Genesis (Erityian Tribes Novella, #7)

04 : ҁѫҩ•ϫѫǂᵻǂ≬ͽѣǂϫ

ҁѫҩ•ϫѫǂᵻǂ≬ͽѣǂϫ

The smell and stains of blood were not unfamiliar to Ryō. Born in a war-torn land and ostracized by their own village, he learned that people are just animals with a more evolved brain. Ingrained in their minds were the primeval instinct to hunt and kill for survival.

He was out of breath when he collapsed in the deepest part of the forest. Blood trailed from his katana, staining the ground in dark scarlet. The adrenaline had left his body and exhaustion washed over him. He stared at his hands as he recalled what he did earlier.

Ryō had never thought of killing someone but witnessing his father's death and running away from the villagers' rage awakened his feral side. He learned that no matter how much they explain themselves, people would continue to hate and be afraid of them because they were different.

The death of their father had not sunk in yet, but he had to let go of his brother as well. He knew they would not survive together as Shō would rather run away than hurt their enemies. He did not want his brother to die, too, and the only way to keep him alive was to let him escape the place that deprived them of that right.

A dry laugh escaped his lips as he stared at the night sky littered with thousand stars. This night was the most beautiful and clearest sky he had seen after a long while, yet it was also the most miserable he had ever been.

Realization had hit him quite late. He was truly alone this time.

***

Ryō did not know how many days had passed after losing consciousness in the middle of the forest. Overhead, the canopies of trees shrouded the sun, casting beam of lights on the forest ground with interesting patterns. He could hardly tell what time it was, but his stomach knew it was time to eat.

With effort, he tried to sit up. The bones and muscles in his body felt sore and tearing, but he started moving. Fortunately, the forest was an abundant source of food. He ate enough to satiate his hunger and disinfected his wounds right after in the upstream stretch of the river. His clothes were tattered and covered in blood so he decided to go home, hoping that there would be anything left after the villagers attacked it.

Their house was situated on a grassy slope, bordered by a quite expansive barren land on the side of the village and thick rows of trees on the other. As he hurried on, he sensed that he would not see the same house they had vacated days ago, and verifying his suspicion, he stopped cold on his tracks when he saw its ruins.

Their wooden abode was reduced to burnt wreckages. Soot and ashes covered the ground where their things should be. Anger coursed through his veins. Chasing them out of their home and even out of the village was not enough for these people. They wanted to erase their existence that much that they had to burn everything in their household.

Ryō knelt in grief as he picked up the ashes of what were once books on their shelf. He wished he could have saved the books that his brother loved so much, as well as their father's log notes, because those were the only connections he had with them.

Resentment flared in his eyes. His father and brother wanted to forgive the people who caused them their tragic fate, but his leniency had worn thin. This would be where his mercy ends. Gripping his katana tight, her march toward the village. He was tired of running away. This time, he'd be the one coming for them.

The night was harshly cold and silent, but a scream of terror awoke the people. In one of the houses near the outskirts, a fountain of blood erupted, besmirching the ground in eerie crimson. A head rolled over the street, its face frozen in a silent shriek. Ryō remembered every face that rained arrows at their home and those who chased them away. He swore to make them pay tonight.