later with the smoke climbing into his lungs through his mouth. He covered it as soon as he awoke, then he checked on the children only to not hear their hearts beating... Like dolls swinging around with no power in their bodies as he tried to crawl with them in his hands, his back's flesh tore itself and kept his grandfather sticking to him.
After a few more attempts, he passed out from the smoke... hunger, thirst, and pain.
He woke again minutes later with the witness of blood filled with iron dripping on his face and running through the tunnel with waves carrying limbs, flesh, teeth, eyes, and even insects with it, running through the bodies of the families that were behind them in the tunnels and the exit like a small river.
He picked up a ladybug as he found it trying to fly out of the river hopelessly... He hesitated, but out of that needy feeling he ate it with a crunch almost loud enough to alert the soldiers.
And yet the feeling did not disappear... He knew what it was but could not bring himself to quench it... It was never hunger, but it was easier to eat a bug than it is to drink blood of your loved ones.
Eventually thirst won and Achlys the young boy separated his hand from the children's lifeless bodies through the stickiness of sweat and took a small pond of blood in his palm before closing his eyes and stuffing it down his throat and forcing it down while closing his mouth with his hand.
The second time he drank blood, it was the third day where his patience had run dry from hunger and thirst. He dug into the soil, picking up the small pebbles and worms inside them as well, dipped it into the blood that had run a bit dry, before forcing it down his throat.
While it was traveling down his body to his stomach, he cried without a sound, then afterwards he laughed without making a sound. He had not spoken or heard anything for days... He knew he could not stay here any longer... Even if it meant death outside, it was more merciful than this kind of surviving.
And that was when he drank blood last to courage up enough strength to separate himself from his grandfather's ashen burnt corpse. He forced down multiple sips and bonds of blood.
After the third bond carried by hand entered his mouth, he almost threw up, only to force himself to swallow it, knowing if he threw up he would end up dying in this hole with blood and dirt as his last eaten meals and drinks.
He made up his mind before throwing the bodies of the children in front of him, placing them to block the blood coming through, before he placed his hand in the flesh in his back between him and his grandfather and pulled himself forward and pushed his grandfather backwards with his hand.
After silently enduring the pain without as much as a noise made, he was finally able to see his grandfather face to face after days. Some of the grandfather's flesh was still stuck to his back and some of his was still stuck to his grandfather's chest.
He looked back at a burnt figure of what resembled the man that protected him since his parents' death, crying in silence. He switched places between them, only to linger around a bit looking at the children's bodies, remembering their shivering while being stuck to him as the fire burnt his back... He wanted to live like any other person... But deep down he had hoped the soldiers had not left yet and that they would allow him to join them in death... "No matter how painful it might be, it could never be as painful as their deaths," he thought to himself before crawling towards the exit.
And by covering and closing his eyes from the blinding sunlight, he did not open them, hoping he would never do so again, only to open them after a few seconds when his eyes got used to the light again.
And witness... Nothing... The houses were burnt down into ashen wood and broken stones the well in the middle of the village had been overflowing with bodies.
Heads were mounted on stakes while the bodies of headless animals such as horses cats and dogs were placed to make it like they had human heads.
He laughed as tears ran down his cheeks... With sound, but forgotten how to speak and weep, only what could be heard from him was just his laughter being swallowed up with the sound of weeping.
Then his eyes followed a blade planted into the dirt near the well.
It had the sigil of House Boltmot. The dog locked eyes with Achlys. He fell down to his knees. "Weak, how weak we are..." he thought to himself before trying to stand up, before being brought down to his stomach by his weakened knees.
He crawled to the sword, and as he reached the well first, he leaned against it only to remember his pain from the fire as it touched the stone of the well.
He could not even lean back on stone... "Even if by some chance I left the village, how am I gonna live after THAT?" he thought to himself as he looked behind him at the well that had grown legs and bodies unable to fit even in the well.
He thought to himself of memories of his grandfather and the peaceful village that once was, then... He stood up leaning on the sheathed sword and unsheathed it...
It was lighter than a normal sword, but he would never be able to tell... Until he looked at the blade to find... There was not one.
It was just a hilt. He laughed maniacally to himself, finally releasing his voice loudly for the first time in what felt like years for him.
"Sigh... They mock our weakness... Even in death... I will make you pay... Andras... Along with your soldiers and everyone that stood next to you or stood by and watched this happen." He swore not to anyone but to his old self and his old village, for he was no knight and not a religious person to swear to god or his honor, and he was not a noble to swear by his name or lineage... He was just a villager boy.
He picked up a poach from one of the dead bodies, filled it with blood infused water from the well, digging between the bodies to fill it up, and drank it all in one shot as he moved north toward the blacksmith's store to pick up a weapon.
Walking slowly with weakness showing all over his body from his feet dragging with each step to his hands shaking from hunger to his torso where his bones were visable through his flesh to his eyes that have barely had a rest and his face changing from maniacal smiles to sudden frowns and anger.
That same night up to the north of Lif also marching slowly but with worry and carefullness were the scouts of Pelon forces lingering behind Pelong himself to check if anyone is following their trails moving in pairs with torches in their hands two scouts were unlucky enough to be on duty while the crows were flying high above them cawing... Almost calling out for them to look up and as they do look up to the starless sky filled with clouds and darkness a winged figure sharply flew right above their heads and stood atop a branch.
"What was that!" One of the scouts called as he ducked.
"Is that... A..." His eyes locked into the empty pockets of the crow's his head started tilting a bit to the right then the trees and skies started to tilt as well... He wanted to yell to call out for the other scout but soon enough everything was upside down.
And after a second he heard a thud and his world view rolled around a few times before witnessing his own body... Standing there headless as a white haired figure stepped out of the shadows of the torches and swung his blade cutting off his head... His vision grew darker before the light in his eyes was dimmed out with Nex's sword.
As the other scout noticed the head rolling he turned around with his off hand carrying a torch and main hand trying to unseeth his blade before the black sun sigil on Nex's sword was up against his stomach and the blade went out from his back.
He wanted to scream but Nex's hands covered his mouth as he pushed him with his strength to the ground before pulling out his own knife and stabbing him in the neck ending his suffering.
Nex glanced down on his hand stable unmoved and uncaring for the witness of the blood that flowed down his arm and onto his elbow.
"I should have let him suffer." Was Nex's first thought
Nex's eyes caught the sigil of the black sun, and with almost a bit of irony, he looked up at the moon to see it covered with the crows, almost mirroring the black sun sigil.
He chuckled before his eyes caught the scout's—dead, unmoved, and without a soul in his eyes. Nex thought to himself, "What is wrong with me? I laughed in front of the very men I killed... I have to be better than them."
The eyeless crow was silent... watching Nex's every move, every reaction, studying it with its endless dark pits.
Nex gazed up, locking eyes with it, before his hand went to his neck to confirm this was not a dream. Then, upon seeing the torches ahead stopping to camp, he locked back on his main target for now... Amal. He needed her more than he needed answers on how he was alive again, and more than answers for how much he had changed.
He moved forward slowly and silently without making a sound. He was barefoot—he had removed his shoes to make less noise.
He waited on top of a tree for the soldiers to move out of the camp and look for the scouts. The moment three men arrived holding torches, looking for the scouts, he waited patiently for them to find the bodies. In that moment of hesitation, he threw the spear one of the scouts was carrying, penetrating the neck of one of the soldiers.
He then dropped down swiftly from the tree branch and injured the heavy armored soldier's legs from behind with a swing of his sword, dropping him to his knees. There, Nex removed his helmet with his off hand and slit his throat with his sword.
The last soldier drew his sword but was unable to match Nex's swiftness and experience in dueling. He swung his sword at Nex's neck, only for Nex to duck down and fake a charge at him, making it seem like he wanted to take him down by the knees.
The soldier panicked, and he tried to swing his sword over his head to hit the short and now crouched Nex. Nex stopped his takedown midway, spun around, and parried the soldier's sword, making it fly out of his hand and leaving him with only the torch to defend himself.
The soldier swung his torch left and right in front of Nex. "GO AWAY! GO AWAY!" the soldier shouted. As Nex approached unfazed, he knocked the torch out of the soldier's hand.
"Please let me live... I will never tell anyone, please, please, I beg of you. I have a wife and a child waiting for me at home. I beg." The soldier pleaded for his life pathetically in front of a now twelve-year-old boy who was crying, his nose running, scared to leave his life early.
"How many of the hostages begged like you did? How many villagers begged like you did? How many children?" Nex stepped closer as the soldier was pushed back with every sentence until he tripped on a small rock and fell on his back.
"How many women and how many elderly?" Nex continued as he marched forward, waiting for an answer from the soldier.
"I did not want to do it! I SWEAR I WANTED TO LET THEM LIVE, BUT THE ORDERS—" The soldier pleaded again with an excuse.
"Orders? Tell me, soldier, who ordered you to mount a kid's head on a pike? Or to cut dead people into smaller pieces and insert them into their loved ones' dead bodies? Or skin people alive? OR MAKE KIDS WEAR THEIR PARENTS' SKINS AS A PLAY? And finally, who ordered you to volunteer in Andras's army? Matter of fact, why weren't you one of the people fleeing the war like the very same people you have slaughtered?" The soldier finally stopped backing away and broke down in tears, unable to answer.
Nex knelt down on one knee and asked, "And what makes you think just because you want to protect your family, you have the right to destroy others' families?" Nex asked with his blade in his hand.
"I am sor—" Nex's blade went directly into the soldier's mouth, making sure he did not get to finish his words.
"YOU! You don't get to be sorry." Nex pulled the blade, and as the soldier was catching his last breaths, Nex finished his suffering by cutting off his head cleanly. "More merciful than the likes of you deserve," Nex added with a low and annoyed voice before standing up and moving towards the camp. His hunt for Andras had just now started.