[Richard's POV]
Pathetic. That was the only word that came to mind as I watched the so-called "serpents" strut around like they owned the place.
There were five of them, all perched atop those bizarre contraptions —those strange metal beasts that rumbled and growled Luke caged animals.
They moved with an unnatural speed—at least in terms of how fast transportation type beasts did— their limbs hidden beneath dark leathers, the smell of sweat and something putrid clinging to them.
And their leader...
The repulsive man with yellow hair and a thick, unkempt beard. The way he grinned, showing off his jagged teeth, made my stomach churn.
It wasn't just the stench of unwashed bodies that disgusted me–it was the sheer arrogance. He carried himself like a man who had never known fear.
That would have to change.
Ben, foolish as he was, still had the gall to glare at them, his small hands clenched into fists.
I could already see the tremble in his stance. He was afraid. Of course he was afraid. This mongrel standing before us, pathetic as he may be, wasn't someone a mere child could face.
And yet, inspite of his fear, he still refused to back down.
I tapped Beatrice's arm lightly. "Who are these lowlifes?" I whispered.
Her face was unusually tense. "The serpents," she muttered, her voice barely audible.
Well duh. I already knew that. I wanted to know more than just the name of their group.
Before I could ask more, a sharp sound split the air.
A dull thud.
A grunt of pain.
I turned just in time to see Ben crash onto the ground, curling in on himself as the yellow haired brute pulled his foot back from where he'd buried it in Ben's stomach.
I blinked. My mind processed the scene slower than usual. Had that... had that mongrel just kicked a child? Never mind that, he's fast. Faster than I expected.
"Your father still hasn't paid his debt," the leader sneered, shaking his foot off as though disgusted to have touched Ben.
Ben, still gasping for breath, struggled to his knees. "H-He's trying his best..."
"His best?" The brute scoffed. "His best isn't good enough."
Ben's lips then twisted into something between a grimace and a snarl. "If he still had my mother and sister—"
He never got to finish his sentence.
A blur of motion. A sharp crack.
Blood.
Two of Ben's teeth skittered across the ground. His body jerked violently from the impact of the kick, sending him sprawling.
I didn't move.
I couldn't move.
Something was boiling inside me, bubbling up, clawing at my insides.
This was not rage.
No.
This was something far worse.
The leader stepped over Ben's groaning form and crouched down. His hand reached inside his coat, pulling out a small dagger.
"Since your father doesn't seem to understand the urgency of the situation, maybe I should leave him a reminder."
He flipped the dagger once, catching it easily, and raised it above Ben's trembling hand.
Coward.
Pathetic coward.
Before he could bring it down, my hand shot out, fingers clamping around his wrist like a vice.
The brute's eyes flicked toward me, startled at first, then amused. "Oh?" He chuckled, his grip tightening around the dagger's handle. "This little brat's got some guts."
My fingers squeezed harder. "Picking on children..." My voice was cold and venomous. "Is the kind of thing only a weakling and a coward would do."
The amusement in his expression vanished. He yanked his arm back, forcing me to release him.
Then without warning, he grabbed me by my collar and tossed me and tossed me aside like a ragdoll.
My body twisted mid-air as my instincts kicked in. I landed on my feet as I skidded to a halt.
And now that I did, my blood was simmering.
This fucking peasant dared...
He dared to put his hands on me?
I stepped forward, but before I could take another step, hands grabbed my arms.
"Richard, don't," Reid muttered, his voice unusually serious.
"Please," Alice pleaded, looking up at me with wide, desperate eyes.
They were scared. Not just for themselves, but for me.
Disgusting.
Before I could shake them off, the brute's shadow loomed over me. His hand shot out, and this time I wasn't fast enough.
The slap cracked against my cheek.
My vision blurred for a second, my ears ringing. The force of it sent me to the ground, the taste of blood coating my tongue.
The world stopped.
Everything—my rage, my disgust, my irritation—collapsed into a single, burning point in my chest.
This mongrel.
This insignificant insect.
This filthy, wretched, low-born peasant.
He struck me. He dared to strike me.
I'm going to kill him.
I'm going to rip his throat out.
I'm going to–
THWACK
Another slap came, faster than the last, but it never landed.
Instead, a girl stood before me.
Her orange hair caught the light of the setting sun, her small frame trembling, her cheek swelling red from the impact of the slap she had taken in my place.
It was Beatrice.
She had stepped in front of me.
Why?
Her hands clenched at her sides, her head bowed. "Please..." she whispered. "Let us go."
I should have been furious. I should have been humiliated that I had to be defended.
But instead, something burned in the back of my mind.
A memory.
A woman with long, flowing red hair. A dress as crimson as blood. Horns curling from her head.
She stood before me, her stomach swollen with life, her arms outstretched, her body shaking.
Blood.
It was dripping.
And it was dripping everywhere.
And then, it was gone.
Beatrice was still kneeling, her voice cracking as she pleaded.
My stomach churned.
I hate this.
I hate all of this.
The humans. Their hypocrisy. Their weakness. Their cruelty.
They called us demons evil for treating the weak like dirt, yet they do the same.
They prey on their own kind, crush those beneath them, spit on those who can't even fight back.
At least demons are honest about it.
Before I could move, before I could let my rising rage consume me, a voice rang through the air.
"That's enough."
It was calm. Controlled.
And yet, beneath that calmness, a storm raged.
I turned and saw her.
The nun. The one they called Sister.
She walked toward us with slow, deliberate steps.
The serpents shifted.
Some of them smirked. Others whistled.
The leader's tongue flicked out, licking his lips. "Sister..." He dragged out the word, his voice dripping with something vile.
She just ignored him. Without hesitation, she knelt beside Ben, her hands glowing with healing magic. The blood stopped flowing. The bruises faded. Even my own pain dulled.
Then she looked at us.
"Go."
Her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "Wait for me at the orphanage."
I clenched my fists.
This humiliation.
This disgrace.
I burned the face of the yellow-haired brute into my mind.
I won't forget this.
I will never forget this.
And I will never forgive this.