The air was heavy with the smell of blood and flesh burning, thick as a curse on Kael's nose. The battlefield was a cemetery for the slain, limbs moved in awkward positions, weapons cracked and tossed aside, and empty eyes staring into the void.
Kael was frozen underneath the body of a man, halfway buried in the dirt. He did not dare to move.
The thunder of the hooves became louder. Through the smoke and dust, he saw bandits on horseback pursuing after a soldier all alone and clearly injured. The man fled, swaying back and forth, nearly gasping for breath.
"P-please! I surrender!" the soldier gasped, dropping his weapon in desperation.
Their horses trampled over the fallen with little care, the sickening crunch of bones echoing in the night. They were laughing—low, guttural chuckles that carried an edge of hunger.
A bandit laughed—a cruel, guttural sound. A blade flashed.
The soldier's head jerked back, blood sprayed out in a gruesome arc like a fountain. His body crumpled only a few feet away from Kael's mound of corpses, warm blood splattered against Kael's face.
Kael's fingertips twitched involuntarily but he forced himself to a standstill. His heart thundered in his ears.
Then, his eyes flicked to the soldier's armor fallen to the ground—a bloodied breastplate with the insignia barely visible through the blood.
A black griffon on a crimson shield.
Something stirred in his mind—fragmented memories. Not his own, but from the body he now inhabited. Faint, broken images of the noble ruling this land—Baron Heiskel.
Kael gritted his teeth. Great. He was in the lands of a baron who didn't give a damn about his people—so long as his coffers stayed full.
The worst place to be in right now.
And he was buried under bodies, surrounded by bandits, with fresh blood dripping onto his skin.
If they check this pile, I'm dead.
The soldier's corpse was still twitching, blood seeping into the mud in thick, dark rivulets. Kael didn't look—he didn't dare. But he could hear it. The last few ragged gasps of air before death.
Then, the horse stopped.
Right next to him.
Kael's breath caught in his throat. Too close. The warmth of the beast's breath sent shivers down his spine. If it sniffed him out, if it moved too much—he'd be found.
"Check if anyone's still breathing," a gruff voice ordered.
"Tch. What a pain," another complained, the sound of boots sloshing through blood-soaked dirt following his words. "They're dead. Just look at 'em."
"Boss said check," the first bandit snapped.
"Fine, fine. But if I miss one, it ain't my fault."
Kael wanted to curse. This was bad.
One by one, they went through the bodies. Blades sinking into flesh. A slow, wet schlk. Sometimes followed by a grunt. Other times, a curse.
"Damn, some of these guys still twitch. Nasty."
"Heh, guess they ain't dead enough."
Another schlock.
Kael made himself breathe at a slow pace, agonizingly aware of each drip of sweat that ran down his skin. The corpse up top was getting cold, the nauseatingly sweet smell of death resting against his face like a blanket of suffocation.
"Hurry it up," the deeper voice barked. The Leader," Yeah, yeah, quit getting yer britches all in a bunch," one of them murmured, sounding bored and preoccupied. Kael's eyes shifted slightly, taking a peek through the rotting piles.
The bandits weren't even paying attention anymore.
Their gazes had drifted, leering at the women they'd captured, bound and trembling near a fallen cart.
"Ain't no one alive here anyway," one muttered. "Why waste time?"
"Tch. Fine. Just stab 'em quick and move on."
A blade sank into the body above Kael, missing his face by inches.
Cold sweat slid down his back.
The bandit yawned, twisting his weapon lazily. The pressure above Kael shifted slightly before the steel was yanked free with a wet, sucking noise.
"Yeah, they're dead."
Kael stayed still. Even as the stench of iron filled his nose, even as blood dripped onto his cheek.
The bandit turned away without a second glance.
"Heh, now let's get to the real fun, boys."
The men laughed, their attention fully elsewhere.
Kael didn't move. Not yet.
Not until he was sure.
The scent of iron and rot clung to the air. Even as the bandits' voices faded into the distance, even as the last echoes of hooves disappeared beyond the ruins, he remained completely still.
This wasn't the first time he'd played dead. He knew better than to move too soon.
Patience.
His attention returned to his breathing, a shallow, easy rhythm. The pressure of the bodies leaning on him made every part of him ache, but he did not give in. Minutes dragged on, stretched into forever.
The only sounds left were the wind at the corner of the desolation, a rustle now and then, and a creak from the remains of the fallen buildings. The ground he lay on was soaked — soaked not only in blood, but seeped with the smell of death.
And then—
A movement.
A body near him shifted, then shot upright with a sharp, rattling gasp.
A woman.
Her eyes were open wide and she was taking panting breaths in quick gulps of panic. Feeling the soaking dirt full of blood, her fingers dug in even more as she tried to process the nightmare.
"I...," she said as her sob found its way to her throat. She looked around wildly, scanning the wrecked battlefield...
"I survived?"
A disbelieving whisper.
She caressed her cheeks, then her arms, as if to reassure herself that she was still intact. The warmth and stickiness of blood rested upon her body, but it had no relation to her.
Tears brimmed in her eyes. "The ancestors surely protected me… or maybe the goddess…!" She grasped her hands together, trembling, lips moving in a feverish prayer. "Thank you… thank you… I swear I will—"
SHNK!
A dagger sliced through the air, burying itself into her thigh.
Her prayer turned into a scream.
She collapsed, clutching her wounded leg, breath hitching as pain surged through her. The warm blood spilled over her fingers, soaking into the dirt.
Then—
A laugh.
Low, throaty, amused.
"Heh. Guess I got myself a little prize."
A shadow emerged from the ruins of a decaying house. He was slender, almost sickly—an emaciated, wiry form with long, tangled black hair that obscured his hollow eyes. His face was scarred with pockmarks, his skin sallow and dirty. When he smiled, it revealed yellowed, crooked teeth—some broken, some decaying.
He wore a patchwork assembled from stolen armor—a torn leather vest, rusting metal plates fastened, haphazardly, to his bony shoulders, and bandages wound tightly around his forearms. A belt weighed down his thin hips with numerous daggers, and a small sword dangled loosely at his side. His boots, scuffed and caked with dried blood, scraped against the dirt as he walked toward her.
The woman struggled to catch her breath in between jerked, uneven gasped breaths. Her hands trembled compulsively and she clutched at her injured thigh which was likely going to bleed out soon. But cold, clenching fear began to push the pain out of the way.
"N-no..." she whimpered, backward. Her injured leg dragged uselessly behind her.
The bandit laughed.
"There ain't no use runnin, girl." He crouched low and ripped the dagger from the woman's thigh in a twisting motion. She screamed.
She screamed.
"I noticed something was not right when I heard this corpse pile move." He whipped the bloodied knife against his shredded sleeve. "I'm so lucky, huh? Thought I was wastin' my time stayin' behind, but turns out, I got myself a treat"
The woman shook her head violently.
"P-please—"
SLAP!
His hand cracked against her cheek, sending her sprawling.
"Shut up."
Her vision spun. The taste of blood filled her mouth as she gasped, dazed from the impact.
Before she could react, a fistful of her hair was yanked back, forcing her to face him.
The terror in her eyes made the bandit grin wider.
"Hah... now that's the look I like."
Although her face was dirty and had a small amount of blood on it, it was delicate. Her eyes were a gentle brown—now wide with absolute fear—with shoulder-length dark hair matted to damp skin. Her lips quivered, her breath short and hastily drawn.
She wasn't particularly beautiful, but—
"Hmm. Face is average," he muttered, tilting his head, eyes flicking downward.
Then he grinned.
"But those other assets?"
His grimy fingers slid down to grab the fabric of her blood-stained dress.
"Yeah... they make up for it."
RRRIP!
The tearing sound of fabric echoed.
"NO! PLEASE—!"
She thrashed, her fingers clawing at his arms, but he was stronger.
The bandit only laughed, his hot, rancid breath washing over her.
"Struggle all ya want, bitch. Ain't no one coming for ya."
He began dragging her towards one of the broken buildings, ignoring the scratches she left on his arms.
Her screams filled the night.
But there was no one left to hear them.
No one but Kael.