The first night set us ablaze.
They made us spar against each other, put wooden knives and swords in our hands, kindling. We beat each other half to death with them.
Staring at a boy my age and all I could see was him. The one who gave the orders. The one who took everything from me. Nowhere near and still I thirsted for his blood. Everything that moved was him. I smashed training dummies because they looked like him. I chewed a boy's ear because I thought I heard his voice. I may have been a monster, but I was not special. We were all of us monsters, fighting the past.
I saw nothing but red. His blood? Or mine? Or both? No bother, I didn't care. I deserved to bleed. It felt good. Soothing. My mind shrouded in shadows, aching to bleed some more.
Splinters in my knuckles as I limped and trod through the carnage. It was so loud. Howling and screeching and pounding of bones through the night. They weren't even training us, just awakening the animals within. But they would bellow insults and the youngest would snarl and lunge at them. I loved the noise. It drowned out my thoughts. Why should I feel guilty so long as I'm suffering too? It was my punishment and my therapy. It was violence, and it was beautiful.
That's all Hengeist ever was. A bloodbath. You grow filthier as you try to get clean, and yet you still cannot stop scrubbing your soul away.
But when there is nothing left, what then? Easy. Keep going anyway, as Hengeist demanded.
The fire had dimmed. The red had faded, the sea of boiling blood had curdled and cooled, lost its colour, it's life. And we no longer swam, rather we let ourselves drown.
As a child I heard rumours of boys who'd taken the wild mushrooms from the forest and ate them. They were hooked. Indulging until they became numb to the pleasure. Then the fun stopped, and before they knew it they needed it to live. At the time I doubted the story, doubtful anyone could be so stupid. In Hengeist I understood. It's trials were my addiction, and I could not escape, even if they gave me nothing in return.
Any techniques given would pass between our ears. Footwork slowed and balance toppled. We still were not training. I was a sore sight with a sword, even worse by hand. Full of holes because I could not focus. Hengeist did not believe in focus. They would demand improvement and not tell us how, natter on about excellence and then leave us to ravage each other. I was so sick of their voices, of having nightmares of humans just to daydream about killing them when I woke. I was sick of being angry. There was no adrenaline, no catharsis. Anger grew numb like a sword-bearing arm. All the rest were the same. Fighting with no fight left within us. Their war became a chore, scars and bruises became nicks and scratches.
We hardly ate. When we did it was slop with no name and no taste, and it was once. They hoped we'd run on fumes… and we did. Of course we did. We could never disappoint.
I struggled to remember my family. Their faces, their voices. Instead I saw ghosts. Tortured spirits haunting my days, my nights, yearning for a purification only I could provide. A blood ritual. So I would keep them close, and keep bleeding.
I often wished the blood would run out.
But no. It was Elias that wanted that, and I was only Sune. Elias squandered their lives for himself, Sune lived only for them. I was no longer a person, and only people hope. At least that what the olders had told me. But what did they care?
No... of course... they didn't... they never had.
Hengeist had been a trap all along. This was what they'd always wanted. Us, tormented and traumatised. They thought who seek nothing but blood would the greatest killers, those who loathe themselves will pour the most loathing into their blades. So that is what they'd turned us into. Beasts so blind we could see nothing but our darkest memories.
I knew it, in the back of my head I knew it. But knowing did nothing. I still couldn't break free. I still thought I deserved it. That's how they would get you.
As much as I hated humans, I missed them. Their bluntness, their clarity. I didn't have to wonder who's side they were on. Where a man would kill you because he hates you, Hengeist would batter you and tell you it cared, and it would feel even worse.
So I would keep walking— down a path I was sure there could be no escape from. There would likely never even be a 'war.' They were just jerking themselves. Life would be this, and that's all. I kept my family's distant smiles tight and kept moving, wadding deeper into the past.
That was until I discovered my future. My guardian angel. With her my blood would run red again.