Thick fog, endless darkness, In the middle of the darkness, a distant place appears on the horizon - A huge man, his skin covered in scars, stood in front of the black gate, his voice like daggers as he shouted at the slaves who entered. His eyes were full of disgust, as if he was looking at insects, not human beings - people in dirty clothes full of dust and dirt, wearing clothes lighter than paper in the bitter cold.
"Walk faster, slaves," one of them growls. Then he whispers to another man standing next to him, "Those scum from the empire, why are they sending their trash to us like this? What do they think of us? Shouldn't they be sending some pretty young girls? If they were to send us dirt, it would be better if they sent us sexy dirt." He finishes with a proud, excited laugh.
The other laughs. "You know, that's often how it goes with those bastards."
"Hurry up you slut." One of the men grabs a woman by the hair and drags her, as she starts screaming and clutching her stomach, "Please, please no, please forgive me."
Terror is created among those running for their lives, fleeing from unnecessary additional humiliation, thinking to themselves, "She's just a woman with bad luck." This is how evil is often justified when it becomes something ordinary.
Anywhere else, it wouldn't be like this, but here - Liu Mu
A city where corruption, oppression, injustice and contempt live.
Amidst screaming, crying, screaming mixed with fear, hatred and misery.
A masked person appears. With a black mask decorated with red lines.
The thugs instinctively step back, a chill running through their spines as silence grips the alley. Their eyes dart between each other, then to the one thug still gripping the pregnant woman's arm.
A soft crunch of boots against the dirt.
The masked figure advances, slow and deliberate, every step measured. Their presence alone seems to warp the air, a heavy weight pressing against the lungs of those who dare to stand before them.
The thug holding the woman stiffens, his grip faltering. "Stay back!" he barks, trying to sound threatening. But his voice wavers.
The masked figure doesn't speak.
They move.
A blur.
Before the thug can blink, a hand clamps around his wrist—firm, unyielding. A sickening crack follows as his fingers are bent backward, forcing a strangled scream from his throat. He stumbles, but the masked figure doesn't let him fall.
Instead, they twist.
A flick of the wrist.
The thug's body follows, lifted from the ground as if he weighs nothing. His back slams against the stone wall, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. He crumples, gasping, his grip on the woman breaking completely.
The other thugs hesitate, their hands twitching toward their weapons.
The masked figure turns to them, the movement smooth, almost lazy. Their head tilts slightly, like a predator considering its next meal.
A silent warning.
No one moves. No one breathes.
The thug on the ground wheezes, clutching his wrist, his eyes wide with terror. He understands now.
He was fighting nothing, as if he was an idiot who didn't realize who he was fighting.
This was a gate surrounded by mountains, at the top stood another masked figure, who came down to the thugs after a long surveillance, and on that dark rainy day the place turned into a pool of blood filled with corpses.
For the slaves coming from the empire, those hooded ones with the scary masks, saved their lives - just because they didn't know that they would wish they were dead too.
The slaves looked at each other, not believing that they were alive. But after a moment, they began to understand that their survival was nothing to be happy about. Because the place they were going to... could be worse than death.
This is Liu Mo, life is not free. You have to pay, with money, blood, or loyalty.