"Ahhhhhh…!!"
A heart-trembling scream echoed from inside a trash bin.
During a snowstorm, a small beggar who was known for never crying even when faced with the worst circumstances in the beggar group could no longer bear the pain.
In that narrow space, his arm hurt a lot. Chains that were around a sword's handle started to move on their own like snakes towards his right arm! They wrapped around his arm, tightening and nonstop.
And as if that wasn't bad enough, the chains touching his skin grew many sharp points. As the chains moved, these points cut into the boy's skin, hitting his bone like a chainsaw.
Under the night sky, nobody saw what was happening inside the trash bin. The boy's right hand was almost ruined by the chains, but they kept wrapping around him as if they wouldn't ever stop.
His main blood vessel was cut, and blood poured out. His blood followed the moving chains as if something strange pulled it, gathering in a hole in the center of the sword's black hilt.
A normal person's blood is about 8 percent of their body weight, and they can live until they lose about half their blood. The ten-year-old boy might weigh about 28 kilograms, so his blood would be about 2.24 kilograms. The most he could lose was about 1.12 kilograms.
As the cutting went on, one kilogram of blood had left his body, along the chains into the deep hole in the handle. However, the process didn't stop and it seemed that the sword wanted all the boy's blood.
The boy stopped crying for losing the strength to continue his weeping; his body shook and turned white. His body got cold, and a thin layer of ice covered him.
Inside the trash bin, bits of blood turned into red ice. The boy's shaking stopped; his eyes rolled back, foam came out of his mouth, and ice was on his skin.
But his left hand still held the bundle he had, without letting go…
…
Finally, the chains stopped moving on. They chose to stay on the boy's arm, their points were in his bone, now part of him.
The sword's cover slowly vanished, revealing a very dark blade. Then, the hole that had the boy's blood started to get solidified and concentrated, and a thin bloody line appeared in the middle. Then…
The line split and a red eye opened on the center of the sword's handle.
"Is it you who woke me up, human?"
A dim but magnificent voice hit the boy's mind, shocking his body awake. He shook hard as his eyes which had rolled back now snapped open. He saw the chains on his right hand and the sword with the blood-formed eye.
The eye shone with a scary light. The boy couldn't think for a moment. Red drops fell from the chains, but they didn't turn into ice like the other blood.
His wrist wasn't bleeding anymore.
He tried to let go of the sword, but his fingers stayed tight around the handle like his right arm wasn't listening to him and was controlled by others.
Scared but careful, the boy then looked at the bundle in his arms. His left hand was cold and felt nothing, but the baby girl inside breathed gently…
The beggar boy's look got a little steady. He was as alert as a rat, watching the sword and its bloody eye.
"Is it a human this time, and even a kid?" the eye seemed to think, staring at him. They stared at each other, and then a mean laugh came into the boy's mind.
"Hmm, interesting. Alright, you're just a kid, but that's okay, you'll grow."
The voice didn't sound mean anymore; this could make someone feel better, but not the beggar boy. In his ten years, he had learned that people who looked nice could be cruel and were easier to hurt others successfully without others' alert. If they smiled, they might make use of you; if they were kind, they might abuse you or want something from you.
No mean voice? That wasn't enough to make him feel safe, sounding more like a trap.
The boy stayed alert, trying to move his right hand again. He tried to feel the arm that the sword had controlled.
"Ah, human, you're really something. Always careful, wanting to be in charge, strong will to live, and always calm. Do you want to control that much? Fine, I'll let you."
Suddenly, the boy could move his right arm. He threw the sword away, pushed the bin lid off, and jumped out…
But he forgot. He forgot how much blood he lost, forgot the ice on his skin and his almost numb legs. He fell from the bin to the snowy ground.
He even felt no pain.
He was too weak to feel anything. His whole body was numb.
A boy fell out of a trash bin, dropping the baby girl he was holding. She was wrapped up but now on the cold snow, crying softly.
"Wah…! Wah… "
Her feeble cries were almost inaudible. The beggar, barely conscious, heard the crying and struggled to get up. He crawled to her, his hands chained and freezing.
The snowstorm was so strong his vision soon became blurred and couldn't see anything clearly.
"Wah…! Wah…!"
His hands were completely frozen. The blizzard raged on without pause. The beggar's consciousness dimmed and finally, his vision was obscured by snow, seeing almost nothing more the moment his numb hands reached the baby…
The beggar turned his back, using it to shield the baby girl from the merciless blizzard, creating a small haven from the wind.
The baby's crying slowly faded. She closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep again. On her little face, alongside the fever's flush, seemed to be a hint of peace, warmed a little by the boy's back as he shielded her from the snow.
"Human, you're nearly dead. And now, only I can save you."
His vision was a white blur, but the voice still invaded his mind.
"I offer you a chance. Now, I'm right in front of you. Just extend your hand, and I can save you. If you refuse, then die here. Afterward, I will continue to wait for the next one to awaken me."
The vision faded away. The howling blizzard by his ears seemed to vanish too. His nose couldn't detect the scent of snow; his lips were too dry to speak. He couldn't feel the cold on his skin, and he wasn't even sure if he was sitting or lying down. The little beggar's end seemed near; this was his last chance.
Death?
No, the one thing a rat never chose was death.
He didn't want to die here. His longing for life ensured that he never sought death, no matter the circumstances. The more wretched and pitiful a creature, the stronger its will to live.
Survival came at a cost. But if this voice could help him survive, any price was payable.
To keep living, even to keep living for nothingless…!
The little beggar reached out with his right hand to grasp the sword. He didn't know if he would catch anything, but the moment his fingers tightened…
His sense of touch returned, and the blizzard brought a cutting pain once more.
His hearing was restored, and the wind roared violently by his ears.
He smelled it, the scent of blood mixed with the chill of snow.
He could taste it again, saliva moistening his dried mouth.
And he saw…
He saw the long black sword in his hand, the skeletal design at the hilt, and that blood-red eye.
The chains were still in his right arm, but control was in the hands of the little beggar now. At this stage, to survive, it was impossible to let go of the sword again.
Holding the sword seemed to provide him with minimal ability to act, but the cold and pain continued to torment him.
"Human, communicating may be difficult in your current state. I'll adjust a bit for you."
The voice in his mind fell silent, then the black longsword began to shrink slowly. From a great sword longer than the little beggar himself, it gradually reduced to the size of a normal dagger. Yet, the black blade and the skeletal blood pupil remained unchanged.
Holding the dagger, the beggar finally felt relieved. He lowered his head to look once more at the baby girl in his arms…
It was not good; her high fever persisted and her breathing grew ever fainter.
The beggar's gaze showed no emotion. For the baby girl in his arms, unrelated to him, still being held and fed at this moment was the greatest grace a sewer rat could offer within its capacities.
But her fever seemed unwilling to stop forever…