The scene before Zina unfolded like a nightmare. The soldiers, despite their valiant efforts, had been overwhelmed by the ruthless bandits. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning wood, and the crackling of flames mixed with the distant echo of dying screams. The overturned carriage, now a twisted heap of splintered wood and smoldering wreckage, stood as a silent testament to the brutal assault. The woman beside the burning carriage sobbed uncontrollably, her cries punctuating the gruesome silence that had settled over the battleground.
One soldier, the last one standing, was in dire straits. His armor was battered and stained with blood, his left arm hanging limply at his side, the wound deep and oozing crimson. His face was a mask of pain, his brow slick with sweat and blood dripping steadily from a gash on his forehead. He was gasping for air, each breath coming in ragged, desperate bursts. His grip on his sword faltered, and the blade, once a symbol of hope, now stood embedded in the dirt, serving only to keep him upright.
The soldier's eyes, wide and pleading, were fixed on the woman, who had been dragged to her knees by the bandits. "Please… please don't hurt the woman," he begged, his voice cracking with the weight of his despair. His words were met with nothing but mocking laughter from the bandits, their eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
One of the bandits, his face twisted into a grotesque, perverted grin, yanked the woman closer, his dirty fingers digging into her arm as she struggled to break free. Her cries for help only seemed to fuel their depravity. The bandits encircled her like vultures, their leering faces filled with vile intentions. The leader of the group, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, stood over the soldier, his sword poised to deliver the final blow.
But just as the soldier braced himself for the end, a small sound caught the attention of one of the bandits. From beneath another carriage, one that had miraculously escaped the flames and remained unturned, came a soft whimper. The bandit's eyes narrowed as he leaned down to peer under the carriage, his cruel smile widening as he spotted the source of the noise.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" he sneered, reaching in and dragging out a small, terrified girl. Her clothes were torn, her face streaked with tears and dirt as she kicked and screamed, trying to escape his grasp. The bandit only tightened his hold, laughing cruelly as the child's struggles grew weaker.
"Hahaha! This one should fetch a good price, don't you think, boss?" he called out, his voice thick with malice. The other bandits joined in the laughter, their vile amusement echoing through the air as the leader turned his attention to the child, his eyes narrowing with interest.
The bandit leader, still towering over the wounded soldier, glanced at the girl and then back at his men, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He pointed his sword at the soldier, who was now on the verge of collapsing, his strength all but gone. "It's over," the leader jeered, his voice dripping with sadistic glee. "Hahaha… it's all over!"
The soldier, his vision blurring from the pain and loss of blood, could only watch helplessly as the bandits prepared to take the child and the woman away. His heart ached with the knowledge that he had failed to protect them, that he was powerless to stop the evil before him.
Zina, still hidden in the bushes, felt her heart pounding in her chest, her breath caught in her throat. The helplessness of the situation was suffocating, the evil she witnessed overwhelming. She had never seen such cruelty, such blatant disregard for life. Her hands clenched into fists as anger welled up inside her, mingling with the fear and sorrow she felt for the victims before her.
What is that…? The question echoed in her mind, but this time, it wasn't just fear that fueled her thoughts—it was a growing determination.
The bandit leader sneered down at the wounded soldier, who was barely able to stand. The blood loss and exhaustion had taken their toll, and he could do nothing but watch as the bandit raised his sword, preparing to deliver the fatal blow. The leader's cruel eyes glinted with satisfaction as he mocked, "Goodbye, old man."
The soldier's breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut in resignation. He was ready to meet his end, powerless to change the fate that awaited him and the innocent lives around him. But just as the bandit's sword began its deadly arc through the air, something inexplicable happened.
With a simple flick of her fingers, Zina, still concealed in the bushes, intervened. The bandit's sword vanished from his grip as if plucked out of existence, disappearing into the ether without a trace. The leader's face contorted in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at his empty hand.
"What the—where did it go?" he stammered, his voice tinged with fear and confusion. He turned his gaze back to the soldier, his anger rising. "Was this your doing? Did you use some kind of trick?" His voice grew more menacing as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, wickedly sharp knife. His eyes blazed with fury as he closed in on the soldier, determined to end his life with whatever weapon he had left.
As the bandit leader lunged forward, knife in hand, Zina whispered softly from her hidden spot, her voice calm and steady, "Be gone."
The moment the words left her lips, an invisible force swept through the clearing with the power of a tempest. The bandit leader was yanked off his feet as if by an unseen hand, his body flung high into the air. He let out a cry of pure terror, the knife slipping from his grasp as he tumbled helplessly through the sky. The other bandits, who were holding the woman and the child, were caught in the same powerful gust. Their eyes widened in horror as they too were lifted off the ground, their bodies twisting and spinning as they were hurled through the air like leaves caught in a storm.
"Impossible!" the bandit leader screamed as he was swept away, his voice fading as he was carried far beyond the treeline, disappearing into the distance. The woman and child, no longer in the bandits' clutches, fell gently to the ground, as if cradled by the very wind that had flung their captors away. The flames consuming the carriage were snuffed out in an instant, leaving only smoke rising from the charred wood.
The clearing, once filled with violence and despair, was now eerily quiet. The woman, still in shock, clutched the child to her chest, her tears mingling with the dirt on her face as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. The soldier, his body trembling with exhaustion, looked around in stunned disbelief, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He couldn't understand how he had been spared, how the bandits had been defeated without a single blow.
Hidden in the bushes, Zina let out a sigh of relief. Her heart, which had been pounding in her chest moments before, began to calm. She whispered to herself, "That was a close one."
But her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the system, clear and direct in her mind. "Master, why didn't you kill the bandits? They were evil, and they could have harmed more people."
Zina's gaze softened as she looked out from her hiding place, her eyes filled with a deep sense of compassion. "No," she replied softly, shaking her head. "Killing is bad. It's unholy, especially for me. I am a Goddess of Creation. My purpose is to protect and nurture life, not to take it away. Even those who have done wrong deserve a chance to change, to find redemption."
The system paused, processing her words. "But they were going to kill—"
Zina cut it off gently. "And I stopped them without ending their lives. That is what makes me different. I have the power to create, to save, to heal. I won't use that power to destroy unless there's absolutely no other way."
With that, Zina stood quietly in the shadows, watching the scene before her with a serene expression. Though she had just wielded unimaginable power, she felt a sense of peace knowing that she had done so without resorting to violence. For now, she was content to remain hidden, her presence a mystery to those she had saved. But in her heart, she knew she had made the right choice.
Zina clung to the tree, her slender fingers gripping the rough bark as she peeked out from her hiding spot. The scene before her was one of heartbreaking despair, and it felt like a knife twisting in her chest. Her heart ached as she watched the woman kneeling on the bloodstained ground, her body wracked with sobs. The once vibrant life that had filled her husband's eyes was now gone, leaving behind only the stillness of death.
The woman cradled her husband's lifeless body, her tears falling like rain onto his bloodied face. She gently stroked his hair, her hands trembling as she tried to hold onto him, as if she could somehow bring him back. The desperation in her voice was palpable as she whispered his name over and over, hoping for a response that would never come.
"Please, no... don't leave me," she begged, her voice cracking with the weight of her sorrow. "You promised you'd stay with us... you promised we'd grow old together..."
Beside her, a little girl, no older than six, clung to her father's hand, her tiny fingers barely wrapping around his cold, calloused ones. Her innocent eyes were wide with fear and confusion, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shook her father's arm.
"Father, please wake up!" the girl cried, her voice breaking as she tried to shake him awake. "Don't leave me! Please don't die, Father!"
The woman reached out to her daughter, pulling her close as they both wept over the man they loved. The child buried her face in her mother's shoulder, her sobs muffled but still heart-wrenching, as if her tiny heart was breaking under the weight of a pain she was too young to fully understand.
Zina's breath hitched in her throat, and she felt her own eyes begin to well up with tears. She tried to suppress the emotions that were flooding through her, but it was impossible. The raw, unfiltered grief that filled the air was too much to bear. She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the unfamiliar but undeniable ache that had taken hold of her heart.
She could see the soldier who had tried so valiantly to protect his family, his face pale and his breath labored. Blood pooled around his body, mixing with the dirt beneath him as his life slowly ebbed away. He was clinging to consciousness with all the strength he had left, his eyes fluttering open one last time as he looked at his wife and daughter.
"I... I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible, a tremor of regret shaking each word. "I... I failed you..."
His final breath was a soft sigh, his body going limp as he collapsed onto the ground, his hand falling from his daughter's grasp. The little girl cried out, her voice piercing the air as she reached for him, but he was gone. The light in his eyes had dimmed, leaving behind only emptiness.
Zina's vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. She couldn't look away from the scene, her heart breaking for the family that had been torn apart before her. The grief, the sorrow, the unbearable pain—it was overwhelming. She had seen death before, but never like this. Never so personal, so raw.
She bit her lip, trying to hold back the sob that threatened to escape her throat. The tears that had been pooling in her eyes finally spilled over, streaming down her cheeks as she clutched the tree for support. Her small frame trembled, the weight of what she was witnessing almost too much for her to bear.
As she watched the woman and child weeping over the fallen soldier, Zina felt a deep, gnawing guilt settle in her stomach. She was a Goddess of Creation, endowed with immense power—power that could bring life, heal the wounded, and create worlds. But in this moment, she felt helpless. She had saved the woman and child from the bandits, but she had not been able to save the man they loved. She had arrived too late.
The realization cut through her like a blade, and she couldn't stop the tears from flowing. She felt every bit of their loss, their pain, as if it were her own. She wanted to do something, anything, to ease their suffering, but she was frozen in place, overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotions that had gripped her.
The woman's sobs grew quieter, her strength fading as she clung to her husband's body. The little girl had stopped crying, her small body shaking with silent sobs as she huddled close to her mother. The world around them seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with sorrow and despair.
Zina closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely now. She had been thrust into this new life, given powers beyond comprehension, yet in this moment, she felt powerless. She was supposed to be a goddess, a being of creation and hope, but all she could feel was the crushing weight of their grief. She wondered if this was what it truly meant to be a goddess—witnessing the suffering of others and feeling it as deeply as they did.
Finally, Zina opened her eyes, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady herself. The sorrow she felt was overwhelming, but she knew she had to do something. She couldn't just stand there, hidden in the shadows, while this family suffered.
Stepping out from behind the tree, Zina approached the grieving woman and her daughter, her heart heavy but her resolve firm. She didn't know what she could do, but she knew she had to try.