Survival that was all that mattered to Anselm Zirn and the cost or sacrifice to achieve that goal was insignificant to the result. That was the law he'd lived by for the seventeen-year journey he known as life.
Clad in filthy, worn military gear and equipment, he'd claimed across his life in once-Europe, Anselm travelled across the lands saddled upon his steed, his hound patrolling close to their side.
Anselm's cohort cautiously traversed through the woodland wilderness of what was once the nation of Belarus. Continuing his journey to escape as far from his origins in once-Germany as possible. With each step his horse took, with every metre they travelled forward Anselm scanned the area for threats, all his senses on constant high alert like always. Keeping his breath calm, slow and silent even as it passed back forth through the mask caging his face protecting his crippled lungs from the warped atmosphere he lived in. As to get lax out here in the Wilds was to give yourself to death's cold and tempting embrace.
*****
After the collapse of civilisation and humanity itself you may wonder what became of the land. If you predicted the Earth's surface would become a desolate, apocalyptic hellscape where no life could exist aside for mutated abominations that never had the right to walk the world, well you were partly right. Majority of the Earth's terrain is now known as the Wastelands. An environment void of natural life due to the powerful fallout that curses the land it infects. If you dare to traverse into these deadlands you best make sure you're fully equipped and prepped, or you'll be dead before your first nightfall, as if the air doesn't kill you the beasts within sure as hell will.
The rest of the world, outside the walls and territories of struggling and persistent settlements and civilisations, are simply known as the Wilds. Terrain where the environment has fought to live on and miraculously adapted to the vile climate mankind has caused. After 25 years, now even woodlands breathe and thrive supporting life and ecosystems once more however, it may not be the same environment mankind once knew. Most animals before the collapse have been driven to extinction with only the most tenacious species holding on. Instead, their place in the ecosystem has been claimed by the mutants. Unnatural horrors, disgraces to mother nature's original designs, that crawl out from the Wastelands. Animals warped and mutated by mankind's catastrophic mistakes, transformed into monstrous beasts capable of striking terror into the most stoic and fearless warriors. While significantly fewer in population to the species they once were, their lack in numbers is more than compensated for by their violent and destructive nature, their seemingly raw hatred for life. The danger they pose only challenged and dwarfed by the existence of the Abominations. Anselm had always thought of it being a cruel joke from the universe, forcing man to face their own sins and ambitions head on. Humanity had shown no respect or appreciation for the life they shared the world with, so now they reap what they sowed.
*****
The woods were quiet, deathly so, no howl of the wind, no rustle of vegetation, not even the call of a bird could be heard. The only sounds were the echoes of Stein's hooves striking the mud and rocks below as he trotted along and the panting of Felix, as the German Shepherd scouted ahead. Anselm disliked silence, in fact it wouldn't be too extreme to state he feared it. Silence provided no cover for their actions and movements. It was true that the same conditions also applied for anything approaching his cohort, but out in the Wilds anything willing to approach you commonly became a death sentence, whether it be beast or Heathens. And the silence only invited these creatures to grow curious and approach.
With his permanent vigilance as strong as ever, Anselm kept journeying forward. Felix kept his snout to the ground guaranteeing that they did not lose the trail. From recent tracks and remnants left throughout the woodlands, Anselm believed they was a large travelling party close by, most likely trying to find a settlement they could call home. Anselm had no malicious intentions with his fellow travellers, the truth was it'd had also been a considerable amount of time since he had found himself at a settlement. He hoped that it might be possible for him to trade or purchase resources from this group, if they were truly as large as he predicted. Either that or they could inform him on their destination, and he may try and resupply there.
With Felix remaining hot on the scent, soon clear signs of humans became visible. Lined markings in the rain softened mud, Anselm interpreted that they were the result of a set of wheels and predicted they must possess some makeshift wagon to transport their cargo and luggage. The markings ran deep, the wagon must possess a decent weight Anselm considered. Hopefully that meant a large stock of supplies.
Anselm quickened their pace, hoping to catch up to what he assumed was a slow-moving travelling caravan. He expected to reach his goal by the end of the day.
Nightfall crept upon the land, the setting sun showering the horizon in a deep hue of orange and red while dark shadows stretched up from the opposite horizon bringing forth a scene of stars. Arguably one of very few things to arise from this new world was the clear night skies which had begun to emerge twenty years after the war.
With every half hour that passed the tracks grew fresher, he was getting close, not long now. As long as they weren't what he deemed worthless, Anselm would camp out with the travellers offering some of his supplies for temporary alliance.
Suddenly gunshots boomed into the air startling both Stein and Felix and even Anselm himself. Moments after, distraught and terrified roars and cries tore through the woods. About a mile directly ahead of them Anselm assumed … directly to where he'd predicted the travellers to be. Anselm loosed a muffled and displeasured grunt through his mask and quickened his cohort's pace.
The clear and potent scent of gunpowder began overwhelming the air as Anselm enclosed in on where the conflict had been. With the threat of incoming conflict, Anselm immediately checked in armaments where still exactly in the same place and condition when he checked ten minutes ago. A fully loaded handgun holstered on his right leg, three combat knives (including a Kampfmesser) where sheathed at his lower left leg, lower back and left arm and due to lack of any recent resupply an assault rifle, on its final magazine, rested upon his back ( hidden behind a black, ragged cloth cloak) and a shotgun, now possessing only a few shells, was strapped to Stein's saddle directly behind him. Beside the shotgun there was also a rifle he'd obtained back in his travels of once-Belgium however, he possessed no ammunition and therefore the firearm was currently useless.
They approached a steep incline and Felix abruptly began to slow his pace making sure not to disturb the muddy and rocky sloped surface. Quickly Anselm forced Stein to do the same, as even though he could identify no signs of danger himself, he trusted his companion's instincts over his own inferior senses. Felix came to an immediate stop halfway up the incline and let loose a hoarse huff. Instantly, Anselm pulled the horse to an immediate halt and dismounted. With haste and silence, Anselm scanned their surroundings and once he was certain they weren't be stalked by an imminent threat he loosely tied Stein up against a nearby tree, making sure the bind was weak enough that if his horse was attacked he could still escape. As even though Anselm couldn't identify any dangers currently, in this world that could all change in an instant, especially with creatures that could efficiently hide their presence from even him. Anselm prevented his hands from running over the many scars running along his body, results from the cruelty and malice of the lands he was forced to call home.
Carefully, like a hunting lynx, Anselm crept up the slope to Felix's side where they maneuverered their way to the incline's apex. He fell into a crawl as he reached the top, drawing his handgun before finishing the last few feet. Peeking over the apex he instantly ducked back down. His jaw tensed at the sight and his exposed teeth grinded together. He exhaled a disappointed and annoyed breath. He'd found the travellers, he guessed. Just not in the state he'd desired.
'Heathens,' Anselm cursed. He scanned the area once more, searching for any raiders, slavers or other scum that'd wish to ambush, pillage and sell him to the highest bidder, and if they couldn't manage that cut his throat and leave him to bleed out in the Wilds. Although Anselm would prefer the situation to not come to that. At least in slavery the possibility of escape and freedom still breathes, while in death hope is void. After efficiently and rapidly analysing every shadow, tree, bush and mound of the environment he found nothing. Satisfied that he may have avoided conflict for another day, Anselm allowed himself an iota of relief, in the form of a short sigh.
He crawled out onto the top of mud mound and moved into a tight, low crouch, his firearm raised trained on the environment ahead. Despite Anselm seeming to find no threats, until he scoured every surface of the nearby woods it was always the possibility. In a world like this paranoia was never a burden.
A massacre lay in front of him, a party of what must've been at least twenty individuals had been completely pillaged and slaughtered. Corpses, both animal and human, littered the stained and ravaged woodland ground, scattered between the wreckage of makeshift, wooden wagons and transport constructs. The Heathens had shown no mercy, the bodies had been brutalised, dismembered and butchered. Anselm's gaze scanned the carnage, it seemed not a single traveller had been left untouched whether man, woman or child. Their supplies had also been pillaged to Anselm's annoyance, with only ruined crates and lashed sacks and storage devices tossed around in the dirt.
A sharp and pained cough emerged from the wreckage,
catching even Anselm off guard. Cautious and alert, both Anselm and Felix approached. It was a child, a boy who couldn't have been older than ten years of age. Behind an upturned wagon, what he originally thought was a corpse, lay a motionless body leaning against a pile of sacks. The only sign of life being the shallow rising of his chest, and that life was quickly diminishing with every breath the boy took. The child wouldn't live. A deep gun wound, a rifle Anselm guessed, cursed the boy's abdomen which continued to leak dangerous volumes blood with every passing moment.
Holstering his handgun and bringing Felix to a heel, Anselm wandered over the child's side. Aware of the fear and intimidation his appearance could bestow, he removed his mask and pulled down his hood as he approached. Revealing ash blond air and the three faint cuts scars across his face. Allow the boy to see something human in his last moments, were Anselm's thoughts. However, like always, he made sure to pull up the black cloth around his neck up above the entirety of his lower face. He wanted the child to find peace in a fellow man's face not revolt in fear of a grotesque, mutilated maw.
The German took a knee beside the boy and the child's head slowly craned over to him, gazing up with hollow eyes, the life flowing out of them with every second.
"Soldier," the boy murmured in the Russian tongue. He spoke with a tinge of delusion like the child didn't believe what he was witnessing. The boy's trembling arm rose into the air and weakly gestured to German colours patched onto the left sleeve of Anselm's military combat jacket.
Anselm shook to his head. "No," he said, making sure to speak in the boy's native language. It was true that he wore and utilised military gear, but Anslem was no solider nor associate of the military. Both he and the imperial faction could swear to that fact. He hadn't been assigned this wear and instead had acquired it through less luxurious and aggressive means in one their many previous encounters.
The child showed no reaction to Anselm's response, and it made him question if the boy even still retained his senses and grasp on reality. From the boys dimming eyes and redding clothes, Anselm doubted it.
"Help," the boy croaked, tears welling in the eyes of an already stained face.
"Of course," Anselm said calmly. Despite his words not being lies, the child was beyond saving. Anselm doubted the boy had more than a few minutes of life left within his ruined body and there was no medical care nearby capable of treating such wounds. But those few minutes would be painful and to the boy feel like an eternity as his body instinctually attempted to cling onto life, as all of nature did.
Anselm noticed a starry night had finally birthed into the world above the Wilds, one of the few beautiful existences this cruel and warped world still had to offer.
Gently, Anselm placed two fingers under the boy's chin and titled the child's head up to witness the sight above. A view that is Anselm himself desired to watch over him when his final breaths arrived. The boy's dull eyes locked onto the stars, mesmerised at such a scene, and Anselm plunged a knife into the bottom of the boy's jaw and through the entirety of his skull. A precise, swift and powerful strike delivering an instant and painless death, ceasing the child's suffering and gifting him peace.
Anselm cleaned off the knife and sheathed it at his lower back once again. He stood from the corpse, allowing its soul to pass onto the void or into the next world if one truly did exist. Although Anselm hoped it did not. He then went on to scan the wreckage for anything that may prove useful to his own survival and avoid the same fate as the child. He knew the raiders would have a small storage limit for what they could steal, as they usually travelled by horse for speed and elusion. And he expected, or more accurately hoped, the size of the traveller's belongings greatly succeeded that of the Heathens' leaving Anselm with possible resources he could forage. After a quick hunt around, not wanting to hang around the possible food sources for long, it turned out, shockingly, fortune was in his favour today. After restocking his rations with whatever he could find (fussiness had no place in the Wilds), and collecting any resources he believed would be useful, Anselm gathered both Felix and Stein and they set off into the night. They'd have to set up camp but establishing it anywhere around here was suicide. And so they set off once again, towards where he believed a settlement to eventually be. Anselm instantly noticed the tracks of the Heathens travelling off to the right but made no action to follow. Despite the carnage they'd caused, that was nothing unusual in this world and he knew no person here, possessed no emotional connection. The idea of revenge here would be foolish, wasteful and pointlessly tempting death. Anselm travelled forward towards the left, following the conditions that best suited their survival as in this world that was all that mattered.
To live on.