Zaino screamed, the sound tearing through the forest like a blade. His legs felt weak beneath him, threatening to collapse at any moment. Blood smeared his face,
stinging in his eyes, but he forced himself to look up. There, standing imposingly, was a man in black armor. Not adorned with any symbols or insignias, just plain, cold, and deadly. The figure's presence radiated an aura of danger so sharp that Zaino could feel it gnawing at his sanity.
With a sudden burst of strength he didn't know he possessed, Zaino lunged at the man, aiming directly for his head. But before he could reach him, an arrow pierced the man's skull with a sickening crack, embedding itself in a nearby tree. The armored figure crumpled, collapsing atop Zaino.
The weight drove him to the ground, and the doll Sijuka had given him slipped from his grasp, rolling in the mud beside him. His mind was a storm of chaos. Panic clawed at his chest.
His breathing became ragged, almost uncontrollable, as he scrambled to push himself away from the lifeless body.
From above, a new presence made itself known. A woman, masked like a clown, sat perched in a tree not far from the scene. Her eyes glinted with malice as she observed him.
"Dang it," she muttered under her breath. "Why the hell did he have to step in front of me? Missed my target…"
Then, with an effortless leap, she dropped from the tree, landing directly in front of Zaino. For a moment, she ignored him, inspecting the dead man.
"A clean shot," she said casually. "I aimed in the right direction after all. Lucky for you, you survived because of that brain-dead moron. But don't get too comfortable."
Zaino's heart pounded in his chest. His whole body screamed at him to run, but his legs felt like they were encased in lead.
The woman's voice turned cold, playful, and deadly all at once.
"I could kill you now," she said, twirling her knife lazily in her hand, "but where's the fun in that? Instead, I'll give you a head start. Ten… count to ten. Run! Anywhere. Hide! Just… hide!"
Horror froze Zaino in place. He couldn't respond. Words lodged in his throat. But her counting began, echoing through the trees, reverberating like a death knell:
"10!"
Zaino didn't wait. Instinct took over. He ran, stumbling over roots and branches, barely keeping his footing.
"9!"
He gasped, adrenaline surging.
"8!"
"Ha… ha…" he panted, trying to steady his breath, his mind a mess of terror and confusion.
"7!"
A branch tore at his knee, sending a sharp, searing pain through his body. He stumbled, barely catching himself.
"6! Ohhh! Fuck it! I'm not feeling generous today! Your time's up, you stinking rat!"
Her voice cut through the forest like a whip. Zaino's blood ran cold. She was searching now, her presence almost tangible, sliding through the trees like a shadow.
Somehow, he spotted an old, rundown house nearby. Barely daring to hope, he sprinted toward it and slipped inside.
He hid behind a broken cabinet, curling into himself as though he could disappear completely. His body was trembling, his breathing rapid, blood from his wounds staining his clothes.
Hunger clawed at him, gnawing through the fear and pain. For the first time in what felt like hours, he allowed himself to relax slightly.
Time crawled by. An hour passed in agonizing silence. Zaino's muscles tensed as he thought she might have forgotten him. Relief washed over him, fleeting and fragile.
Then—kick! The door slammed. The woman. Her voice bounced around the empty room, rich and mocking.
"Come out… come out wherever you are! One shot, and you're gone. Just like that," she taunted. "Or waste my time, and I'll make sure your death is… unforgettable."
Zaino's fear surged. He couldn't see her. There was no escape—this room had only one door.
"You've chosen the second option, hmm?" she hissed. "More fun for me." Her voice echoed through the room as she tore it apart, looking for him.
When she approached the cabinet, she froze. A sound reached her keen ears, something she hadn't expected. A flicker of interest crossed her voice.
"Interesting… rat, you've got luck on your side," she murmured, before disappearing into the shadows.
Zaino waited, silent and still, until the sound of her movement faded. His body was spent. Pain tore through every joint and muscle.
He didn't trust her, not for a second, but he needed to move. Crawling cautiously, he approached the window at the edge of the house.
He climbed out, landing heavily on the forest floor. His shoulder pressed against a tree as he rested, trying to steady his breathing, to compose himself.
Tears began to fall. Despite the blood on his skin and the grime of his journey, he couldn't hold them back. He wiped his face with shaking hands and tried to collect himself. His thoughts raced: Find the way home. Check on my sister. Are they safe?
Summoning the last bit of courage within him, he moved toward the village. The entrance loomed in the distance, a giant wooden sign proclaiming its name. Something felt off—too quiet, too still.
The streets should have been bustling with life at this hour, but silence pressed down on him like a suffocating shroud.
Steeling himself, Zaino walked through the path toward his home. Each step made the village's horrors more apparent. The back of the entrance sign was grotesque: covered in the bodies of the dead. A chill ran down his spine, but he forced himself onward.
When he reached his house, dread pooled in his stomach. The door was wide open. Peeking inside, Zaino's heart froze.
His mother was being attacked, her screams tearing through the air as a man forced himself upon her.
Another held his sisters, their cries piercing and high-pitched. Rage, fear, and helplessness collided in his chest, threatening to crush him.
"Get off my mom!" he screamed, a primal roar escaping his throat.
The men turned, eyes locking on him.
"So this monkey is yours?"
Guess we'll have to finish him too."
Zaino froze, his body betraying him. But when the first man swung the knife at him, he reacted instinctively, dodging with desperate precision.
"You want to play the hard game?" the man spat, lunging again, stabbing Zaino's arm. Pain shot through him, blood spilling over his already filthy clothes.
"Please… spare my children," Ama begged, tears streaming down her face.
The second man laughed, cruel and cold. "Hahahaha! This is too much fun! Look at all these emotions, so raw, so delicious!"
They moved toward his mother, intending to end her, but she summoned the last of her strength. Her eyes locked on Zaino, desperation screaming silently: RUN!
The knife went through her neck. Zaino's world shattered as he watched her fall.
He had no time to process before the men turned to his sisters. Heart pounding, vision blurred with tears, he ran. Through the forest, over roots and branches, gripping his wounded arm, lungs burning, he fled into the night.
Exhaustion overtook him. His legs gave out, chest heaving. He could no longer hold back the sobs that wracked his body. And then—pain, sharp and vicious—a massive dog bit his other shoulder. Zaino screamed, the sound tearing from his throat as the beast dragged him mercilessly toward the black-armored man who had vanished before.
Another figure appeared.
"Oh, so you're the son of Aizan," the man said, curiosity lacing his voice. "This just got interesting."
Zaino struggled as the man grabbed his legs, dragging him mercilessly to a large pole. The man knelt, gripping Zaino's hair and pulling his head back. Zaino's eyes widened in terror.
His world crumbled in an instant. Staring at the tops of the poles, he saw his sisters' heads impaled. Complete devastation struck him .
"Throw him in the dungeon," one man commanded. Blindfolded, bound, and broken, Zaino was hoisted onto a horse-drawn carriage. He was silent, devoid of tears or screams, consumed by numb, hollow horror.
The carriage jolted along, finally stopping after a day's passage.
Dragged out and forced to walk, he descended stairs into darkness, until finally, he was thrown into a cold, unwelcoming cell.
There, in that darkness, the echoes of the forest, the screams, and the blood-stained memories chased him relentlessly. He sat in silence, broken,
waiting for whatever horrors were yet to come.
---
Continues.......