The leader observed the child with an unsettling coldness, his face showing not a trace of compassion. "Tinix, take care of him," he ordered, gesturing with his hand. Tinix nodded without saying a word and unsheathed his dagger, approaching the boy.
But just as he was about to raise the weapon, he stopped, as if the child's crying had ceased to be an unsettling sound. Tinix stood still, staring at the child, who had stopped crying and was now staring back at him. A moment of tension filled the air; the child showed no fear, only calmness.
In the blink of an eye, half of Tinix's body fell to the ground, severed in two with terrifying precision. The others blinked in disbelief. The leader, who had been facing away from Tinix, turned quickly when he noticed the reaction from his group. Before him, only Tinix's legs remained, collapsing instantly.
The whole group froze, unable to comprehend what had just happened. But before anyone could process it, one of the men rushed at the boy, intending to eliminate what he believed to be a threat. He barely took a few steps before staggering and falling to the ground. He began to writhe in silence, agonizing, as his companions watched in growing horror.
The silence that followed was so dense it seemed to suffocate the air. No one understood what was happening; fear spread through them like poison, making them doubt every move they made. The presence of the boy, still and serene amidst the rain, became even more disturbing.
The men were completely terrified, unable to grasp what had just transpired. How could a child, not even eight years old, cause so much chaos among a group of assassins? Their minds were filled with questions: Is the child guilty? Who is attacking us? What is happening here?
The boy gripped the dagger that had once belonged to the young Tinix tightly; his gaze was defiant, as if ready for a confrontation. It seemed like a surreal scene. A simple child, facing a group of trained warriors.
One by one, the men gave in to their instincts and lunged at him. Weapons of all kinds pointed toward the boy; intricately designed spears and sharp knives flew in his direction. They were ready to eliminate what they saw as a threatening enigma.
The boy moved with the agility of a wild animal, dodging his attackers on all fours and climbing trees with unsettling speed. No one could keep up with him as he darted between the shadows of the trees, disappearing into the darkness of the night.
A tense silence fell over the assassins, their eyes fixed on the dense foliage, searching for any sign of the child. Suddenly, something fell from above. It was a blazing sphere, a ball of fire in deep red. One of the men, gripped by panic, screamed at the top of his lungs:
"He can use magic!"
The sphere struck one of them directly, causing an explosion that hurled him several meters back. Although the attack wasn't powerful enough to kill him, a steel weapon did; the impact had pushed him into the sword of a comrade behind him. Dazed, his eyes locked on the bloody blade that pierced him. Without a sound, he lay there, motionless, his body defeated.
The leader, incredulous, looked at the lifeless body of one of his men in surprise and horror. Then he heard desperate screams behind him. He quickly turned his head, and what he saw left him frozen: six of his subordinates lay on the ground, their bodies covered in cuts and lifeless. Above them, standing with a fierce expression, was the boy.
Only four men were left standing. All of them appeared paralyzed. The boy's face, now clearly visible, wore an expression of inhuman fury. His eyes burned with a dark intensity.
The leader swallowed hard, a shiver running down his spine. For the first time, the certainty of his control over the situation crumbled before this seemingly innocent creature.
The leader lunged at the boy with lethal speed, moving side to side like a predator in full pursuit. The boy, with his head lowered toward the ground, seemed unaware of the approaching attack. Just at the last second, propping himself on one hand, he propelled himself sideways, barely dodging the first strike.
Before the leader could react, another of the men, wielding the same sword that had been used to kill his own comrade, attacked with fury. The boy, still in mid-fall, seemed like a helpless victim destined for certain death. But with an unexpected move, he spun his body with agility and planted all his weight on an outstretched arm. In a remarkably precise maneuver, he bent his arm to push himself forward with his legs, creating a blue aura around them.
The kick that struck the attacker directly in the chest sent him flying backward, as though he were a ragdoll.
The boy managed to avoid death but couldn't dodge a deep cut that slashed across his cheek, an attack from the same man wielding the sword. Blood began to flow from his face. When he moved his arm, a sharp crack rang out, as though his bone had been damaged. His expression reflected discomfort and pain, but he quickly pushed those sensations aside.
The leader, not giving him time to recover, lunged at him once more. But before he could reach the boy, the young one made a gesture with both hands, bringing them together and closing them with precision. At that moment, an invisible gust of wind emerged from his palms, unleashing a powerful shockwave that struck the approaching attackers. One by one, the men were thrown back by the force of the wave, crashing to the ground, stunned and disoriented. Some tried to rise, still dazed.
"Damn it!" one of the men shouted as he struggled to stand, coughing and gasping for air. However, before he could move, a spear pierced him, pinning him to the ground like a fallen leaf.
The leader, still shaken by the blast, observed the scene and, seizing the distraction, lunged at the boy. He crawled and then propelled himself with all his might. With a firm blow, he slammed the boy against a tree, causing a dry, brutal impact.
While the boy struggled to rise, the leader, with effort, got up and adjusted his posture. With a face full of rage, he unhooked a knife from his waist and gripped it tightly.
"You little bastard," he spat with contempt.
For the first time, the boy broke his silence. His voice, calm and with not a hint of fear, resonated in the air:
"You're really good," he said, as if assessing the skill of his attackers.
The leader stopped his advance for a moment, surprised by the boy's calmness. However, his fury soon overtook him again. He raised the knife, ready to bring it down on his enemy. But something wasn't right. Suddenly, his face contorted, and the fury transformed into panic. A thread of foamy blood trickled from his mouth as his body began to tremble uncontrollably. Before he could react, he fell to the ground, gripped by violent spasms that left him writhing.
The two remaining men watched the scene, terrified and unable to move. One of them, his voice broken with fear, tried to plead:
"...I... I'll give you everything... Money!" When no response came and seeing the boy approaching, he began to run. "I just want to get out of here!"
His attempt to escape was in vain. He had barely taken a few steps backward when his body also began to convulse. The same agonizing death that had claimed his leader caught up with him, and he collapsed to the ground like a broken doll.
The last man standing remained frozen, terror etched on his face. He could not comprehend the horror unfolding before him. The scene was as surreal as it was relentless.
"Everyone becomes brave when they're about to die," the boy murmured softly, as quietly as his height, just loud enough for the last man to hear, just before closing his eyes forever.
Around the boy lay the bodies of those who had once been ruthless killers. The boy stared at them in silence, surrounded by the chaos he had just created. His gaze was almost incredulous as his thoughts swirled with a mix of relief and dark humor.
"That was quick, huh? If... I guess it's better than being human," he murmured with a wry half-smile, processing what had just happened.
"Ahhh…" the young man sighed, "I almost died; that would've been... incredible." Just then, a faint sound interrupted his thoughts.
It was the leader, still struggling to cling to life as he crawled across the ground, his body trembling and his mouth slightly ajar, letting a trickle of blood escape. In the young man's mind, this was somewhat unexpected; he had been sure that his spell should have been lethal.
The man groaned, trembling, his voice broken and gasping: "You... you're a monster..."
The boy raised an eyebrow, surprised, and let an ironic smile curve his lips. "Me? Hahaha... I could've sworn you monsters were the ones who were supposed to be you." His expression, full of life and serenity, seemed to challenge the situation.
"You're a damned..." the leader muttered, staring at the scene with hatred, surrounded by the bodies of his comrades scattered on the ground.
"Do you know, Miteikis? I've been thinking about how you all got here," the young man said in a soft voice, his eyes rising to the dark sky, barely illuminated by the moon. "That confidence you carried... how it led you to this."
The leader, Miteikis, stood completely still, his face pale with fear. How could he know his name? His identity was a secret only a few knew.
"Who are you...? Who are you?" he murmured, his voice trembling, his eyes filled with fear, trying to hold on to any trace of courage as he waited for a response.
"Uhhh," the young man murmured thoughtfully. He fell silent for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "Well, I wonder what you were like as children? I wonder if you did this out of necessity or simply because of obedience to those lords you worship. I guess your men did it out of necessity, right? I don't know... Now they're all dead. But you..." He paused, staring at the leader with piercing eyes. "You do it to protect a tradition, to please a god. But why not change everything? In the end, you're just following rules. You could start with yourself... if you truly seek a greater good."
The man was left speechless, completely bewildered. Miteikis' mind was spinning, unable to believe what he was witnessing, as the realization that the young boy was not what he seemed took root in his confusion and fear.
"You think you're a hero," he spat blood onto the ground, "but that won't bring you victory. And it seems you're a bit injured... hahaha..."
The boy gave a faint smile as he crouched to pick up a spear that lay at his feet.
"True, I commend you for that, you wounded me," he whispered, "but what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger." With a decisive movement, he drove the spear into Miteikis' heart, ending his suffering. He watched as the light in the leader's eyes slowly faded, extinguishing like the flames that had recently ravaged the village.
"I thought you'd enjoy seeing me wounded, and I guess you did," murmured the young boy, more to himself than to the lifeless body. "But in the end, here you are. I thought one of you would kill me... It would have been an interesting end." With a sigh, he stood up, holding his injured shoulder, his eyes turning toward the dark horizon. Only the faint glow of the moon illuminated the ruins and bodies he had left behind.
As his shoulder healed under the green light of his healing spell, the young boy observed closely the still body of Miteikis, now pierced by the spear. As the pain in his shoulder faded, the atmosphere grew silent, heavy, as though the very earth mourned what had happened.
It was then that the boy lifted his gaze, as though a sixth sense warned him of a nearby presence. A few meters away stood Kaini, staring at him with a mix of awe and terror, paralyzed by the scene before him.
The boy calmly flashed an enigmatic smile, a gesture almost out of place amidst the desolate, blood-soaked landscape that surrounded them.