Kieth was breathing heavily, gasping for air as his legs trembled, holding Serel close, shielding her from the lifeless body of Aldric.
The villagers stood frozen in stunned silence.
Then, one of them shouted, "THE LORD IS DEAD! THE BOY KILLED THE LORD!"
A murmur of panic swept through the crowd, growing louder until it boiled into rage.
"Kill the boy! He must pay fer takin' our lord!" someone roared.
The villagers swarmed Kieth, Evelyn, and Serel like a pack of wolves. They yanked at Evelyn's hair, throwing her to the ground. Kieth endured the mob's fists and kicks, refusing to let go of Serel despite the blows.
"Please, leave him be!" Evelyn screamed, her voice cracking, but she was silenced as several women kicked her down into the dirt.
"Ye filthy harlot!" one woman spat. "The lord dies, and ye stand with this murderer?"
Kieth could barely register her screams through the haze of pain. Serel was torn from his grasp, her cries lost in the chaos. His hand reached out desperately, but his body failed him.
"—ckin' wretch!" someone bellowed, shoving Kieth to the ground and striking his ribs. The searing pain jolted him, but he managed to throw a weak punch back, defiance glinting in his tear-filled eyes.
The attacks came from all sides. Bruised and bloodied, his skin turned a mottled purple from the relentless blows.
Then, a piercing scream split the air. The mob froze, their rage replaced by a chilling silence. Kieth's eyes darted toward the source, his vision blurring.
A woman hung in the air, impaled by a massive tree bark that had erupted from the ground. Blood dripped from her lifeless form, pooling on the earth below.
The villagers gasped and staggered back in terror. "By the gods, what's this foul sorcery?" someone whispered.
The crowd of women that had surrounded Evelyn screamed and stumbled back, their faces pale with terror. As they scattered, the horrifying truth became clear—Evelyn was dead.
The bark of the massive tree jutted grotesquely from her body, having burst through her stomach, tearing her apart from within. Blood dripped steadily from her gaping mouth, mingling with the crimson tears that streaked her face. Her lifeless eyes stared ahead, void of the life they once held, as her fragile form slumped against the gore-soaked bark.
It was a gruesome sight, the bark glistening with blood as it pulsed faintly, almost alive, a chilling testament to the unnatural force that had taken her life. The villagers stood frozen, horror etched onto their faces, unable to tear their eyes from the grisly scene.
Kieth staggered toward Evelyn, his legs trembling beneath him. The villagers stood in stunned silence, unable to comprehend the gruesome sight before them. No one stopped him; they were frozen in shock, their minds struggling to process the horror.
As Kieth reached Evelyn, his legs gave out beneath him, but he refused to stop. Crawling on his hands and knees, he dragged himself forward, each movement slow and agonizing. Finally, he reached her lifeless body. His trembling hands grasped hers, stained with blood, as tears blurred his vision.
"Ev-Evelyn…please…wake up…what happened?" Kieth's voice cracked, his words barely audible as tears streaked his face.
His throat felt dry, his voice hoarse. "Evelyn, wh—" He struggled to form the words, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and denial. "Wha…who did this?"
Desperation surged through him as he checked her pulse, his fingers trembling against her cold skin. There was no sign of life.
"No…" Kieth whispered, his voice breaking. He collapsed against her, resting his head on her blood-soaked dress. The metallic scent of blood filled his senses, but he didn't care. He clung to her, his body wracked with sobs.
Tears streamed down his face as he bawled, the sound raw and unrestrained, a cry of unbearable anguish. He had told himself he wouldn't cry again, that he wouldn't let himself feel this way—but now, as the weight of his loss crashed over him, he couldn't stop.
"Evelyn…please…I beg you…please come back," he whispered, his voice trembling. He clutched her tighter, as if holding her close could somehow bring her back.
The pain was overwhelming, sharper than the wounds his body bore. It wasn't physical—it was the ache of losing someone precious, someone irreplaceable. He couldn't define what she meant to him, whether it was a friend, a lover, or a parental figure. All he knew was that it hurt—deeply and endlessly.
The villagers remained silent, watching the boy break down. For a moment, their anger, their hatred, and their suspicion of witchcraft were overshadowed by the raw emotion before them. It was a sight they hadn't seen in years—someone crying with such unrestrained grief.
Perhaps it was because of Aldric's rule, which had dulled their emotions and hardened their hearts. Perhaps it was fear, confusion, or something else entirely. But no one moved. No one spoke. They simply stood there, transfixed by the heart-wrenching sound of Kieth's cries, unable to look away.
Kieth suddenly felt something. His eyes snapped open, and he looked down at Evelyn. Grasping her hand, he pressed his fingers against her wrist. There it was—a faint but steady pulse. Her heart was beating again.
"Evelyn..." he whispered, hope surging through him like a flood. For a moment, he froze, disbelief and relief warring within him. But as he noticed the bark still impaling her, his elation turned to urgency.
He knew he had to act quickly. The bark had to be removed to stop the bleeding properly. He didn't understand how her heart had started beating again, but he didn't care. All that mattered was saving her.
Kieth staggered to his feet, his legs barely holding him. He glanced around for a weapon or tool—anything to break the bark—but there was nothing within reach. He didn't dare ask the villagers for help. They wouldn't give him anything, not after what had happened.
His gaze fell on the bark again. If he didn't act now, she would die. He clenched his fists, determination overriding the pain in his body.
"I'll do it myself," he muttered through gritted teeth.
With no other choice, he began punching the bark. His fists slammed into the rough wood, each strike sending a jolt of pain through his arms. Blood smeared the bark as his knuckles split open, but he didn't stop.
He punched again. And again. And again. The bark shuddered under the relentless assault, cracks forming along its surface.
He screamed, pouring his heart and soul into his punches, fists slamming against the bark relentlessly. Blood seeped from his knuckles, but he didn't stop. Each strike was filled with desperation, with a hope that refused to die. The bark groaned, cracks forming under his assault.
As his vision blurred with tears and exhaustion, a memory surfaced—a fragment from a simpler time.
---
"Owww..."
A younger Kieth sat on the floor, rubbing his bruised knuckles, his lips quivering. His mother, ironing clothes nearby, glanced at him with a curious smile.
"What are you doing, Kieth?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at his small, defiant figure.
"Punching the wall," he muttered, frowning.
She sounded amused. "And why would you do that?"
"My friends do it," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "They show off and say their fists don't hurt."
"Is that so?" she asked, walking over. "And you want to copy them?"
"Yeah! It's so cool not feeling pain while punching something," he said earnestly, though his knuckles were red and swollen.
"Oh, they feel pain," she said, kneeling beside him.
"Huh?" He blinked at her, confused.
"They do feel pain," she repeated, gently taking his small hands in hers to examine them.
"But... how? They punch so much!"
She smiled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Think of it this way: you know how bitter gourd tastes bad?"
"Blegh! No! I'd never eat it!" he exclaimed, making a face.
She chuckled, shaking her head. "Just imagine, silly. Your father eats it without any trouble now, but he didn't always like it. When he was younger, he hated it, just like you."
"Then why does he eat it now?" Kieth asked, tilting his head.
"Because I wouldn't give him dinner otherwise," she said with a teasing smirk. "So he ate it over and over until the bitterness didn't bother him anymore."
"That's... like punches?"
She nodded. "Exactly. You punch over and over, and with time, you don't feel it as much. Your body adapts to the pain. But you can't start at full strength—it's about building up slowly."
Kieth stared at her, trying to process her words, before shaking his head. "I still don't get it."
She laughed, scooping him into her arms. "That's alright, you little rascal. You will one day."
Kieth looked at her smiling face, her warmth wrapping around him. He couldn't help but smile back.
---
The memory faded as he struck the bark again. His fists ached, his knuckles torn, but the pain no longer mattered.
The bark groaned, its surface splintering further. He screamed again, his voice hoarse and filled with every ounce of his will. Each punch carried his desperation, his refusal to let Evelyn go.
He felt a firm hand on his shoulder, halting his relentless punches. Kieth turned to see the man who had once offered him a shot with the bow and arrow. The man's face was grim, his sorrow and pity plain as day. He appeared not to recall Kieth from before, but his actions spoke louder than recognition. Without a word, he pulled an axe from his belt, its blade worn yet sharp, and began hacking at the bark.
"Enough, lad," the man said, his voice rough but not unkind. "You'll do yerself no good like this."
Kieth's fists trembled mid-air, his bloody knuckles stinging, but he let them drop. He nodded faintly, though his heart still screamed to act. Slowly, more villagers stepped forward, hesitantly at first, as if unsure whether they were breaking some unspoken rule. Then, with determination, they joined the man, their axes and tools biting into the bark.
Kieth had never expected their help, not after everything. Yet here they were, their crude medieval tools chipping away at the cruel wood. His lips quirked upward in the faintest smile, more bitter than joyful.
"Papa!"
The cry cut through the air, snapping him from his thoughts. Kieth whipped around to see Serel running toward him, her little legs carrying her as fast as they could. Behind her, a young lass, barely more than a girl, hurried to catch up.
Kieth understood instantly. The girl must have taken Serel away to keep her safe, shielding her from the horrors unfolding. Though a stranger, she had protected Serel, an act of kindness he hadn't dared hope for.
Serel threw herself into his arms, clutching at him with all the strength her tiny hands could muster. Kieth hugged her tightly, his knuckles still smeared with blood. He turned her away from Evelyn's body, shielding her from the gruesome sight.
"Thank you," he said to the girl, his voice hoarse with gratitude. "But... take her away. Please."
The girl hesitated, but the look in Kieth's eyes brooked no argument. She nodded, scooping Serel into her arms despite the child's protests.
"No! I want to stay with Papa!" Serel said.
"It's okay, Serel," Kieth whispered, forcing a trembling smile. "I'll come back I promise."
As the girl carried Serel away, Kieth turned back to the villagers. The bark was nearly split apart now, and with a final, heavy swing of the axe, it broke free.
Some of the villagers muttered amongst themselves, casting wary glances at the corpse and the shattered bark. A few approached the other body that had fallen, but most kept their distance, their faces etched with unease.
Kieth knelt beside Evelyn, cradling her fragile form in his arms. But as he did, a terrible realization struck him.
"The bark..." he murmured, his voice hollow. "It... it came out of her body? I thought it was rooted in the ground..."
The villagers' whispers grew louder, their tones laced with fear and suspicion.
"A witch," someone hissed.
"An accursed one," another muttered.
Kieth paid them no mind. His thoughts spiraled as he stared at Evelyn's pale face. Was this her ability? Like Aldric's? No... she never had an ability. Did she? Would she have told me?
He shook his head, trying to silence the storm of questions. Gently, he pressed his fingers to her neck, searching for her pulse. To his relief, it was still there—faint but steady.
None of it made sense. Kieth's mind raced, trying to piece together the chaos. If the body reacted in self-defense, then...?
A sudden movement caught his eye. A man rushed forward, snatching an axe from one of the villagers who had helped cut down the bark.
"No!" Kieth rasped, his legs too slow to respond.
The man swung the axe desperately, his face wild with fear.
"Stop!" one of the villagers roared, lunging toward the man, but it was too late.
The blade struck Evelyn's arm, severing it cleanly from her body.
Kieth froze, his breath caught in his throat. Blood poured from the wound, but... nothing else happened.
No bark? Kieth thought, his confusion deepening. Was I wrong?
The man stood over Evelyn, panting as if he'd just slain a great beast. His wide, bloodshot eyes darted around.
"She be a witch!" he cried out, his voice trembling with hysteria. "We must slay her!"
"Thou dost not decide such!" another villager bellowed, shoving him roughly aside. "What madness possesses thee?!"
The man staggered back but stood his ground, clutching the axe tightly.
Kieth, however, didn't care about their argument. His attention was locked on Evelyn. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Her eyes... they were open.
Bloodied yet focused, they stared in his direction.
Kieth's heart skipped a beat, chills racing down his spine. But then he realized—her gaze wasn't fixed on him. No... it was behind him.
Slowly, he turned his head to see the man with the axe still arguing with the other villagers.
Evelyn's eyes didn't waver. They locked onto the man, as if her very soul was fixated on him.
Then, it happened.
Kieth barely had time to react as Evelyn's severed arm twitched and flew across the ground, propelled by some unseen force. It shot toward the man like a living creature, clawed fingers outstretched.
A sickening crunch echoed through the air.
The arm latched onto the man's head, squeezing with an unnatural strength. Blood burst from his skull as his head caved in like overripe fruit. His crushed eyeballs popped free, landing with wet splats on the dirt.
The crowd recoiled in terror. Gasps and screams filled the air. Some stumbled back, others fell to their knees, too horrified to move.
Death.
It hung over them like a suffocating shroud.
----------------------------------------------------