"Push! Push!" A midwife screamed, her hands holding and slowly pulling on two tiny, bloody legs. "Yolo, press her stomach!" she barked at a chubby woman.
Yolo pressed her round body against an agonizing, middle-aged woman. The woman groaned, sweat all over her forehead and thighs like a towel drenched in water. She mustered her strength and pushed like never before, impatient to see her baby girl.
By her side were four older ladies holding her hands and praising her. They had done so for over eight hours, with no rest. The breeding was essentially over after such a long period. Therefore the ladies' nerves relaxed.
It didn't last long before high-pitched cries filled the small mud hut. A tiny baby girl saw the day in this village. "It is a spirit child! She will have a great future." The midwife said while wiping the blood off the baby.
Cries of happiness and excitement followed her announcement. In Nubia, spirit children were children who exited the womb legs first—a rare occurrence, appearing only once in every five thousand births.
People believed they were the Ancestors' chosen, born with their souls partially separated from their bodies, existing between the physical realm and the spiritual planes.
This divine gift meant spirit children could naturally perceive what others spent lifetimes training to see. Even as infants, they touched the first tier of mystic awareness without initiation, communing with realities beyond mortal reach.
Tales pictured spirit children as divine beings that could interact with other realities. They often drew inspiration from those realities to succeed in life. Hence they were viewed as superior beings that descended on earth.
A prophecy ran around the lands that a spirit child would unite the five kingdoms. However, a prophecy was a prophecy. The people did not put it in their hearts.
The mother gently and affectionately embraced her child. Viscous whitish fluids were made clean, and the umbilical cord was severed. The midwife and her colleagues performed folkloric music meant to welcome spirit children. Hence, the sound of happiness vibrated in the hut.
"HAAAAH!! HELP!" The ladies' high-vibrating tunes were interrupted by screams of agony from outside.
"What is happening outside?" the midwife asked, shaken. They were in a small village of a hundred inhabitants located in an isolated part of Mura. They never received visits from the exterior, and neither did they have conflicts between themselves. Life in the village was peaceful and quiet. Then, why was someone screaming for help?
The ladies did not rush outside directly. Halting a welcoming ceremony meant negative omens for the spirit child and the people performing the ceremony. They persevered and carried on with the ceremony.
"AAAHHH! AAH!" More and more sounds sounded from outside. Yolo, the chubby woman, couldn't stand it anymore. She had to know what had transpired. She had a gut feeling that something unfortunate was happening.
What about her friends and family who chilled under the massive tree if she was right? She ran to the wooden door, her heart throbbing with pain. With all her might, she pushed the door open. However, what she saw left her speechless.
"Eek!!" was the cry of horror she left before kneeling on the ground. What lay for her to see resembled the lower astral; hell. Crimson liquid littered the soil, and crimson flames covered the sky.
The scorching flames spread in every direction, turning everything to ashes. Lapas were burning down, their wooden poles turning charcoal. People were running around. Some tried to extinguish the fire, and others fled as if running from someone.
Yolo let out a cry of agony. She could not believe her eyes. Who has their village offended? Why was there so much blood on the grasses? Why were they being attacked? A series of thoughts ran through her head. So many questions popped into her head that she fainted from shock.
Having felt the scorching heat waves emanating from the door, the ladies knew something atrocious befell their village. They rushed to drag Yolo back inside before shutting the door.
"What should we do?" A slim lady dressed in azure asked, a hint of panic in her voice.
"We are safe in here. Let's not head out. The men will take care of the fire." The midwife reassured the ladies.
In a hurry to drag Yolo back into the hut, she failed to notice the lifeless bodies on the ground. As such, the women stayed silent amidst the baby's incessant shrills.
The scenery was what was seen by Yolo. The houses turned to ash one after another. Men, women, and children ran around, searching for their loved ones to flee the scene. Everything would've gone well if flames were their only enemy. However, they were chased by tall, slender, light-skinned ebony men draped in similar red attires.
These men rode buff horses and mercilessly drove their swords at every living being they encountered. Each time they neared a villager, blood spurted like a fountain on the nearby grasses. Iron cleaved through the villagers' flesh and broke their bones. Like dominos, they fell one after another, lying lifeless on the ground.
Witnessing their peers die one after another, villagers couldn't bear fleeing. How will they face their loved ones in the astral world? With heavy hearts, anger, and bloodlust, they grabbed anything that could be a weapon to retaliate.
With each swing of their rakes, hoes, shovels, and machetes, they vented the resentment that tainted their heart. What have they done to deserve this? Who did they provoke? Why? WHY?
Survival was determined by the strong, not the just. Hence, despite the villagers being in the right, they couldn't harm seasoned killers. Thus, heads flew across the village compound, tainting the ground red.
"Mom! Mom!" Waaah! Waaah! A ten-year-old girl bawled at the sight of her headless mom's body sprawled on the dirty ground. She had witnessed her beheading but was powerless to act. She crawled on the soil, dragging her beautiful white dress in the mud to where the head lay. She reached her tiny hand and deeply embraced her mother's lifeless head.
"Mom! Wake up. Mom, wake up, please!" She begged, her heart full of sorrow.
Swoosh!! Splurt! Blood poured as her head flew across the air, landing at the hoof of a hunched stallion. On it, a tall, light-skinned ebony man mercilessly observed the scene. His skin, full of blood, glistened under the sun, creating a peculiar sight.
"Is this section done?" The man asked, his voice cold and emotionless.
"Yes, commander." The man who killed the young girl responded while sitting on a Camarillo white horse. He wiped his bloody iron sword and placed it back in its sheath.
Phweeee! Phweeee! Whistling sounded in the distance. The two men, having finished with their side, galloped in the direction of the whistle. There, they met with five other cavaliers.
"Why did you blow the whistle?" The commander wrinkled his bushy brows. "Did you find the spirit child?" he asked.
"That house. They have to be there." A braided man pointed at the house where the midwife was.
"Kill everyone and collect the spirit child's blood." He galloped into the distance, leaving a trail of words behind. The commander knew what his masters sought, the essence of those born between worlds, souls partially separated, naturally touching the spiritual planes.
Such blood held power beyond ordinary comprehension. One in five thousand births produced such a child, and his masters would pay any price for their capture.