"On your feet, worm!" The voice cracked like a whip even before the blow landed. A hand yanked Hmu Hmo upright, the stench of blood hitting his nose. Seven boys stood ahead of him, their skin streaked with rust-colored smears. Dull eyes. Clenched lips. Trembling limbs. Silent.
Hmu Hmo's gaze darted wildly. No sister. No others. Then the memory erupted uninvited: his mother's choked gurgle, the wet, rippling noise of flesh striking flesh. The phantom sound echoed in his skull like a struck gong. He collapsed mid-step, bile scorching his throat as he vomited two-day-old stew onto the forest floor.
A boot slammed into his ribs. "Up, maggot!" The words slithered with saliva.
Ffff-KRAK! The first lash ripped through the air like a snapped bone. Hmu Hmo's spine arched as the rod seared his back—a line of burning pain. His hands dug into moss and rot, muscles quivering. Another strike. Then another. PWAP! PWAP! PWAP! Overlapping. Burning. A crosshatch of agony.
Hmu Hmo turned—and the sight almost made him laugh. Their tormentor: a stick-thin man drowning in a comical uniform. Sleeves engulfed his hands. Trousers puddled at his ankles. The belt cinched too tight around his skeletal waist. The fabric puckered like a poorly wrapped corpse.
The man-child flinched under Hmu Hmo's glare, then spat a glob that landed between them. The rod whistled again. PWAP! Hmu Hmo didn't cry out this time, though his vision blurred white. He rose slowly, each vertebra clicking into place, and locked eyes with the shaky figure. Let him see the promise there. Let him choke on it.
Ffff-PWAP!
Upon a bald spot in the woods, the man shackled the boys to a gnarled oak before stumbling backward in a half-crouched manner toward the boundary. His retreating footsteps cracked through dry leaves—a panicked, graceless rhythm.
The woods writhed alive. Matted fur brushed Hmu Hmo's legs as the wolf monsters circled. Their breaths reeked of rotted meat, tongues lapping at the boys' blood-caked limbs. One boy jerked sideways—Clink-Chink-Chink. The pack surged forward, yellowed fangs gleaming—
—the sky screamed, and candescent streaks tore through. Arrows rained down like shooting stars—Thunk-Thunk-Thunk-Thunk—impaling monsters and children alike. No mercy.
When the rain stopped, laughter followed. Then, the scrawny man darted in—rat-like, dagger flashing. Corpses twitched as he hacked, prying glowing cores from shattered chests. His sleeves flapped wildly, a parody of wings. His eyes darted between the tree line and the sky, constantly scanning.
His rhythm? Absurd. Predictable. Dive for cover as fire scorched the earth. Tripped over roots to harvest monster cores. Arrows hissed overhead. Tripped over roots to dive for cover. Repeat.
By dusk, the clearing resembled a butcher's kitchen strewn with broken corpses. The cheers had grown hoarse and bored. When the order to cease finally came, the scrawny man stared at his blood-soaked hands, shaking, heaving for air until his brethren swarmed over him, and his stomach churned.
CLANG! The chains fell free. Three boys stood swaying, their skin mottled with burns and gore. No one wept. No one spoke. The forest held its breath.
The man's rod cracked earthward, spraying soil. "Sho!" he shrilled, spit flying, his Adam's apple bobbing like a trapped rodent. The boys scattered—not as children, but as prey, limbs pumping as they tore through the undergrowth.
"Wah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" FZZZT. Phffft-Splat. "Woah-ho-ho-hoo!" Ssss-THWIP.
Hmu Hmo's world narrowed to the pounding of his heartbeat and the crusaders' hunting cries echoing through the trees. Behind him, a boy's scream shattered into wet static as a light blast seared the forest—THZZZT—leaving charred outlines of oak leaves suspended in the afterglow. Cheers erupted.
He tore through a gauntlet of savage branches, bark scraping his raw skin. His lungs burned, and each breath felt like inhaling broken glass, but the pain didn't stop him. Thzzzt. Another smothered wail. The crusaders' laughter coiled around him, shadows flickering through the branches. He swirled—panicked—trying to find an escape route until—
—Kra-CRACK! The slope betrayed him. A root snagged his ankle. Gravity wrenched him downward. Sky spun. Twigs snapped. THUD! The pit devoured him. The impact drove the last breath from his lungs. He convulsed, mouth gaped soundlessly. The shadows pooled in around him.
His final thought: blood, metallic and bitter. Was it from the earth? Or from his veins, torn and spilling? He couldn't tell. Couldn't care.
Eeeeeeeeee—tinnitus roared in his ears. Then—silence.
—
"Hmu Hmo… Hmu Hmo…"
The voice drifted through his consciousness—unfamiliar yet urgent.
"Hmu Hmo!"
He jolted awake, ribs pressing into the water buffalo's bony spine. He blinked against the light. No one stirred in the endless field. His gaze climbed upward, a single cloud shielding him from the sun's glare.
Sweat pooled where his cheek had rested against the buffalo's hide. The beast's sway cradled him like Mother's embrace. Golden rapeseed swelled around them—an ocean of yellow stretching to the horizon, petals catching sunlight like brushed silk. The air clung—sweet and earthy. Bees bobbed drunkenly between blooms, their droning chorus rising to meet his ears.
At the edge, towering trees stood guard, their leaves whispering secrets as the wind combed through their branches. Above, the sky was blue, and other clouds were now trailing the lone wanderer—their shadows stitching patterns across the flowers. Sunbeams slanted through the gaps like warm palms, sculpting the world into a soft, fleeting paradise.
"Hmu Hmo!"
The call sharpened and grew louder.
He whipped his head around—empty fields yawned in every direction, rapeseed stalks hissing like conspirators.
"Hmu Hmo!!"
He bolted upright, knees clamping the buffalo's swaying flanks. The beast's horns arched beneath his bare feet, smooth as river stones. Its obsidian eye rolled backward to study him.
Sunlight licked the sweat pooling at his collarbone as he craned toward distant trees, toward the sky, toward nothing. His fingernails dug into the horn's grooves.
The buffalo huffed—a rumble deep in its barrel chest—tail swatting flies in lazy arcs. Dust swam in the shafts of light between them.
"Hmu Hmo!!!"
The shriek flayed the air.
Hmu Hmo flinched. He sprang off, knees folding as heels slammed down—not onto warm blossoms, but into a sprawl of blackened, rotting leaves. Cold leeched up, ankle-deep, like creeping groundwater. Above, the sky hung heavy—no longer blue but a grim sheet of tarnished iron.
He whirled. No buffalo. No gold. Only skeletal branches clawing at low clouds. Silence pressed against his eardrums.
Leaves rustled. Not wind-stirred. Crawling.
They slithered over his toes—slick as drowned hands. He lurched forward—Shlllck-Shlllck-Shlllck—but the mire sucked at his shins, his knees, then his hips.
Panic surged through his nerves. He thrashed toward where the trees once stood—Schlop-Schlop-Schlop—but the horizon had vanished—no towering trees, no skeletal branches. The leaves climbed to his chest, their corpse-cold fingers piercing his skin. He screamed, but the air vanished from his lungs—his voice stolen.
Black tendrils coiled around his throat. Rot filled his nostrils. One desperate leap arched his spine, his mouth gaping for the vanished sky—
—his heel slipped.
No sound. No light. Only the relentless press of a thousand brittle fingernails sculpted his body into the dark. Then, the rotten jaw sealed tight.