Kohta stands firm. His posture confident and the look in his eyes yearning for a fight. 

     "You got this?"

     "Yeah", he says, "Just get out of the way".

     The mailmen do as they're told, they backpedal towards the carriage and are ready to flee at a moment's notice. Counting Kohta, there are seven out in the Wild Area. 

     Whatever Beast that stomps their way, it shakes the very earth they stand on. The ground underneath them feels as if it will explode at any moment. The tremors that travel through the ground surge into their feet and into their bodies. 

     While the mailmen have been here countless times, the fear of running into any Beast, big or small, is still very much alive.

     Kohta rolls his shoulders and reaches into his pocket with his dominant hand. He scans the forest in an attempt to get a glimpse of the Beast, no luck there.

     The footsteps only continue to get louder and louder---until they're gone.

     Kohta notes this odd turn of events. He stays in his position ready for a battle, but as the minutes roll on and no danger has made itself present he relaxes.

     "I think it's gone", he says, "But we should get going".

     The mailmen nod. One of the six hands Kohta a jar of water to put out the fire. Afterward, they continue their adventure through the Wild Area.

     ***

     Alonso paces around his house, his fingers rapidly tap on his cheek, and his mind races just as fast. Eventually, he sighs in defeat.

    "Let's go".

     Without allowing himself to second-guess himself he rushes out of the house and sprints towards the Northern Mound. He holds his trusty new weapon with care, not wanting to accidentally stab anybody in his endeavors. 

     I'm not a child. Does loving my mom make me a child? No, that's not what she meant. She's just trying to keep you safe, why are you so mad at that? 

     "Shut up", he hisses at himself, "She just thinks you're weak".

     No, she doesn't. Why am I even thinking these types of thoughts? What the heck is going on with me right now? Are these the hormones I've heard so much about?

     With each stride, he nears his destination. The little boy can run surprisingly fast if he puts his mind to it. Not as fast as Isabella, but it's something to look at.

     I don't even know right now. What is wrong with me?

     Without realizing it, the signs of civil people drift away. The Northern Mound is similar to the red-light district in any town. There, the worst of humanity comes forward in a display of art. While most people in the village tend to stay away from the slums at all costs, those who deal with the underworld make most of their sales here. 

     As one goes towards the slums they'll notice small differences on the road there. Slowly, the trash mounds become less abundant and are smaller in size. This is due to the trashmen knowing what goes in that sector of the slums. Considering the trashmen are chosen from people in jail for heinous crimes, one would assume they'd feel right at home in the Northern Mound. But even they want no part of that.

     The houses that connect to the sides of the mound disappear. The smoke from the constant fires grows thicker and hides the sun from shining through. The air feels much more thicker and disgusting to breathe in. It's almost like walking through a forest in the dead of night.

     Alonso gets on a knee and sucks in deep breaths. His facial expression sours and he begins to cough violently. he drops the arrow and covers his mouth.

     "I shouldn't run here", he says to himself. The little boy forms a funnel around his mouth and breaths in, and out. He controls his breathing to make sure he doesn't inhale too much smoke. As he recovers his stamina, his eyes scan his surroundings.

     He frowns.

     All he can see is the smog that surrounds him. There are faint shadows of trash mounds and buildings up ahead, but due to the lack of vision, he can't tell how far. He picks up the arrow and stands back up. For some odd reason, a small, disgusting laugh slips out from his lips. 

     "It's quiet, he grins, "It's not so bad here".

     "Get him!"

     Out of the thick smog, a group of grown men sprints towards the little boy. All of them carry some sort of blunt weapon covered in red. Their eyes are bloodshot, veins spread all throughout their body. Their skin a disgusting shade of white.

     Alonso is caught off guard, but he immediately knows he's in danger. Without knowing which direction is which, he just moves forward. 

     Watch your breathing! You don't wanna have to slow down anytime soon.

     He can hear the shouts and desperate screams from over his shoulder. The sounds of their footsteps become louder and louder. Alonso can't put a finger on it, but from the sound of something metal dragging on the concrete, he can only assume the worst.

     And his fears come true shortly after. 

    "ARGH!"

     A rush of pain flows all through the little boy's body. Everything was happening too fast for Alonso. He falls forward and his already damaged face slams on the concrete. On impact, a loud CRUNCH echoes in the air. His hands tremble and his body does the same. 

     His right-hand grips the arrow even tighter.

     "We got him!"

     "Nice throw fatass!"

     "Quick, put him in the bag!"

     "How much do you think he'll go for!"

     Alonso lies on the floor bloodied and bruised. Also due to the sudden speed and impact the chains did to his ankles, the little boy probably also has fractured bones. 

     The group of traffickers surrounds Alonso. They snicker and giggle like children as they drag his body across the concrete. Alonso leaves a river of blood as he's dragged across the floor like a rag-doll.

     "Look at that, he's not letting go of that arrow. How pathetic!"

     "It's like his teddy-bear or something".

     "But it's kinda dangerous, no? Should I just pry it off him".

     "Go ahead".

     One of the group members goes to pry it off. He grabs Alonso's wrist and tries to take away the arrow. However, despite him using all of his strength he's not able to pry off the child's fingers. 

     "Fuck, dude", he sighs, "This kid is surprisingly strong".

     "Really, you can't even take his toy off of him? How weak are you?"

     "You do it then!"

     Another member of the group gives it a try, just like the one before he's unable to completely pry it off.

     "Huh, you're right", he scratches his chin, "It'll be hard to shove him in the bag with that arrow---Oh, I got an idea! Oi, bring your knife over here, Imma chop his hand off!"

     To this, Alonso slowly opens his eyes. With no available strength, he only moves his eyes to see his surroundings. This small movement still causes a surge of pain to shoot into his eyeballs, if he were insane, he might have gouged them out to take away the pain.

     He knows that strange and dangerous people surround him. Their disgusting pig-like voices sound like screeching rats to his ears. His body was already beaten, but now piling more critical injuries to it only makes his resolve weaken.

     That being said.

     "Oh", one of them takes a knee in from of him, "He's mov---".

     Before he even gets a chance to finish his sentence, in the blink of an eye Alonso manages to swing the arrow with everything his small body has. A loud CRACK sound comes from the man's cheek, probably a broken bone or two.

     In the blink of an eye, in his own blood, Alonso writes something on the side of the arrow and tosses it far away. 

     I can't even form a single thought right now. Honestly, I doubt anybody will find that arrow.

     The men surround him and beat him to a pulp. 

     I've always seemed to have luck on my side. Honestly, sometimes I feel like the main character of some story due to how many times I've scaped life-or-death situations. 

     Alonso looks at the bottom of a boot through the corner of his bloodied eye.

                                      But I really don't know how I'm going to get out of this one.