The night was filled with terror, the screams of children echoing as they were sent out as meat shields for the monsters. M-8 sat shivering in the exposed corner of the tent, covered only by his robe. His body ached from the beating he had endured earlier, the scrapes and bruises standing as painful reminders. He didn't fight back; he didn't want to hurt them any more than they were already hurting.
The rest of the children huddled together on the darker side of the tent, avoiding the patches in the fabric where the cold wind crept in. The roars of monsters in the distance and the horrific sounds of death drove them to cover their ears, trying to block out the reality of their situation. M-8, however, simply sighed. He couldn't change what was happening outside.
Out of nowhere, a thick coat-like shirt fell on the huddled children, muffling some monstrous noise. The tomboy from earlier looked over at M-8, now shirtless and exposed to the cold. At first, she was about to throw the coat back at him out of anger, but then she saw something that made her freeze—the scar on his back.
It wasn't an ordinary scar. It spiraled in a pattern, starting as a large circle at the top, with progressively smaller circles below it, almost forming a line. The circles were jagged and irregular, branching off like twisted roots. Recognition flashed in her eyes as she realized the pattern left by A-2's old weapon before it was destroyed years ago.
___
A memory flickered in M-8's mind, vivid and painful.
Blood-soaked sand stretched out around him, the ground saturated and unable to absorb the carnage. In the center of it all stood A-2, his face twisted in a sinister grin, his body stained with the blood of his victims. His blade, crackling with volatile energy, was far larger than a normal sword. The hilt was shaped like an X, radiating a bright red light that tainted the sky above them.
M-8 was on his knees, his left arm clutching the bloody wound on his back, his right hand barely able to hold his curved sword. He was exhausted, struggling to differentiate between his sweat and blood as it dripped onto the sand.
Then, out of nowhere, a figure leaped into the fray—A-1. Her long, sleek odachi blade cut through the air with grace, pure red energy pulsing through it. It was the same energy that coursed through A-2's weapon, but her control was masterful. She fought valiantly, injuring A-2 and forcing him to retreat, but not without a cost.
A-1 sacrificed herself that day, shattering A-2's weapon and absorbing its energy into the pendant she carried. On her deathbed, she passed that pendant to M-8, urging him to flee and survive. But he could no longer remember her final words, only the chaos and bloodshed that led to her death.
___
M-8 shivered in the present, the memory a distant haze. The tomboy, now covering the other kids with the thick robe, glanced back at him before drifting off to sleep amidst the monstrous cries outside.
When morning arrived, the brutal aftermath of the night was evident. Footmen dragged away the blood-stained remains of children, cleaning up the carnage as if it were routine. Some footmen had died too, but A-2 didn't care; to him, it was a minor inconvenience.
M-8 continued shoveling sand, lost in thought when the tomboy broke the silence.
"So why did you run?" she asked, her voice quieter than usual, as if not wanting the others to hear.
M-8 looked up at her, his face confused. "I just don't like his guts," he said, trying to keep it simple.
She wasn't satisfied with that answer. "Still, if you two cooperated, we wouldn't need to suffer like this," she muttered under her breath, her frustration clear.
M-8 sighed deeply, his voice low and bitter. "He killed everyone I cared about. Tried to kill me too." His eyes darkened, anger simmering beneath the surface. "He kept me alive because I'm the only one who knows how to leave this hell."
The tomboy's eyes widened in disbelief, her voice trembling. "Is it possible... for us to leave too?"
M-8 didn't respond, his silence saying more than words could. He kept digging, while the hope in her eyes faded, the crushing weight of reality sinking in. She already knew the answer. They were trapped.