The man was already dead, but he kept stabbing anyway.
First, the dagger went between the man's eyes. Now, the boy wanted to make sure this blight of a miscreant was never going to rise up again. So he raised the dagger and impaled the torso. Raised it again, and repeated the process. Over and over.
The dead man had a companion who held the girl hostage. She was about the same age as he. Her voice was the call for help that brought him to where he was now. In the middle of a fight with two slavers. Well, one now.
The man pushed the girl aside and drew his sword to face the boy. "You little—!"
Leaving his dagger on the first slaver's body, the boy then picked up a golden spearblade. One with the body of a harpoon, longer than he was, and the cutting properties of a double-edged sword.
He made the first move and rushed for the man.
The man braced for the attack, expecting the boy to tackle him. It was just a boy. He knew he could take out the rascal.
But the rascal never stood close to him.
The boy hurled the spearblade masterfully. He would do well with it than put shame to his mentor, Saihme.
"Oh, fu—!"
The spearblade penetrated the man through the stomach, pinning him to a dead tree behind him. It found its exit on the other side of the tree trunk, skewering the man and the object of inanimate nature.
Staring in disbelief at his wound, the man struggled for breath. His eyes met the boy's when the rascal stood in front of him. His expression was that of satisfaction and mischief.
The boy held the spearblade, tugging it lightly.
The man made a sound. "Don't. Don't do it or I'll bleed to death."
"But," the boy tilted his head to the side, "isn't that the point?"
And the boy pulled the spearblade, easily cutting through wood and flesh.
He marveled at how sharp it was. Saihme must have really taken care of the thing to not let it go dull. Now that it was passed to him, he could do with it what he will.
The boy stepped aside as the man took drunken steps forward, holding his guts that threatened to spill on the soil. He fell on his knees, coughing up blood. Soon, his body kissed the ground for eternity.
He turned to the girl. But all he saw was fear imbued in the eyes that he had saved. Her face displayed an emotion that he found oddly familiar and unnerving. Those eyes stared at him like he was some kind of monster.
Governed by the instinct to survive in the wasteland, he felt the urge to help her when she cried for help. He didn't like the way she screamed as if she was helpless. And lost.
Like his memories.
He approached her and untied her bounds, ignoring her reaction.
She avoided his gaze.
She looked so frail, but there was also life in her eyes. He had never seen a person like this before. A girl at that.
He poked her cheek as if to make sure it was a genuine human being. She certainly moved like one. Plus, she was soft.
The girl met his gaze. Her eyes, a hue of lavender's bloom, widened as she held her cheek and leaned farther from him. "U-umm..."
There was something strange about her. He couldn't quite point it out.
She appeared harmless. Her hair was long. A silky shade of burgundy, straight but curled at the tips. She had these two small mounds on her chest. He wondered why he didn't have those. Perhaps it was exclusive to them? No matter. They appeared uncomfortable and he didn't want that.
YOU ARE READING
Where Destiny Called Us and Tore Us Apart
Fantasy"Tell me, do you know the devil? Because if you don't know the devil, then it's about time you both get acquainted." Sirius was not his true name, and he had lost all traces of his past. Where he now lived, he sought to right the wrong. But many saw...
