They herded the M'tis like sacrificial lambs to the slaughter stone, their blades piercing worn flesh with the reverence of priests ringing sacred bells. Viscera—both holy and tonic—streaked the crusaders' faces, painted like sacred ointments before battle. The chosen lambs were baptized in their kins' blood, the crusaders' hands moving with unsettling care through brine-slick hair and trembling limbs.
Hymns pierced the blood-misted air, each scream from below entwined with psalms from above. Homes turned into shrines—their thatched roofs sagging under the weight of hanging intestines, trampled flower beds blooming anew with crimson rosettes. Through the long dark hours, the village pulsed like a living altar, its heartbeat marked by cleaving steel and wailing prayers.
Dawn revealed the altar: where green pastures once rippled, now only gut-soaked mud remained. Of three hundred M'tis, only mere children endured—their small forms curled like blanched shrimp in the blood-streaked shallows of the river, the current slowly washing away the gore from their eyelids.
—
Hmu Hmo's throat clenched, eyes wide open.
Men swarmed in. They pinned Father down. Their hands clamped his limbs. They yanked—Crrrk… Pop! "Aaaarrghhh!" Father screamed. A knee slammed. Crack! Father's chest caved in. His ribs shattered like brittle twigs. Limbs wrenched free—"No-o-o-o. Gyaaaah!"
An arm twisted back. "Aaaaaargh! Please!" A leg ripped sideways. Snap-Pop. The hip gave way. "H-h-hnngh, k-k-khh." His jaw clattered in silent screams.
But the real terror was in Father's eyes—they were like windows to the seventh hell. They locked onto Mother's ravaged form. And Mother? She was pinned down, too. But Mother was dancing, her legs thrashing and convulsing with the fitful death throes of a snapped-neck dove. And her hip, somehow, thrust with blasphemous prayers. Thwap-thud. Thwap-thud. Thwap-thud.
Those men, no—beasts? Worse, they were the living embodiments of evil. They were demons. They gagged Mother's mouth with theirs... She should have screamed when they popped her arms backward. When they snapped her spine. But she didn't—she gurgled.
Father's gaze was still there, still watching her. No, it was trapped there. His neck twisted, eyelids propped open—all against his will. He was forced to watch this hellish play. He watched the way Mother danced, the way her body joggled. He watched the way her legs spread, thrashing in midair. He watched how her hip thrust up and down. He watched her throat gurgling, foaming, dripping, murmuring blasphemous prayers. He watched…
Those eyes—were they Father's?—Hmu Hmo had never seen them before. They weren't just widened with anguish and despair but drowned, becoming the broken altar where paternal love and marital devotion were sacrificed. His soul tore. His will was annihilated. Life stripped away from his trembling frame. He…passed.
But Mother was still dancing and gurgling—Grugh-Grugh-Grugh. The demons were still worshiping over the death rattle of her…innocence?
The wet, tearing sounds of their thrashing—that was their trumpet of divine judgment to the unbeliever. Their actions were divine possession—at least that's what they screamed in their moanful hymn:
Holiness! Holiness! Holiness!
We are the vessels of the divine. The spirit of righteousness burns within us! We are the instruments of justice! The fire of purification courses through our veins!
Holiness! Holiness! Holiness!
We must deliver Salvation. We must deliver Judgment. Our blood is Salvation. Their blood is Judgment.
Holiness! Holiness! Holiness!
What did they do next? They…they tore open Father's stomach. Then they forced Mother's head in. Her face plunged into Father's innards. She suffocated. Father's intestines became her wedding veil.
The demons continued thrusting—they desecrated her, their thrusts frenzied and brutal, each movement a desecration of her being. They thrust and tore until… Mother's insides burst out, her womb wiggling in the air, bleeding into Father's frozen-open mouth.
Then—the muffled, gagging sobs were drowned out, silenced by the wet, rippling noise of flesh against flesh. Two bodies—each wearing the other's intestines—bowing before God to reinstate their wedding vow.
—
"Dad! Mom!" Hmu Hmo screamed, and his eyes snapped open. He shot upright, chest heaving, gasping for air. The phantom pulse of his nightmare throbbed behind his ribs, and cold sweats clung to his skin.
His tongue dragged across cracked lips. Sunlight needled through gaps in the thatched roof, dust swirling in the golden beams. He cried for his mother, but his voice was hollow. On trembling knees, he heard fragments of her melodic laughter mingling with a stranger's chatter. The village awoke around him—clucking hens, grunting pigs, the rhythmic pounding of mortar against pestle. Normalcy returned, dissolving the nightmare's edges.
He blinked once. Twice. The sunlight was still there. It was just a nightmare. He staggered outside in a haze. Warmth pressed against his skin. The compound stood empty, yet his parents' voices lingered just beyond the bamboo fence—his father's rumbling chuckle mingling with his mother's teasing tone. He inhaled deeply: overripe mulberries, rosemary, the smoky scent of pork knuckles roasting nearby. His stomach growled. "Pork knuckles," he croaked, then gagged as thirst gripped his dry throat.
He turned the corner. The water vase glowed like a ceramic moon in the filtered light. He dipped the cup in, watching his distorted face ripple in the liquid mirror, then drank eagerly. The relief was so sharp it stung—"Aaaaah," he groaned, his shoulders slumping.
With the second cup in hand, he paused. His reflection stared back, wide-eyed. The golden rays curled around his head, forming a glowing crown that made him chuckle. He leaned closer, his lips curling into a shy grin. He winked, and his reflection answered with a matching sparkle in its eye—perfect, handsome.
He drew the cup to his lips. The first sip flooded his mouth with an overwhelming sweetness that quickly became salty and sour. Before he could react, bitterness surged up his throat. He spat violently, but the water defied him—ricocheting back to slap his face in a mocking splash. As he scrubbed at his face, his fingers came away smeared with thick, red sludge. He stumbled backward, his eyes darting. Fear rising. His mouth opened, a scream boiling—
—THUD!
The kick landed before the scream came through.