Season 3 chapter 47
The White-Haired Demon
The two heavily armed guards who had been left behind leaned casually against the wooden perimeter fence, counting their extra hundred credits.
As they looked down the dusty, impoverished street, the comedic, corrupt tone of the afternoon completely vanished, replaced by a suffocating, deeply unsettling tension.
Walking alone down the center of the dirt road was a thirteen-year-old boy.
He looked incredibly small, frail, and absolutely terrified. He kept his head down, his shoulders hunched as if he were trying to make himself invisible. But hiding was impossible. Unlike everyone else in the Republic, the boy had stark, unnaturally bright white hair.
The villagers standing on their porches and lingering in the alleys stopped what they were doing. The atmosphere instantly turned hostile. Cold, hateful eyes locked onto the young boy.
"He is the cursed boy," an older woman whispered venomously, clutching her religious beads as he walked past. "Everyone is talking about him. He is cursed."
"He has the curse of the white-haired demon," a man muttered, spitting on the dirt near the boy's shoes. "Look at his white hair. He is an absolute curse on this land. Because of him, the state abandons us. Because of him, we rot."
The young boy flinched, tears welling up in his eyes, his breathing growing rapid and shallow. He hugged his own arms, speeding up his pace, but the whispers only grew louder and more aggressive.
"He is the son of the white devil," a merchant sneered from his stall, his eyes burning with fanatical paranoia. "I think so... we should eliminate him. If we don't, the gods will punish us further. He will be the reason for our slaughter."
The fear in the town was palpable, transforming rapidly into violent, dogmatic hysteria. The young boy began to run, terrified by the sheer malice surrounding him.
The Temple's Judgment
Suddenly, the heavy, ancient brass bell of the town's central temple began to ring violently.
Standing on the high wooden steps of the temple was the Main Priest. He was an older, imposing figure draped in heavy, ceremonial robes. His eyes were wide with religious zealotry.
"Gather everyone!" the Priest roared, his voice booming over the town square, completely devoid of mercy. "Everyone, listen to us! The heavens have abandoned us because we harbor the unholy! Today, in the temple, we are going to remove the curse of our holy village by killing this devil!"
The villagers didn't hesitate. The murmurs erupted into angry, unified shouts. Men and women began to grab heavy wooden sticks, stones, and farm tools, completely abandoning their humanity as they swarmed toward the town square, forming a lethal mob.
Standing at the edge of the town, the two corrupt government guards watched the entire horrific scene unfold. They simply leaned against the fence, munching on cheap snacks, completely indifferent as the religious town prepared to sacrifice a thirteen-year-old boy.
The Front-Row Seats
At the edge of the dusty town square, leaning comfortably against a wooden fence, the two corrupt government guards watched the hysterical mob gather. They were casually passing a bag of cheap chips back and forth, treating the impending execution of a child like a theatrical performance.
"Oh, what the fuck is happening right now?" the first guard chuckled, chewing loudly. "This village is total shit. These people legitimately believe that their town isn't developing because of one little boy. I don't know why it is like that. They honestly think the government and God are both abandoning them just because a fucking boy has white hair. So now he's a devil."
The second guard snorted, wiping salt off his hands. "I don't care if they kill that child or not. Honestly, it would be so amazing to see something like this with our own eyes."
"Yeah, it is true," the first guard nodded, taking another handful of chips. "Well, it is also about the money, you know. If the population declines because they keep sacrificing people, the government funding for this district would reduce a bit."
"I don't give a shit," the second guard laughed, completely devoid of empathy. "It is a literal movie to us. If the funding reduces, it won't be by that much just because of one fucking boy. We are witnessing a live horror movie right in front of us because of their ugly fucking ritual. I don't know if other parts of the religion follow these extreme rules, but whatever it might be, let's just enjoy this thing."
The guard leaned over the fence, a sick smile on his face. "You know how funny it is to actually watch this thing unfold in front of us? I've always just listened about these crazy cults in the movies. I didn't know it happened in real life."
"Yeah, you are right about this thing," the first guard agreed, shaking his head at the villagers. "This village is fucking shit. The people will rot like this when they never get in touch with actual education. This is the problem with fucking illiterates. They are all uneducated fanatics, and they will rot like that. Since their behavior is going to be like this forever, well... let's just enjoy the show and witness what happens."
The Mother's Plea
In the center of the square, the terrified white-haired boy was violently thrown to the dirt at the base of the temple steps.
The Main Priest stood high above him, raising his hands to silence the roaring, bloodthirsty crowd. He pointed a long, bony finger at the trembling child.
"Take this boy here!" the Priest ordered his sacred village warriors, his voice echoing with absolute dogma. "And kill him with the sword! Cleanse this holy ground!"
The sacred warriors stepped forward, drawing heavy, rusted iron blades. All around the square, the villagers murmured amongst themselves, their eyes cold and hollow. No one stepped forward. No one had an ounce of mercy for the boy. No one spoke a single word of defense.
Suddenly, a frantic, agonizing scream pierced through the murmurs.
"Wait! No! Please!"
A woman came sprinting through the crowd at full pace. She was bruised and covered in dirt, violently shoving villagers out of her way as she threw herself into the center of the square. It was the boy's mother.
She collapsed into the dirt right in front of the Priest, tears streaming down her face as she desperately grabbed the hem of his heavy robes, begging for her son's life.
"Please, my lord, please don't kill him!" she wept, her voice cracking with pure, agonizing despair. "He is not a devil! I promise you, he is just a boy! He is not the reason behind the misery of our village! Look at him, please! He has done nothing wrong!"
The Priest stared down at her with absolute, stony indifference. He gently pulled his robes out of her grasp.
"My lord, I am begging you on my knees!" the mother sobbed, bowing her head entirely into the dirt. "Take me instead! Punish me if you must, but spare his life! He is innocent! Please, I will do anything you ask! Have mercy on my son!"
The Priest looked at the weeping woman, and then at the white-haired boy crying in the dirt. A dark, twisted sense of religious justice crossed the Priest's face.
"Okay," the Priest spoke, his voice carrying over the silent crowd. "We can do this. But if you want this execution to stop, a price must be paid for birthing a demon."
The Priest pointed directly at the mother's trembling arms.
"You need to cut your hands off," the Priest declared coldly. "It is the only way we can stop this devil's influence from spreading through your touch. You must remove your hands. Now."
The Unforgivable Sin
The boy's eyes widened in sheer, paralyzing horror.
"No!" the boy screamed, violently thrashing against the dirt. "No, Mother, no! You shouldn't do this! Don't do it! I cannot let this happen! Let me go!"
Two heavily muscled sacred warriors immediately grabbed the boy, brutally pinning his arms behind his back and forcing his head up so he couldn't look away. He kicked and screamed, but he was completely trapped.
He was forced to look directly into his mother's tear-filled eyes. She looked back at him, her face completely pale, but radiating a fierce, unbreakable love. She gave him a small, trembling nod.
She placed both of her hands flat against a heavy wooden execution block sitting in the center of the square.
A warrior stepped forward, raising a heavy, double-handed iron cleaver high into the air.
With a sickening, heavy THWACK, the blade came down.
Blood sprayed across the dusty cobblestones. The mother let out a horrific, blood-curdling shriek of pure, indescribable agony as her hands were completely severed from her wrists. She collapsed backward into the dirt, clutching her bleeding stumps to her chest, hyperventilating as shock instantly overtook her body.
"MOTHER!" the boy shrieked, his voice tearing his vocal cords.
Seeing that the twisted toll had been paid, the warriors released their grip on the boy.
He scrambled through the dirt, crawling frantically toward his bleeding mother to comfort her, to try and save her.