Under the moonlight piercing the darkness and the flickering glow of the flames, he tried to make sense of it all. Everything was a blur, everything felt surreal.
Right then, something unexpected happened. His father moved.
The youth froze. His breath caught. His father's chest was rising and falling ever so slightly. His breathing was so shallow and weak that it felt as if he might slip away through his fingers at any moment. Trembling, he leaned closer.
After a moment, his father's eyes fluttered open. His gaze seemed as if it no longer belonged to this world. His weary, blood-stained lips moved with agonizing effort. These were his final words:
"Sti... ll... They are sti... ll here..."
The words vanished behind the howling of the wind. As if they had never been spoken… everything ended.
The young man could do nothing for several seconds. He could neither scream nor cry. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye. He looked down slowly at his own hands. They were calloused. His nails were cracked, his skin covered in wounds. These hands had worked his whole life. For his family... for him...
And now, for what? It no longer held any meaning. He had lost everything.
He remained there for a while, waiting for a sign. A voice. Help. But nothing came. Finally, he raised his head. With hopeless eyes, he looked up at the stars illuminating the dark sky. That night, the sky felt lonelier than ever.
Then he pressed his hands to his face. As if losing his mind, he dug his nails into his skin. He felt the pain. This was not a dream. It was real.
Suddenly, his father's words echoed in his mind.
Still here...
His eyes widened. His breath hitched. Someone had done this. Sinful murderers... They had taken everything from him. He bit his lip. The fire of vengeance burning within him was more savage than the flames consuming the cabin.
They would pay for this.
The young man forced himself to his feet. His knees were still trembling, but he could not stay still. There were things to be done. His father's words kept repeating in his head like a relentless drumbeat. It was enough to drive anyone mad, yet he did not lose his composure.
Taking care not to make a sound, he crept toward the back of the cabin. Every step was slow and controlled. He even stifled his own breathing.
Then, he saw them.
The sight was enough to drive him into a frenzy of rage. They were sprawled out on the ground, sleeping as if nothing had happened. Fury rose like a scorching flame within him. He clenched his fist so hard his nails pierced his flesh. The veins in his forehead bulged as if they might burst.
But he had to be calm. He took a deep breath and released it long and silently.
He moved through the darkness like a shadow. He approached the sleeping men stealthily. There they lay. He crouched beside the first man. Grasping the hilt of the sword lying on the ground, he drew it without waking them.
He stood over the man. He pressed the tip of the blade slowly against the man's throat.
The man bolted awake. He looked up with a pained, bewildered expression. Before he could find the chance to scream, his voice was cut short by the steel entering his throat. As blood poured from his mouth, he couldn't even manage a proper struggle.
The young man didn't even blink. Without wasting a second, he moved to the other man.
The sword fell once more.
And the silence returned.
It was over. Everything was finished. The weight on his shoulders seemed to lighten for a single moment. His knees buckled. Propping himself up with the sword, he sank to the ground.
Just as he was about to let go...
A snapping sound came from deep within the forest.
Something was approaching.
He turned his head slowly, tracking the source of those ominous, grating sounds. From the edge of the forest, illuminated by the feeble, flickering light of the burning hut, a massive and dark silhouette glided toward him. Driven by pure instinctual terror, he pulled himself backward without even realizing it. In that moment, he gulped so hard that he realized for the first time his throat was as dry as a desert. The ash-colored, bitter smoke he breathed made his head spin, and his consciousness began to blur.
From his bloodshot eyes, two tears trickled down his cheeks, which were smeared with charcoal black. "I guess this is it," he thought. Then, with one last effort, leaning on his sword—heavy with the blood of the bandits he had just slaughtered—he stood up on his trembling legs.
As the figure emerged from the forest's shadow, the darkness around it dissipated, revealing its terrifying stature. Standing over two meters tall, it loomed like a semi-giant. When the creature noticed Hapless, he paused for a moment, surprise written all over his face. He scanned the lifeless bodies on the ground and then Hapless himself. His astonishment was soon replaced by a distorted, nauseating grin. The ground shook with every step the giant took, and with each stride, Hapless's soul trembled a little more.
Hapless took his stance with trembling hands. As if he hadn't already lived through hell in the last hour, now he was about to face a life-or-death struggle with this freak. But something unexpected happened; the giant suddenly raised his hands and began to clap slowly.
"You've really done a good job, little rat," the giant said, his voice like a rough rasp coming from deep within his chest. "Standing alone among these carcasses... it has whetted my appetite. Come here so I can have some fun before I tear you apart!"
The creature was grinning so widely that every single one of his jagged, foul-smelling teeth could be counted. Hapless knew these words were meant to provoke him. All right, I must stay calm, he thought. What's the big deal? After all, it's just a puny little giant in front of me, right?
He gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly it nearly crushed his hand and lunged toward the giant with all his might.