A grim sight.
Limbs.
Everywhere.
Abandoned weapons on the ground. Blood staining the streets. Blood staining the walls of the surrounding huts. Several structures, severely damaged.
Now the battle catches her eye. Movement from within the huts around the square. Within the huts’ walls. More yells, crashes, mad laughter.
What if the Shaman was already dead? Or the rest of the young warriors?
Right at that moment. A grisly view. A young mans head... visibly decapitated... on the ground... not too far from their hiding place in the bush. One of the villagers behind the old woman suddenly seizes a branch in front of them and begins to push through it in terror, trying to get a closer look. No! The villager sobs, recognizing her own son. Only the head remained.
Hadn’t she prayed for him...? The old woman thinks to herself. Kissed and whispered prayers on his forehead only minutes ago?
No!! The mother suddenly cries out, her anguished sobs getting louder.
Enough!! The old woman hisses in fury at her. If you so much as utter another word.... She turns to face the cluster of villagers. I did not ask any of you to follow me. If you cannot hold your tongues, return to the shelter. Now! We will all grieve many more times this day, but if you continue to lack self control and refuse to keep quiet, your “mother's tears” will finish us all.
The sobbing woman cups her hands to her mouth and tries to shrink into herself... tries to control her tears and quiet down. Other villagers hold her gently. Two begin to walk her back to the shelter. The remaining villagers crouch down again behind their Elder Mother and try and listen for any sign of the massacre. As if on cue, an ominous laugh suddenly rings across the square. RUN! RUN!! Voices from beyond the foliage shout.
The old woman looks through the foliage again.
Three figures are racing across the square. Two warrior sons, one daughter.
My fourth. The old woman thinks to herself. The girl is pulling one of the warrior sons behind her as she runs, forcing him to keep up as hard as she can.
So, she found her brother.
The girl is carrying a weapon, and the other two snatch up whatever they can from the ground as they flee. Screaming can now be clearly heard from a hut far behind them. Then suddenly, it shuts off. Mad laughter replacing it. Suddenly - so fast it could have been her imagination - the wall of the hut burst open like a shattered pot, and a body flew out of the thick dust and broken wall fragments like a limp sack of sand. Another young warrior. Dead. The body slammed into the ground and slid right into the feet of the fleeing youths, knocking them clean down. Instantly, the youths are back up and dashing for cover in the nearest shelter they can find. As they enter one of the last huts still intact in the square, the old woman hears other voices emerge from their new hiding place. A woman... begging the youths to leave.
No...no-no-no! The old woman thinks, horrified. There are still villagers hiding in that one....? How many families chose to hide in these huts instead of the surrounding bushes, or the shelter, or beyond? There can be no protection from this killer behind the hut’s walls. As for the poor souls still hiding in this one, the old woman knows the three foolish young fighters have just sealed their fates.
Right on cue.
A laughing darkness. The old woman almost felt the demon child emerge out from the broken wall. A terrible malice about to reveal itself. Despite their terror, the camouflaged group felt almost compelled to look through the foliage and see the abomination re-entering the square.
A child’s silhouette. Standing in front of the shattered wreckage, a cloud of dust dissipating slowly around him.
And there he was.
There. It. Was.
The boy used to be one of the most cherished “adopted sons” of the village. A sweet orphan with a bright future. To have come from such loss, yet still have had such a great life ahead of him. To have flourished so well, despite his parents’ death at such a young age.
What of us hadn’t loved this boy?
But perhaps that is why the demon chose him?
No one could understand what they were seeing when the killing started. No one could believe what their eyes were telling them. Everyone loved and trusted him too much. Too completely. Seeing him kill his own friends. His adopted uncles and aunts. His adopted fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, cousins. It robbed everyone who saw it of their courage. And now.... All the old woman could see standing in the square was a bruised, battered layer of flesh and bloody skin, housing an unspeakable evil. A death shell. Tattered clothes barely covering the bruised, pockmarked body. Missing pieces of skin around the hands and legs. Blood staining cloth and flesh and skin in red ribbons.
Not a boy.
Never again.
A walking embodiment of death.
Nothing more.
Are we still playing?
The mad voice again.
Where are you, dearest friends?
That mouth. That face. That broken, blackened smile. The old woman would have shuddered in revulsion, had terror not robbed her of breath and rooted her to her hiding spot. Not a single villager behind her moved or spoke. She knew they were all thinking it too. Its face... looked... wrong.
Terribly wrong. In every possible way.
It won’t stop the killing. The old woman knew. Many years had passed since a demon last attacked her village. Killed. No, near-obliterated her people. And now it was back.
Ancestors. She thinks, calling out from her heart.
Please. Send your Lotus warriors to us. Please add swiftness to their feet. I... I am not sure... how much longer... I can.... She crumples into herself, gasping as she prays. The loss of this many of their family... generations of love, joy, memory... the loss of their home... the home she rebuilt... so many families... murdered again... their bodies... limbs... everywhere... for all of them to see. Their children... raised to defend against bandits... little more than sheep for slaughter....
The crippling loss. Starting to overwhelm her.
No! She thinks, steeling her self with an old woman’s steady, stubborn courage. Not yet.
She feels the villagers behind her, watching the demon in transfixed horror, watching their home’s grim destruction unfold.
Don’t let your people down.
No one else has memory of a thing like this but you!
Compose yourself.
Be strong.
For them!
It now began to move. Head in the direction of the three youths.
The way it moved.... The shocking intent.
Not walking across the square. Sliding. Almost flying across the ground.
A demon’s puppet in flight.
Such a beautiful day today, don’t you think?
Let us enjoy it together.
It was at the warriors’ hiding spot in seconds. The child lurches it’s deformed body into the hut hiding the youths and other villagers. Fresh screams erupt. Yelling. Fighting. Growing laughter. A sudden silence.
Just take them. Take my children! A man’s voice says. An older villager. Take them and go! I will -
A horrific snap. More screams.
The old woman shakes her head, sick to her stomach. Another brave parent. Dead. She searches the square in anger... in anguish.
Where is the Dark-skinned man? Where is the Shaman?
Elder mother, someone behind her whispers... see!
The villager points to a corner of the square leading into the bushes. Several men women and children are being ushered by some of the remaining young warriors, evidently heading for the underground shelter, using one of the secret paths.
Relief fills her chest. Were these three foolish youths trying leading the demon away when they ran? Did they choose to sacrifice themselves to create a diversion for anyone else still hiding in the square?
Brave fools!
Then she sees.
A dark shadow. A tall running figure. Flanking the young warriors and fleeing villagers. Almost as if he was guarding their retreat.
Alive...? The old woman thinks. Hopes.
Was it he who rallied our young warriors? Perhaps laid out the very plan?
Suddenly, four figures are in the square again. The warrior sister and her brother, carrying two children, each riding piggyback on them as they run for second cover.
They won’t lead it where the others are going, the old woman thinks. They will have to hide the children, then stand their ground and fight.
She hears mad laughter again. The demon child. Tracking them already. She groans softly, realizing the warrior siblings will not have enough time to hide their charges.
In her heart, she knows they are already dead.
Unless...?
A dark figure emerges from where the siblings had fled and jumps after them, so quickly and powerfully, everyone watching the scene can only stare in absolute horror. The launch is so graceful. So disturbingly beautiful. A haunting vision of bloodthirsty intent. Of certain death. It lands directly in front of the siblings and their charges, smashing into the ground. Knocking them off their feet. The two children riding piggyback begin to cry, but warrior sister and brother quickly rise, stepping between them and their would-be killer.
More friends! The demon boy says in a honeyed whisper that carries perfectly clearly to every corner of the square.
The youths hold out their weapons in a show of courage, bracing themselves for an attack they know will be too quick to even see, not to talk of stop.
The abomination just smiles, musing over the siblings’ attempt to defend the crying children.
Such bravado. Friends.
A brave pair.
Of dead dogs.
Dumb animals.
About to be slaughtered for sport.
And many more of you in that bush, from what I saw as I leapt.
Its words hiss out, absorbing into the square like a deadly poison.
The old woman, the villagers, the warrior siblings... all who hear the words can’t help but flinch.
So.
You little meat puppets we’re trying to distract me?
The crippling, dreadful hammering against the old woman’s heart reaches a fever pitch. She feels the child creature’s fury even through the foliage, even before its blackened smile begins to transform into a leer of true malice... into a murderous rage.
The two youths shrink back, feeling the strike about to come, but hold steady, raising their weapons against the demon child, and shielding the weeping children from their inevitable death.
And what made you think of such an unpleasant idea against me?
The abomination is even quieter now. All honeyed speech gone. All pretense evaporated. The promise in its voice paralyzing the hearts of everyone hearing its words.
Not what. A voice suddenly says, interrupting the deafening silence.
Who.
It had come from the other side of the square.
Every eye... whether hidden, out in the open, or demonic... turns to find the speaker.
A dark silhouette. Standing on a far edge of the square. Hiding the last of any retreating villagers from view. The figure, framed against the glare of the afternoon sun, steps fully into view. He is a dark-skinned, muscled man, just as the old woman had been told. He is draped in tribal, warrior-like garments. Strange markings, black and gold, inked across his skin from his elbows to his wrists. A gleaming talisman and chain hanging around his neck. A blackened sword, molten hot, known to be wielded by Shaman demon-hunters, held in his right hand. A bo staff, poised and ready for use, held in his left. A sword-sheath draped across his right hip, and a baton sheathed on his left. The face, well hooded, hidden in shadow.
At last... the old woman whispers grimly, though she is not speaking to anyone in particular.
The dark man begins to approach the dark entity, speaking slowly, with a calm, grave conviction.
The Mad Light surrounds you... Demon.
The demon child, still at the peak of its murderous rage, narrows its eyes at the dark-skinned man, seeing him, and only him. It is clearly distracted by this new intruder, looking at him like a predator eyeing freshly cornered prey.
The youths, seeing the demon distracted, immediately pick up the children and sprint out of the square, clearly heading for the path that will lead them back to the underground shelter.
They know it knows. The old woman thinks, watching the young warriors retreat. The demon knows now. It has seen the fleeing villagers take the hidden path. The shelter is all but compromised. Perhaps this Shaman will buy them enough time to warn the last of us?
She looks beyond the square, past the dark-skinned man and the demon child, past the shattered devastation and the gruesome massacre of her people, towards the village’s outer surroundings.
Still no sign of the Lotus Clan.
Not a single sign.
And if this Shaman dies here, the creature will surely follow the others, find the shelter, and kill whoever is left. By nightfall, we could all be dead... or remade into whatever murderous vassals it saw fit too use us for.
She had seen it happen before.
Ancestors... hear my prayer...
...Let the shaman buy us some time...
...Let the Lotus Warriors arrive.
Such a beautiful day to be witnessing the death of my people, she thinks.
How can it all end in such a terrible way?
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