Colin's skinny, dirty feet dangled from a suspended cage, hanging from the twisted branches of a sinister tree.
The surrounding scenery was macabre and desolate.
Fires crackled, consuming human and elven corpses, their flames dancing in hellish arcs against the thick smoke. In the adjacent cages, rotting bodies lay, their carcasses serving as a feast for voracious mosquitoes and hungry crows.
Trapped in the cage, Colin shared his torment with another boy, who seemed around his age. He had long blond hair, but his eyes were empty, lifeless.
Despite his pitiful state, he was still breathing—though the putrid stench surrounding him suggested death had been lurking close.
In his short time in this accursed place, Colin had learned a few things. He had overheard whispered conversations between the guards, revealing that they had been at war for years, perhaps centuries.
They claimed it was the fault of the Dark Elves, who had lowered something called the veil.
A stabbing pain twisted the false Elf's insides, an agony nearly unbearable.
His situation was so desperate that he would submit to anything to alleviate his suffering.
If the guards urinated on him, he would drink gratefully. If they covered him in dung, he would devour it without a second thought.
But the guards preferred a more refined cruelty.
In front of Colin, a girl—clearly much younger than him—was sobbing desperately beside the lifeless body of a woman.
From her grief-stricken expression, Colin guessed she might be mourning her mother or a close relative.
The girl's anguished cries reverberated in his head.
Doesn't this idiot realize this is pointless?
They were utterly alone, abandoned by gods and men alike.
Every silent prayer was nothing more than a desperate cry for a miracle the heavens would never grant.
After what felt like an eternity of silent struggle, she simply gave up.
She stood there, motionless, her empty eyes reflecting a shattered soul.
Meanwhile, the soldiers feasted on a plump ox right in front of Colin, leaving behind only clean bones as evidence of the carnage.
The young man chained to the tree was strikingly beautiful.
His long, golden hair resembled that of a maiden, and his delicate features could rival those of royal ladies
Unfortunately, this beauty became a curse, an invitation for the soldiers to do with him as they pleased.
No matter how many times he begged for mercy or wished for death, the hell they were living through showed no signs of letting up.
[…]
Time passed, and the bloody morning gave way to the afternoon.
The soldiers began to prepare to leave the village.
Some had already left with the man wielding the damask sword, while others—too drunk to go any further—continued looting and partying.
The sky was gradually darkening, a sign that a storm was approaching.
For Colin, this was an additional stroke of bad luck, as the soldiers didn't usually leave disposable hostages like him alive.
He didn't want to die—not again—but he was aware that sometimes death could be preferable to a fate of torture and suffering.
However, even though he knew he could face unimaginable horrors, the false Elf didn't want that to be his end, trapped in that cursed cage.
For some reason unknown even to Colin, anger had left his being.
His thoughts were jumbled; he was unable to conceive plans for revenge, and his mind was a blur of random, confused images.
Time seemed to be running out for him, his strength waning fast.
However, in a rare stroke of luck, it seemed that the universe had decided to smile on him at that moment.
An overwhelming storm roared in the skies.
Loud thunder and furious gusts of wind made it seem as if the apocalypse itself was upon them.
Before long, a crackling bolt of lightning found its target in one of the nearby houses, setting it ablaze.
The stunned and disoriented soldiers who remained in the village hastily mounted their horses and galloped off, abandoning the town — and a few lives — which, luckily for them, included Colin's.
The cage, hanging from the tree like a deadly pendulum, swung wildly under the force of the merciless wind, mixed with sand that cut through the skin like blades.
It wasn't long before the branch supporting it gave in to the fury of the storm, and the old padlock, as ancient as the centuries-old tree, finally succumbed to the impact.
Colin emerged from the shattered cage, his eyes fixed on the hanging corpses that were now falling one by one onto the grass.
I've got to get out of here—and fast!
His black hair and ragged clothes danced frantically under the fury of nature.
He pushed on, arms raised to protect his face, each step a battle against the storm, heading towards the barn that rose like a boat on the rough sea.
As he entered the barn, Colin rested his trembling hands on his knees and gasped deeply, his eyes still focused on the chaos unfolding outside.
Broken branches, stray stones, and aimless leaves filled the air, creating a symphony of destruction that was, paradoxically, both beautiful and frightening.
For the first time in his life, the childish fear of storms didn't affect him. Instead, a sense of relief flooded his being.
The deafening roar of the world outside was drowned out by what sounded like muffled screams coming from somewhere inside the barn.
His keen eyes spotted a pickaxe half-buried in the hay, and he gripped it tightly.
In the background, beyond the stacked bales of hay, there was a small fence separating the barn from the space where the calves were kept.
"Be quiet, you son of a bitch!" the gruff voice of one of the soldiers echoed.
Sneakily, Colin approached, avoiding any noise that might betray him.
He soon spotted the same girl who had been crying desperately over a woman's body, now the victim of an attempted rape.
Her dress was torn, and her swollen lips were bleeding. The soldier tried to control her, grabbing her arms while his disgusting tongue ran over her face.
The girl managed to free one of her hands and, with fierce determination, grabbed a horseshoe that was within her reach.
Bam!
She landed a blow on the man's head, but it wasn't strong enough to stop him.
"You little shit, what do you think you're doing, huh?" roared the soldier, saliva dripping from his lips as he clenched his fist.
Without mercy, he landed two brutal blows to the girl's face.
Bam! Bam!
It was as if she had been hit by a tree trunk.
The blows were devastating, leaving her immobile but still conscious.
Silent tears flowed from her eyes as she gave up the fight, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together, accepting her terrible fate.
"That's it, quiet!" The soldier ran his tongue over the girl's clenched lips with a mischievous look. "Be a good girl, and maybe I'll leave you alive when I'm done."
With rough hands, the soldier brutally tore off the rest of the girl's dress and began to pull down his own pants when a sudden sound broke through the muggy air of the barn.
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When the soldier turned around, a pickaxe went through his neck with a macabre sound.
Squelch!
He tumbled to the side, trying in vain to stop the bleeding that gushed from his neck. Colin abruptly withdrew the pickaxe, and the scarlet liquid splashed out like a grotesque fountain.
"So, it's you!" Colin recognized one of his captors. "You don't look so brave now, do you?"
With one hand still pressed to his bloodied neck, the man tried to crawl away, but Colin put his foot on his back, preventing him from fleeing.
"You're still alive, even after having your neck pierced, hehe! What a stubborn cockroach you are."
The false elf raised his pickaxe high and drove it into the back of the soldier's knee, almost tearing it off.
The soldier, now unable to scream, choked on his own blood.
Colin smoothed back his hair, inhaling deeply as a wave of ecstasy ran through every fiber of his being. With a wide grin from ear to ear, he struck the man repeatedly in the back with the pickaxe, as if releasing years of frustration and pain with each blow.
Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!
He couldn't hold back the fury that overwhelmed him.
Even when he realized that the soldier lay lifeless, he continued to strike with his pickaxe until exhaustion overwhelmed him.
The soldier's blood had splattered his face, and the ground beneath his feet was saturated red, forming a puddle.
When he realized what he had done, an emptiness enveloped him. The momentary pleasure he had experienced from the violence faded quickly, giving way to an icy, implacable stare.
"There, it's all right now…"
As the frightened girl stared at him, Colin leaned his pickaxe on her shoulder and advanced toward her. She backed away in terror, keeping her eyes fixed on her savior, who looked more like a wild beast to her.
"Ah…" He stared at the blood on his hands.
Sighing, the false elf turned his back on the girl and headed for a pile of hay in the corner of the barn. He lay down, hugging the bloodstained pickaxe and closing his eyes.
It had been his first time taking someone's life, and although he had expected to feel guilt or remorse, none of it came.
There wasn't a shred of regret for his actions—just an emptiness, a feeling that this was the only way to survive in such a merciless world.
Colin was exhausted. His body ached, and his mind was in complete chaos. The storm was approaching, gaining intensity by the moment, but he refused to move.
It was as if nature's fury reflected his own anger, and he had to let it out somehow.
The barn where he had taken shelter wasn't the safest place in the world, but it was better than being exposed to the storm.
The heavy rain hammered the roof, and the gusts of wind made the structure shake.
"Better wait for the storm to pass…"
The world seemed to be falling apart around him, but Colin remained motionless, as if in a trance.
He knew he needed to calm down, but the turbulence inside him couldn't be controlled.
The storm promised to be long and intense, but he would wait until the end—without thinking about what would come next.