What has always made a Hell on earth has been that man has tried to make it his Heaven.
Screams and chaos reverberated throughout the dark hallways of the concentration camp, those disgusting vermins are at it again. As though it were a routine, anyone — whether it be men, women, or even children — were treated like animals. It was something no one can ever get used to except for the devil himself.
But it seems like there are already plenty of devils here.
In front of one of the many cells, a man with a familiar strong cigar smell, lean-built, and unevenly cut black hair, entered my sight. I, and anyone from this Block, can immediately recognize him. A foreboding unease arose when I remembered that I was being assigned to this monumental task of reporting to him.
Ugh! I hope I won't piss my pants again this time. I groaned in annoyance when it registered in my mind about what was about to go down when he entered the room of a woman named Jem, his favored cooze. And like all men in this place, finding pleasure in a woman is the only distraction one can have during a miserable war.
Well, at least it saves me the trouble of running around the barracks just to find him. I just hoped that I wouldn't get pummeled for interrupting his business. Contrary to his small build, he was known for being relentless on soldiers he didn't like even if they were far stronger than him. It was as though he wasn’t afraid of death.
But I was already battered from the expedition and didn't want to sleep with a broken neck. I was contemplating whether or not to come back after they've finished, but the report I had to deliver was a fairly important one.
I turned around with a hunched surrender and after long deliberation, I internally prepared to get some scorn as I entered the room to report the situation about the Lieutenant Morske’s order, but soon froze in my tracks when my eyes trailed upon his usual deathly glare.
I immediately stuttered on what I was about to report, as I recalled what happened 2 days ago.
"Get out," his curt command, accompanied by the hoarseness of his voice was sinister as I frantically nodded and immediately turned my heels.
I wasn't the only one who got Novak's scorn, he also kicked the two burly soldiers out, and dragged the shrieking female prisoners by their hair.
"So you're a shy type, eh, Novak?" the curly haired soldier who got kicked out, teased Sir Novak as he was being pushed out of the cell.
"You don't have to be embarrassed. Let us have some fun with her, will ya-" the bald headed one chimed in and tried to push Novak aside.
These fools. I thought pitifully as I looked back and forth between Sir Novak and the two idiots.
"Get the hell out or you'll be fucking your whores with a wooden cock," he threatened.
We didn't know when he pulled out a .44 Magnum revolver because we only noticed when it was dangerously pointed straight at the first idiot's balls. Despite Novak's considerably small stature compared to the bulky men in front of him, he had enough bloodlust to get them to obey but in some cases—
"Fuckin' hell, bastard! You fuckin dare-" — there were some brave idiots roaming around.
The idiot pulled his fist back, ready to punch Novak — but Novak just rotated the gun so the grip would face the idiot and the muzzle towards him. A standstill. Everybody expected bloodshed the moment he raised his fist towards him.
“Let’s play a little game, shall we?”
They paused and thought deeply about what Novak nonchalantly suggested.
“This gun only has one bullet with six rounds. We’ll each take turns and whoever cowers or dies first loses. Game?” he smirked as he spun the cylindrical barrel a few more times.
More importantly, what he proposed is even more absurd!
It was a classic yet dangerous game of Russian roulette. Clearly, everyone’s lives were at stake, including his.
“Sir Novak..,” his cooze tugged at his coat and whispered something in a pleading tone to his ear.
Novak's eyes spotted me in the corner as he was contemplating. He then knitted his brows and gave me a narrowed look. “You, hold this wench. She does not seem to know her place.”
He pushed her aside, as she fell beside me.
The soldiers finished their discussion and agreed to the game. The curly haired idiot volunteered to go first and snatched the gun from Novak’s palm and confirmed that it only really had one bullet.
“Go on,” Novak impatiently ordered while he toked on his cig.
I didn’t know that he liked to toy with people’s emotions this badly but despite the brave front of the soldier who held the gun, his knees and hands betrayed him as it was undoubtedly shaking in fear of losing his life.
Sigh “You’re wasting my time.” Sir Novak forcibly took the gun, spun the cylinder, positioned the muzzle towards the right side of his head, and unhesitantly pulled the trigger. His cooze struggled as I constrained her.
The dim light reflected the sweat rolling down their faces, it was a quiet moment of relief.
It was a blank.
The cooze I was holding sighed in relief as she looked upon the intense wager of life. Upon close inspection, she almost has the same countenance as sir Novak — shoulder length black hair and a pale face.
A thought rose inside me; maybe he remembers his sister through her. There was only a circulating fact about Novak’s past and that he had a twin who died during the war but the rest of his past remained a mystery.
However, despite how roughly he handled her, he seemed to care about her a lot more than a toy.
The curly haired soldier, emboldened by Novak’s stunt, reached for the gun and smirked as he closed his eyes with the muzzle pointed under his jaw and pulled the trigger.
This was the first time I saw what happens when you shoot yourself. I cringed, consciously turning my vision away when I heard a sickening crack. I turned my head back to see a shocking sight, he couldn't even scream and just let out painful gasps as his arms flailed without anything to hold on to.
Blood and shattered bones were painted all over the room as the body of the curly haired soldier slumped to the ground, his other eye hanging by a red thread from its socket as the other one flew somewhere across the room. We can see how his face was cut in half as his tongue was torn into two, his lower teeth outwardly curved, exposing his raw flesh from his inner throat. It was even more surprising that only the top half of his head was visibly intact.
Cough! He was still breathing— well, struggling to breathe actually. I almost puked at the sight of blood oozing from the cavern which used to be his mouth.
Suspenseful silence and tension builds in the room, suddenly there were heavy footsteps. Novak came near the injured soldier.
He bent down.
Is he going to apologize?
A silly thought. He took the revolver, opened the barrel, and loaded two live bullets. He closed it and aimed at the soldier’s head.
And he unhesitantly pulled the trigger, the soldier who was previously struggling from the pain had expired.
“Shall we play for another round? There’s still one more bullet here,” his dark eyes trailed upon the other poor soldier, aiming for his new target.
He didn’t reply, as if he saw the eyes of Medusa, he stood stiff; eyes flickering between the gun held by Novak and his dead faceless fellow. Some of us were still shocked and unable to comprehend the situation.
“Still wasting my time, I see,” as if he was mocking this tragedy. Novak aimed at his own head and shot 4 more rounds instantaneously.
It was a clear message to us that he holds no value for anyone’s life, including his own. What a crazy bastard.
“Now, your turn,” he urged.
“I give up! Fuck!” the bald headed soldier scurried out of the room.
Yep, this report can wait for later. I concluded, not wanting to be involved with any of this, and was about to escape.
Afterall, nobody would step in to stop Novak's tyranny and the higher-ups who were supposed to bring order to the army would deem that he’s far more valuable than an idiotic soldier or two. They would probably classify this as either a suicide or just another game gone wrong.
Silence pervaded inside the room as though an angel— no, a Reaper— passed through.
I momentarily loosened my grip and the woman broke free and ran towards Novak hugging him from behind. I can’t understand her. Shouldn’t she be running away from him? Or is it an animal instinct and a strong desire to protect oneself.
“Dicklesss,” he called my attention.
“Get yourself and this thing,” he pointed at the dead soldier’s body, “out… and make sure no one would come near this cell until I’m finished with this… whore.”
And with that the petrified cooze was left all alone with a murderer. Can't say I pity her though. What made her attractive to him was none of my business. I grabbed the paled victim and dragged the body outside.
As I needed to finish transferring the prisoners to different cells, I left the dead soldier’s body outside the room as a sort of Do not Disturb sign. That should be enough to warn the others. It took about an hour to finish the transfer but by the time I was already done; Hanes, who looked worse for wear, showed up. His strikingly vibrant hair was muted from the dusty snow that clung to his roots. Dark circles can be seen underneath his eyes and his usually bold figure was slumped in depression.
Considering that his lover was declared as a spy and died by the hands of Novak, the last 2 days must've been a nightmare for him.
"So...how've ya been?" Clearing my throat, very cautiously picking my words. Considering how he roughed up Novak last two days ago, I wasn't interested in making him angry at me.
"...Grisella, my love just died."
Way to lighten the mood, brother.
I tried my best to steer his thoughts away from his dead lover but I gave up when he couldn't muster anything positive and decided to remain silent.
I went back to Novak's current location, there was a muffled racket coming from the bricked prison.
"Turn around," a gruff voice of Novak ordered.
"Turn. Around!" This time Novak heightened his tone of command.
"No! No! Don't do it! Please! Just...! Just...!" The girl continued to plead.
"Face the fuckin' wall! NOW!"
They're still at it? What are they even doing? Hasn't it been an hour?
Hearing this disturbing exchange between the wailing girl and the sadistic motherfucker was beyond me. It was truly a horrific thing to hear what a monster Novak was.
I jumped when I heard a gunshot coming from the prisoner's room. The detained shrews looked even more terrified as one of them whimpered, eyes watering as she held back her tears. After that, I was only left with a deafening silence. Nobody moved nor talked.
"Fuckin' hope that scumbag dies," I heard a red-headed soldier mumble.
I jumped startled as if there was an intruder. And it was most definitely Hanes. Did he follow me here!?
“Hanes! What are you doin’ er!? If Sir Novak sees you—!”
“He won’t,” he briefly denied.
“He won’t,” this time he assured it with more conviction.
“I understand what you’re going through. But she won’t be able to kill him unless she has a weapon or something,” I answered to stop him from ensuing his own demise.
“No. She can and she will,” he answered smugly.
“You.. what did you do?!”
“I just gave her a little nudge…and a knife,” he laughed maniacally.
The metal door scraped the graveled entryway as it revealed the Reaper in his full monstrous glory. We both went rigid seeing his once clean uniform splattered in blood in such a gruesome fashion.
Hanes and I, who were the only ones near the place, were shocked to see how slovenly disheveled Novak was. There were streams of blood falling from his clenched fist. His face is still hidden in the khaki kepi and his favorite cigar peaked underneath the visor. He didn't even glance at us and just sluggishly walked past us.
"She failed...?" Hanes muttered silently in disbelief.
"You...You think that guy killed her?" I asked.
There was no auditory movement or sound from the room.
We waited until Novak left the scene before entering the cemented cell.
True to his moniker; the Lady Killer. Novak left a bloody surprise for us to clean up.
Granted, we should have expected for the worse when it comes to him. There was blood splattered on the walls. A single female with short hair and pale skin laid still, wearing nothing but an old dish rag which barely covered her purplish bruises, and her feet were covered in gangrene.
We couldn't help but have the urge to puke at the sight and smell but what was even more horrifying was when we saw the victim's face. It seems like she was shot at close range but the face was deliberately mutilated with the numerous stab wounds rendering it unidentifiable for it was disfigured beyond human comprehension.
A few days before the defeat of the Empire, sir Novak disappeared without a trace. Nobody knew what happened to him but rumors say he was classified as a deserter.