THUMP... THUMP...
Loud noises from outside. Heavy footsteps.
Just as the first horror was about to begin...
CRASH!
The wooden door explodes inward. Splinters fly across the room.
"What the fuck is happening here?" asks a man who barges in.
He is towering. He wears intricate, gleaming armor embossed with a crest I don't recognize—a silver tree wrapped in thorns.
Behind him, more men flood the room.
Some hold longswords and heavy shields; others grip spears with glowing tips.
"Wh-who are you?" Mr. Refanhive
stammers. He turns to look at them, his grip on my legs weakening in shock.
Now.
I summon every ounce of strength left in my starving body. I drive my knee upward.
THUD
"Guuuuuff!"
Refanhive wheezes, his face turning purple. He collapses sideways, clutching his groin.
One of the other men standing by the bed shouts, "Who are you all? What are you all doi—"
SHING
A silver blur cuts the air.
SPLAT
The man's sentence ends with his head separating from his shoulders.
Blood sprays across the room, coating me and the other attackers in a warm, crimson mist.
Panic erupts. The other men try to scramble for the window or the door.
They don't make it.
Spears thrust forward. Swords swing with terrifying precision. Within seconds, the room is silent, save for the wet sounds of dying men.
Everyone is dead. Except Mr. Refanhive.
Seeing the slaughter, he scrambles backward into a corner, still clutching his groin. He holds up a trembling hand.
"Wa-wa-wait!! Let me ask you something! You are doing this for money, right? I will pay all of you! As much as you want!"
The armored leader steps forward. He raises his sword.
SWISH
THUD
Refanhive's hand falls to the floor.
"Aaahaaaaaah!"
Refanhive screams, clutching the stump with his other hand. Blood jets between his fingers. He opens his mouth to beg again.
The armored man slams his boot onto Refanhive's head, pinning him to the floorboards.
"I do not want anything from a dirty being like a human," the soldier spits. "Especially one who tries to rape another hu—"
He stops.
He looks at me. Really looks at me.
His eyes widen. His pupils dilate. The
disgust on his face shifts into a terrifying, cold rage.
"How dare you..." his voice trembles, low and dangerous. "How dare you touch an Elfen daughter with your dirty hands?"
He raises his sword again.
SHING
The other hand falls.
Then, he lifts his heavy, solid boot.
CRUNCH
He stomps.
SQUELCH
He stomps again. And again.
Refanhive's skull caves in. Brain matter and fluid splash across the floorboards.
The room goes deadly silent.
"Elfen daughter?"
Hearing the leader's words, the other soldiers immediately sheathe their weapons.
Their demeanor changes instantly. They surround me, not with lust or violence, but with lowered heads.
They produce a soft, high-quality cloak and gently drape it over my naked, bruised body.
Their eyes, previously filled with cold efficiency, now look at me with profound sadness and pity.
The leader, having finished turning Refanhive's head into paste, turns to me.
He wipes a speck of blood from his cheek.
"I apologize," he says, his voice surprisingly soft. "If we were just a little bit earlier, you wouldn't have been subjected to such... torture."
He looks at the abuse marks covering my arms and legs. His jaw tightens.
"What... is happening?" I whisper, pulling the cloak tighter. "Who are you?"
"Before we continue, let's get you... Purified first," he says. He gestures to one of the soldiers, who immediately leaves the room to prepare.
"Purified? Do you mean healed—"
He gently places a metal-gauntleted finger on my lips.
"Shhh. You will understand soon enough. For now, just stay quiet and do what we say."
He stands up to leave.
"At least tell me something," I beg, trying to crawl after him. My legs give out, and I collapse.
He pauses at the shattered door. He looks back over his shoulder.
"Let's just say... a war started because of you."
He walks out.
"Wh-what do you mean?" I ask, shocked.
"Didn't you hear? Just stay quiet," says one of the soldiers remaining behind. He helps me stand up. "For now, just stay with the ladies."
He guides me out of the house.
I step into the sunlight and freeze.
Absolute destruction.
The village is burning. Smoke chokes the air. The streets are filled with soldiers in that same strange armor.
And chains.
CLINK... CLANK...
"Get back up, and keep walking, you filthy bitch!"
I look toward the voice.
A line of slaves is being marched down the street.
I recognize one of them.
Miline.
But it isn't the Miline I knew. She is thin as bones. Patches of her hair have been ripped out. Her face is swollen, marked with fresh bruises.
She stumbles. A soldier kicks her forward.
I close my eyes. I turn my head away.
I feel... sad for her. But deeper down, a dark part of me feels nothing at all.
Several women in robes approach me. They usher me toward a large, pristine tent set up away from the burning houses.
Inside, they help me bathe. They wash the blood and grime from my skin. They dress me in soft, expensive nightwear.
"Mr. Omahorn has told me to say to you that, for now, just sleep. He will talk to you later," one of the ladies says, brushing my hair.
"Mr. who?"
"Mr. Omahorn. You don't know who that is?" She looks confused.
"You know, the man wearing the golden helmet," says the other lady.
'Golden helmet... right.' The man who smashed Refanhive's head.
"Okay," I whisper.
They help me into a soft bed.
I lie down. I stare at the tent ceiling, trying to process everything.
AAAAAHH! NOOO!
Outside, the screaming continues. The sounds of my neighbors, my tormentors, being rounded up.
I close my eyes.
Strangely, the constant screaming acts like a lullaby. For the first time in years, I sleep soundly.
Next Day...
I am woken up by the same ladies.
They help me use the bathroom, bathe me again, and dress me in elegant clothes that feel too light against my skin.
"Mr. Omahorn is waiting in the meeting room."
I leave my tent.
The camp is bustling. I see carts piled with dead bodies being wheeled away. I see lines of chained people—the villagers—being loaded into cages.
I reach the large central tent.
As I enter, the noise hits me.
CLAP... CLAP... CHEER!
The people inside—soldiers, commanders, mages—start cheering. They clap. They chant.
I look around. I look behind me to see who entered. But there is no one else.
Are... they cheering for me?
Seeing my confusion, the man with the golden helmet—Mr. Omahorn—steps forward.
"Don't be surprised," he says, his voice booming. He puts a heavy, armored arm around my shoulder. "It is you that is being cheered for."
"Why?" I ask, stepping away from him. I push his arm off.
He doesn't get angry. He smiles.
"Why not?"
He steps past me, walking toward a large table in the center of the room. The cheering dies down, replaced by a rapt silence.
"It is because of you," he announces, his voice echoing through the tent, "that we can finally start freeing this planet of the parasite known as Humans."
He points to a large map unfurled on the table.
CHEER!
The tent erupts. They laugh. They clap. The sound of their joy is terrifying.