Remy stood from his seat, calm but trembling, and he moved toward the doorway. His body shook from exhaustion as he circulated what little mystic he had left, his breath shallow and uneven.
Clank! Clank!
He stepped forward. The boards beneath his feet creaked like bones underweight.
"What the f*ck are you doing?" Remy muttered, walking straight toward the man. A staff made of shadows condensed beneath his hand, flickering like smoke as he shuffled into the open.
"Oh? What do we have here?" One of them jeered.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a fur coat made from wolf hide. Snake-like eyes gleamed in the firelight. His head was shaved bald, and a bronze ring dangled from one ear. He didn't even look at Remy at first—instead, he nudged his drunken friend, cheeks flushed red, reeking of burnt poppy.
"How much do you think we'll make selling this little trash?" the man crooned, stepping closer. His hand hovered over Remy's head before roughly ruffling his hair.
"Hahahaha!" He laughed with his men.
"Well, would you look at that?" he sneered. "This little b*tch is disgustingly pretty."
Drool slipped down his lip.
"I bet all the girls fawn over you," he said, gripping Remy's chin and lifting his face, examining him like an object.
"Hahaha, yes, hehehe…" The man behind him chuckled, his greedy eyes widening. "I hear the Saints pay good coin for slaves these days."
He took another step forward.
"Let go of me," Remy whispered.
"What? Did you say something, you little p*ssy?" The man leaned in, breath hot and foul.
Some of his spit sprayed over Remy's face.
"I said—" Remy lifted his gaze, voice sharpening— "Let go of my face."
"Or what?" The man's grin twisted.
He folded his left fist, ready to strike.
The old woman stood behind Remy, shaking so violently her robe quivered. Her eyes were wide with horror as she tried, fumbling, to push Caroline behind her skirts.
The hook-fist buzzed through the air, the man's knuckles cutting wind as he swung at Remy.
Da-dadum. Da-dadum.
The little girl's heartbeat echoed in the dark room—loud, frightened, helpless.
The fist met Remy's face.
Silence.
"Caroline," Remy said softly, smiling through the impact, "close your eyes."
Ahhhh! Ahhhh! Mmmmmm!
A scream ripped the air open as blood sprayed across the walls. Something heavy hit the ground with a wet thud.
The man's hand.
Remy didn't blink.
He didn't move.
The man staggered backwards, clutching the stump of his wrist, screaming.
"My hand, my hand, F*ck… F*ck… F*CK!" he wailed, eyes bulging with terror.
"Boss… Are you okay!?" one of the minions stammered. Confusion warped his face as he drew his axe.
"Kill that bastard!" The leader shrieked. "He—he cut my arm off! He sneaked me!"
But Remy hadn't moved.
The shadows at his feet did.
They swirled, twisted—alive.
One man charged with an axe.
But the axe never reached Remy.
A shadow stretched up from the ground like a living claw, catching the blade mid-swing.
"What the hell—!?" The man gasped, trying to yank it back.
But the shadows held tighter. They did not yield.
Two more rushed in.
Remy slammed his staff against the ground.
Black spikes exploded outward.
They tore through the first attacker, one spear punching through his left eye and out the other side. He screamed—short, wet, dying.
He stayed standing, trembling, before collapsing like a puppet cut from its strings.
"Please… please… please… please," he whispered. Then he went still.
Remy exhaled, voice low and shaking but firm.
"If you choose to kill," he said, stepping forward, "you should expect to be killed too."
"Mercy!" the last man—hiding at the back—cried out, dropping his sword with a loud clatter.
Remy stepped forward.
Ting!
His staff tapped the floor. The sound echoed as he walked past the bodies—the ones who had been skewered, crushed, and torn apart by shadow.
They dropped one by one, lifeless.
For the first time in a long while, Remy felt silence. His thoughts were clear—cruelly clear.
These were sinners, and sinners had to be punished.
He walked forward slowly. The shadows beneath him slithered up his arms, crawling over his skin, wrapping tightly around him like living serpents.
The air grew heavy—thick with dread—as he reached the last man.
"Ahhh—!" The man collapsed, urine staining the dirt beneath him.
Remy crouched down so their eyes met.
"If you had been stronger than me," Remy asked softly, "would you have spared my life?"
The man's lips trembled. He couldn't speak. He couldn't move.
He only stared—frozen in pure terror.
"I thought so."
Remy's staff melted into shadow, reshaping into a blade.
Without hesitation, he drove it straight through the man's chest.
The body twitched—then stilled.
Remy rose and stepped outside.
The leader had abandoned his men the moment the fight started, sprinting into the plains with no loyalty except to his own skin.
The man truly had a gift, if anything else—he was fast, faster than most. Cowards often did.
The moons hung high tonight—two pale orbs watching Sethfar like distant gods, their blue glow washed over the land.
Bang!
A gunshot cracked through the night. Birds scattered from the trees in frantic spirals.
"Ahhh—hmm—!"The leader screamed, clutching his leg as he crawled through the dirt, blood leaking through his pants.
"Stay away! Stay away, you monster!" He cried, voice cracking.
Remy stepped forward, calm, almost serene.
"Mmm… the moon shines true tonight," he murmured.
He tapped his staff twice.
The shadows lunged.
Black hands shot from the ground, clawing into the dirt, dragging the man back toward Remy as he screamed and thrashed.
The man squealed and clawed at the dirt, grabbing at roots, grass—anything. None of it helped.
The shadows dragged him mercilessly.
He was pulled across the ground until he lay face-to-face with Remy.
Pinned.
Shaking.
Helpless.
Remy looked down at him with quiet disgust.
He spat. "Truly disgusting. From the moment you came here… I could hear it. Your heart beats for nothing but greed."
He raised his staff.
"You were going to rape them, weren't you?"
Crack!
The staff slammed into the man's remaining arm. The limb twisted unnaturally, bone popping like dry wood snapping.
The man screamed—high, animalistic.
"And after that," Remy continued, voice dead, "you would've sold them as slaves."
He swung again.
Crack.
Another sickening twist. The man's left leg bent the wrong way. His screams broke into ragged sobs, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face.
He couldn't speak anymore. Pain had swallowed every word.
Another swing.
The second leg shattered.
The man writhed like a crushed insect, gasping, choking, begging without being able to form a single word.
"Killing you," Remy said softly, "isn't nearly enough."
He stepped past the broken body, walking toward the forest. Behind him, the shadows dragged the man along, leaving streaks of blood in the dirt.
They reached the edge of the trees.
The man had been scared before—but now he was terrified. He knew this forest. Everyone did.
It was where the imps lived.
Remy placed his stuff down with both hands.
The shadows threw the man into the darkness between the trees.
"I will let you fend for yourself," Remy said. "If you manage to survive… maybe you can repent."
He turned away.
It wasn't even a minute before the screams began.
Skkrrrk—crunch—CHRRK.
Something moved in the brush. Bones were crushed. Flesh was torn.
The man's shrieks filled the night—pure, primal terror—only to be cut off suddenly as something dragged him deeper into the void of the forest.
Remy didn't look back.
He stared up at the twin moons, their cold light reflecting in his tired eyes. He lay down on the grass as the shadows slowly retreated from his skin, sinking back into the ground.
Above him, Raven circled once and muttered:
"That boy truly doesn't know what he is, does he?"