(Alex's pov)
Rose's eyes were wide with confusion and concern as she picked herself up from the ground, the place where Ashton had pushed her in the heat of the moment. "What's going on? What happened?" she implored, searching my face for answers.
I met her gaze, firm and resolute, even though I could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on me. "Ash had to leave, it's as simple as that," I declared, my voice leaving no room for further inquiry. With those words, I shut down the conversation, signaling that there was nothing more to discuss.
....
It feels like time's been sprinting by; before I could catch my breath, three whole months had zipped past. My living situation's evolved into this household with Leah, Rose, and my mom, and even Nate's joined the fray. We've cozied up to the point of sharing a room, splitting bills, and our daily routines are pretty much in sync—we're classmates by day and party companions by night.
Since the day ash left, we've had this new dynamic in our group. Enter Catolina—'Cat' for short—she's kind of swooped in to fill the void Ash left behind. I won't lie, there's a part of me that really misses him he's like my brother for crying out loud, and I'm here hoping he's out there somewhere, living his best life. One that he deserves, I know I shouldn't have pushed him away like I did. But I'm not yet strong enough to protect my mother let alone him. And I couldn't risk it.
Leah and I? Well, let's just say we've gone from just hanging out to being, well, an item. Meanwhile, Nate and Rose seem to be tiptoeing around something that might just be more than friendship. And Cat, the latest addition to our motley crew, she's a firecracker. Not the chatty type, but when she does decide to throw in her two cents, it's usually laced with a biting sarcasm that gets me every time. She's got this striking look about her—jet-black hair contrasted with these piercing blue eyes. It's quite the sight. Even though she's from the demon clan, she's not like what everyone says about them. She compassionate and nice when she wants to be. She's not some wrench or someone that's gonna eat your soul.
(Ashton's pov)
Three months have stretched out, and this journey I'm on—it's taken its unexpected detours, lasting far longer than I anticipated. With each day, I've found myself half-hoping for a sign from Alex, that familiar sense of him chasing after me, the way he always seemed to do. The silence, though, it's deafening, and I can't shake off the loneliness that clings to me. I find myself missing Alex's exasperating presence and, surprisingly, the others too. Despite the brief time we spent together, their sincerity in helping us felt real.
A sharp gasp escapes me, "Shit," as reality snaps me back into focus. My gaze drops to the deep cut on my arm—a stark reminder that I need to keep my guard up. I can't afford to drift off into daydreams. To survive, I've been picking up odd jobs here and there in the small towns and villages I pass through, just to scrape together enough for my next meal.
The tasks I take on? Yeah, they're often on the risky side, but what does it matter? There's no one out there holding their breath, waiting for my return. So, yay for independence, I guess.
I rose to my feet with a swift motion, feeling the weight of the freshly acquired wolf meat in my backpack—a tangible reward from the quest I had just wrapped up.Turning my gaze upon the trio of scarred wolves, I couldn't help but notice the wisps that seemed to emanate from their bodies—like tendrils of smoke following the invisible trails of the a red mist type blood substance I had administered earlier. These creatures, though considered low-tier beasts in the grand hierarchy of the wild, presented a challenge to someone who was relatively new to the life of an adventurer. Each one bore the marks of our encounter, a testament to the struggle and the raw energy that had crackled through the air. Despite their rank in the natural order, they had put up a decent fight, proving that in the world of adventure, even the seemingly weak could test the mettle of a newcomer.
As I exited the cave, a heavy sigh escaped my lips, a silent testament to the weariness that seeped into my bones. "God, life can really be a pile of crap sometimes," I muttered under my breath, the words barely a whisper against the stillness of the air.
No sooner had I stepped into the open clearing than a voice sliced through the quiet. "Ooo, look what we got here, a solo adventurer," a girl's voice rang out, tinged with amusement and something darker. My eyes quickly took in her form, and the five other figures that emerged from the shadows of the woods—bandits, by the look of them. A familiar sense of frustration bubbled up inside me. Of course, my luck would take this turn; it never fails to throw me a curveball just when I think I'm getting ahead.
The bandit leader, with a sly grin that didn't quite reach her eyes, tilted her head and said in a voice dripping with false sweetness, "Come on, you look smart, so let's not play games, sweetheart. Drop all your gear, right now, not that you have much to offer but..." Her demand sliced through the tense air, but I wasn't about to let her dictate my actions. With a weary shake of my head, I ignored her and started to walk past the crew of thieves.
"I'm not in the mood," I growled back, my voice laced with fatigue and a growing sense of irritation, already aware of the hole I was digging. my response only seemed to fuel her anger. She stomped her foot like a petulant child and bellowed at the top of her lungs, "Boys, get him!"
That was my cue. I bolted. My legs pumped furiously as I dashed through the woods, dodging trees and leaping over roots. The sounds of the bandits crashing through the underbrush behind me were a constant reminder that I couldn't slow down, not even for a second. I had to stay ahead, to avoid the clutches of the bandits and any other dangers that might be lurking unseen in the forest's depths.
I was running so hard and fast that my lungs burned and my muscles screamed in protest. Time seemed to stretch and warp, making the minutes feel like hours. But I couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, until I was sure I had lost them—or until my legs gave out beneath me. Whichever came first. stopping meant death.
Bandits are a ruthless lot, driven by a singular, unyielding hunger for wealth. They're not interested in who you are, your age, or the life you've led; your personal narrative is meaningless to them. It's the glint of gold and the rustle of banknotes that catches their attention. Their hearts are steeped in greed, a desire that propels them into the shadows of morality.
Greed, after all, is one of the most treacherous of emotions. It's an abyss that has no bottom, a hunger that can't be filled. It twists the mind and hardens the heart, They become blind to compassion, deaf to pleas, and numb to the consequences of their actions. It's a force that can drive the most benign soul to commit acts of unspeakable cruelty, all in the name of accumulation, possession, and money.
My legs were a blur beneath me as I pushed through the underbrush, heart pounding in my chest like a frantic drumbeat. I ran with every ounce of energy I possessed, but it seemed no matter how fast I went, it wasn't enough. My desperate flight felt increasingly futile, and that's when it happened—out of nowhere, a sharp, jarring impact struck my shoulder.
A surge of pain, sharp and biting, radiated from the point of contact, echoing the throbbing agony of the cut on my arm. But this was different, deeper, more menacing. Before I could even process the first blow, another wave of pain exploded in my leg, buckling my knees and sending me crashing to the ground. The forest floor rose to meet me, and the pain crescendoed, overwhelming my senses. I felt like a animal that was being hunted.
Gritting my teeth, I attempted to rise, but my body rebelled. Each movement was a fresh bout of agony, more intense than the last. Glancing down in disbelief, the grim reality set in—arrows, one lodged in my leg, the other in my shoulder, the tips buried deep within my flesh. "Shit," the curse slipped out, a whisper of defeat as the mocking laughter of my pursuers filled the air, a cruel soundtrack to my helplessness.
A chuckle, laced with arrogance, sliced through the tense forest. "I can't believe we even wasted arrows on this kid," a man's voice declared, dripping with condescension. His words were punctuated by the crunch of leaves underfoot as another figure approached—presumably the leader, his presence commanding even without a word spoken.
The circle of my captors tightened, their shadows merging with the encroaching dusk. "I'll give it to him, though," a woman's voice chimed in, her tone carrying a mix of amusement and begrudging respect. "He's pretty fast for how thin he is." Her smirk was audible, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine despite the pain.
As she stepped closer, her boots barely making a sound, she crouched down to my level, her face uncomfortably close to mine. I averted my eyes, unwilling to meet her gaze, but my defiance was short-lived. Her hand shot out, fingers entwining cruelly in my hair, jerking my head back with an unyielding grip. Forced to look at her, I met her cold, triumphant stare, the kind that comes from knowing you hold complete power over another.
Before the woman could utter another taunting word, I gathered what little strength I had left for a single act of rebellion and spat directly at her, a clear message of my unwavering defiance and refusal to submit to their cruelty.
Yet, the woman remained unfazed, her expression as unchanging as stone. The disdain in her eyes didn't waver, nor did her posture yield an inch. It was as though my act of resistance was nothing more than a breeze against the fortress of her resolve.
"That poison from the arrows should be kicking in soon, right, Kint?" she remarked casually, her voice eerily calm amidst the chaos of my situation. The word 'poison' hung in the air like a death knell, and that's when the realization crashed over me like a tidal wave.
A great wave of nausea surged within, a turbulent storm that threatened to consume me whole. Pain lanced through my muscles, a sharp contrast to the growing sense of relaxation that followed—an unnatural ease that spread through my limbs like wildfire. It was a treacherous kind of tranquility, one that robbed me of control, leaving my body numb and unresponsive.
Panic clawed at my mind as I lay there, paralyzed, a prisoner within my own flesh. The poison was a silent thief, stealing away the command over my limbs, leaving me helplessly adrift in a sea of numbness. The woman's face, now a blurred image above me, was the last thing I saw before darkness edged my vision, threatening to pull me into its depths.
"I'd reckon the poison's taken hold," Kint, the apparent archer of this ragtag band of thieves, observed with a grim chuckle. His figure loomed, a distorted silhouette against the light, his presence unmistakable even through the haze that clouded my vision.
The world around me was a whirlpool of blurred shapes and muffled sounds, their clarity stolen by the poison coursing through my veins. It was Kint's arrow, no doubt, that had delivered this paralyzing sentence.
Amidst the fog of my helplessness, another voice cut through the stillness, tinged with a hint of reason—or perhaps greed. "Look, I know we're here for his gear, but look at him," the second man interjected, his words drawing a momentary silence from the group. The tension hung heavy, like a curtain waiting to be drawn back. "He's poor, barely has a scrap to his name. Why bother with all this for nothing?"
The others paused, their attention shifting as if his words had cast a spell of consideration upon them. It was a brief respite from their earlier malice, a crack in their unified front.
The man, now emboldened by their silent invitation, unveiled his proposal. "We don't normally trade in flesh, but he's a good-looking young fella. Why not sell him at the slave auction in the next town over?" His suggestion reeked of opportunism, a vile alternative to simple theft. "We'd make a tidy sum off him. And by the looks of it, he doesn't have much else to lose. Might even be doing him a favor."
His words were a dagger to my heart, each one twisting deeper into the wound of my predicament. I strained against the invisible chains of the poison, desperate to protest, to plead for mercy or at least for understanding. But my body was a traitor, unyielding and heavy as stone. My breaths came in shallow gasps, the effort monumental and yet pitifully insufficient. I was trapped, a silent witness to my own fate being bartered away.
The woman bandit, her gaze flickering between my prone form and the man who had suggested my fate, let out a weary sigh. There was a reluctant resignation in her eyes as she gave a subtle nod, signaling her agreement. "You might be onto something," she conceded, her voice a blend of pragmatism and distaste. "He does have the look of the demon clan—what with that pitch-black hair and those piercing eyes."
Her scrutiny intensified as she noticed the streaks of white that ran through my hair like errant beams of moonlight. "We'll have to cover those up of course," she mused, already plotting the deception. "A bit of dye and we could spin a tale that he's a native of the demon territories. Claim he's a hard worker, docile, obedient... that should fetch a decent price."
With each word she spoke, the shadows around me seemed to grow denser, the light of any remaining hope dimming to a mere flicker. I was but a spectator in their callous bargaining, my fate slipping further from my grasp.
The absurdity of my situation struck me with a bitter amusement. "Fifteen years of life, and now I'm to be auctioned off like livestock," I thought with a hollow chuckle. My luck was a cruel jester, indeed, to land me in such a dire strait.
As if to seal the deal, another of the bandits chimed in with a solution, practical and devoid of any moral qualms. "Dyeing the hair won't be an issue," he said, a note of eagerness in his voice. "I've got some black leather dye back at camp. That should do the trick nicely."
And just like that, they discussed the transformation of my identity as one might discuss the weather—casually, with little regard for the human at the heart of the matter.
Without a moment's hesitation, one of the bandits, indifferent to the searing pain of my wounds, hoisted me onto their shoulder with a rough grip. My world tilted as I was carried off, the jostling motion a cruel reminder of my helplessness. I could only surmise that we were heading back to their camp, a den of thieves where my fate would be sealed.
"Keep him sedated," the woman's voice cut through the air, her tone clinical, as if discussing the dosage for a troublesome animal. "Just enough to dull his senses and keep him compliant. We don't want any trouble transporting him."
The others murmured their agreement, the sound of their voices a distant buzzing in my ears. It was then that another layer was added to their sinister plans for me.
"He does have a certain charm, doesn't he?" one mused, almost thoughtfully. "There's no telling where he might end up. A brothel catering to men, perhaps? They're always on the lookout for new...talent."
The woman pondered, her voice tinged with a cold calculation. "Or maybe we'll send him to labor on a farm, or to toil away in the mines."
Her words hung heavy in the air, each option a grim possibility in the dark future they envisioned for me. As they debated my worth, I was reduced to a mere commodity, my humanity slipping away with every step they took.
The woman's voice was pragmatic, laced with a mercenary's indifference. "The highest bidder gets him; that's all that matters to me," she declared, her words slicing through the tension like a knife. Their pace began to decelerate, the crunching of leaves underfoot growing softer, a telltale sign we had reached the bandit's stronghold.
As they dumped me onto the unforgiving ground, a sharp pang of agony radiated through my battered frame. I lay there, a twisted heap, as time trudged on and their voices ebbed and flowed around me, discussing my fate with detached curiosity.
Gradually, they set to work on my transformation. My once white streaks of hair, a stark contrast to the darkness around me, was soon shrouded in an inky blackness, the dye seeping into every strand. My skin, pale and ghostly under the moon's gaze, and my eyes, now harboring a depth of malice, were sculpted into the very image of a demon. "He certainly looks the part now," Klint remarked, a note of surprise coloring his voice as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. The pungent odor of the dye, reminiscent of tanned leather, clung to me, overpowering my senses.
But then, a different aroma wafted through the air, one that made my neglected stomach roar with hunger. The scent of cooked meat mingled with rice and potatoes filled my nostrils, a cruel reminder of the basic needs they had stripped from me. It was a feast to my starved senses, and my belly clenched in response, as if it were ready to devour itself in its desperation.
Klint's voice dripped with mock sympathy, "Oh, the poor thing is starving," he cooed, a wicked gleam in his eye as he observed my weakened state. He savored the moment, leaning in close enough for his breath to brush against my ear, his whisper a sinister hiss. "There's nothing quite like the thrill of toying with those beneath you, is there?" he mused, his words revealing a man who found strength in the subjugation of others.
"I'll be needing those arrows back," he stated coldly, the demand sending a shiver of dread down my spine. His hand was unyielding as it found the arrow embedded in my shoulder, his touch igniting a fresh wave of pain. I could feel each agonizing twist and turn, the grotesque sounds of the arrow grinding against bone and sinew threatening to overwhelm my senses.
Paralyzed, I was spared the indignity of screams, but the pain was a white-hot blaze within me. Then, with a callous yank, he freed the arrow, muscle fibers tearing in its wake. His smirk was a portrait of cruelty as he relished the moment. "One down, one more to go," Klint declared with a perverse sense of satisfaction.
As if awakening from a deep slumber, I could sense my body gradually returning, the searing pain acting as a bitter tonic to clear my foggy mind. "F-f... you," I managed, the words barely forming, distorted and thick with the lingering numbness that still held my body captive. My attempt at defiance was feeble, yet it seemed to spark a gleam of perverse delight in the man's eyes.
"Well now, isn't this a surprise," Klint remarked, his tone dripping with amusement as he turned to address a woman nearby. "Look here, Gabriella," he said with a chuckle, "our friend here is showing some spirit. Quite remarkable, really, considering that toxin I used should have him out for at least another five hours... Unless..." His voice trailed off, a sly suspicion creeping into his words. "Could it be? Are you actually something more... perhaps a demon?" The question hung in the air, a new game beginning to unfold in his mind.