"Even the wicked deserve their own little miracle, too... no matter how twisted and evil that miracle is."
-The Wicked Miracle-
***
The edge of the handmade stone knife wasn't sharp enough or simply the boy wasn't strong enough to exert enough force with it. A punch landed on the boy, sending him flying to the floor. He tried to shield his face with his hands, yet his skinny little arms didn't shield much.
Warrior, angered by the boy's clumsy attempt to take his life, pulled out the stone knife from his shoulder. He didn't drop the knife; oh no, he held it tightly with his hand, not from the handle connected to the stone by a dirty rag but from the sharpened stone.
He held it in reverse grip, his hand was big enough to cover most of the blade of the knife but apparently not big enough. The tip of the blade poked out, covered in fresh blood, turning red-brown from dusty gray.
Warrior slammed down his fist, and the sharp tip of the dagger dug into the boy's skin, drawing fresh blood from him. It was painful, the feeling of rough edges of the stone digging into his skin and flesh then tearing apart when being pulled out. But the most painful part was the tip wasn't long enough.
It dug into his flesh, ripped pieces of it with every pull, yet it wasn't long enough to go deeper than that. The boy screamed in pain the first few hits, but soon enough, he stopped screaming, not because he wanted to, but just because he didn't have the strength to continue. Nobody knew how long the beating lasted, but one thing was sure: after that, the warrior got one less servant boy under him.
The rest of the servant boys looked at him in fear; the servant girls shed tears yet didn't dare to make a sound, afraid of catching the grumpy warrior's attention. As for what happens to the servant girls when they catch the warrior's attention, do I really need to explain?
The warrior soon leaves the room dragging the boy's corpse by the leg; as for what he will do with a corpse painted in red? It was almost breakfast time for his hounds.
Once the warrior disappeared from their sight the servant boys and girls finally managed to let out the breath they didn't know holding back. Some quickly rushed to get a bucket of water while others went for the mop. The servant girls headed to the kitchen, trying their best to appear busy or just really wanting to escape from the crime scene as far as they could.
As for me? I watched all this from the sideline. Not even bothering to look scared or even affected by the event. Probably because I wasn't affected by this whole thing anyway.
I looked at my side, the only servant boy who hadn't run off to do something yet. He stood there silently, staring at where the boy left had this world. He wasn't like the other servant boys, he was dressed in somewhat better clothes than them. A white cloth with fewer stitches and isn't an abomination made of pieces of clothes the warrior threw away at some point.
He wasn't that tall but he also didn't look as malnourished as the other servants. His skin was brown, his hair dark as coal yet with a strange shine in it like an obsidian. He had high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and striking eyes — he looked more pretty than handsome. Say the truth that was far from being good news for him.
The saying the prettiest flowers are the ones pulled out first isn't there for nothing.
The boy held a wooden plate firmly as if his life depended on it. At the top of it were tools like a medical knife, a clean white cloth, and bottles of various medicines. Even so, his firm hold still failed to hide the shakiness of his hand.
But what truly caught my eyes was the fact despite his lack of facial change, a thin stream of tears came out from his right eye yet his left eye remained dry as ever.
"Wait a minute, was that boy one of the first batch? Holy crap, he was the seventh one right?"
A chuckle escaped from my mouth as I said those lines, one that was filled with amusement and disbelief. I stood where the boy took his last breath and scanned the bloodied trail he left on the floor. I spun a few times on my feet while started clapping in rhythm.
"Congratulations Vin! Today! You have officially become the last surviving member of the first batch of servant kids!"
I extended my hand towards him in a dramatic way, just like the magician representing his best trick. Vin trembled at my words, fighting against his urge to throw up anything that was in his little stomach.
"Well, now I can't help but wonder how would you keep the promise."
I took a few steps forward, closing the distance between us easily. Vin wanted to take a step back, but he wasn't fast enough. I cupped his face with my hands and forced him to look at me in the face. A twisted grin crept on my face one that could be truly described as vile.
"Oh, tell me, my dearest Vin. How, how, are you going to keep the promise? How are you going to escape from the vile warrior that holds your leash? Tell me! So I can sabotage it to the best of my ability."
I can easily see it from this distance: the swirling fear that's slowly eating him from inside, the burning anger boiling him alive, and most importantly, the hatred that's so thick it was practically oozing out from his eyes. That's right, hate me! Resent me! Fear me! You damned brat! Do everything you can to get rid of me and die trying!
Only then can I be truly reborn in your world.
***
Vincent hated here.
No, it would be more appropriate to say he hated his life and himself. He hated the fact he survived so long. He hated the fact he was so pathetically weak that he couldn't even move his finger to help his friends when they were being killed by the warrior.
He hated it. He hated it. He hated it. He hated it. He hated it.
Why must he be the one to survive till the end? The responsibility of carrying their promise... why must it fall on him? He didn't want this, but here he was, haunted by the painful memories of his friends being murdered.
If only he hadn't picked a few medical skills from the healers of the House Of Friends. Then he wouldn't have been treated more favorably by the warrior and be the last one to survive from the first batch of servants.
Perhaps he was a little more braver, a little more courageous, a little more desperate than he could have challenged the warrior and accepted the sweet embrace of death.
"I wanna be buried at the highest peak."
'Shut up.'
Vin screamed internally as the flashes of memories came back. He didn't want to hear it, the reminder of memories they made when they first arrived here.
But even so, his body moved on it is own as he came close to their secret ground. In the basement, there is a section. A section one could only enter by strugglingly fitting in through the narrow gap behind the barrels. And it just so happens they were malnourished skinny children.
Gritting his teeth and letting out a grunt, he pushed himself into the narrow gap; his nose rubbed against the gray bricks of the wall, but not enough to hurt them. He extended his hand, clutching his fingers into the narrow gap between the bricks, and pulled himself forward.
This painful process continued for almost a whole minute before Vin located what he was looking for. All of a sudden, there was a lot of free space below his waist area. He crouched down slowly, the movement just as painful as squeezing through the narrow gap.
Once he fully crouched down and went through the gap in the wall, a sigh of relief escaped from him. The section hidden behind the barrels wasn't big, but it was good enough to fit seven to eight children without cramping. The wooden planks under his feet made a creaking sound due to being abandoned for so long.
It was dark here, so he had no other choice but to feel the ground with his hands. His eye flinches as he feels a twinge of pain in his hand; he thinks it is a splinter stuck in his finger or palm. But still, he continued ignoring the pain before finding what he was looking for.
A plank that was especially loose, loose enough for even someone like him to pull it out from the floor with only moderate difficulty. From under the floor, he picked it up, a square object that was a little bigger than the size of his palm. It was a box, a box the first batch of servant kids hid here long ago.
He held it with his hands carefully as if he once let it go, it would disappear forever to never be found again. He couldn't help but tremble as he slowly opened the box. The section had no light source, so it was almost completely dark there, yet he didn't need a light to know what was inside it.
Eight small ball-shaped objects wrapped in cloth were the pieces of each of them. The piece of their hair, to be exact, all wrapped in pieces of their cloth. The moment they set foot in this house, they knew some of them wouldn't be coming out of there alive; perhaps most of them wouldn't.
And so they made a promise with each other: whoever remained last would escape from this hellhole and bury them somewhere they wanted to be buried. Of course, they knew one of them couldn't escape from here while dragging seven bodies of the rest, so they set this up. Small pieces of them make it easier for one that survived to carry with them and bury them at promised places.
That was their promise, and as the last surviving member, he must keep it, for that was his duty from now on. One that fell on his shoulder forcefully, a burden that he was unwilling to carry on yet had no choice but to refuse.
A single line of tears came out from his right eye; this was the result of the first-ever punishment he received here. As someone who has some medical skill, he was too valuable to simply kill but not valuable enough not to lay a hand upon. He somewhat recovered from the cruel punishment of the warrior, but as an aftermath, a cruel scar remind him of his suffering. His left eye permanently lost its ability to cry.
A quiet sob comes out from him and holds the box of hair-wrapped cloth closer to himself. He was alone now... all alone in this utter darkness.