The silence in the room stretched, suffocating, as the farmers exchanged confused and fearful glances. The Tension lingered like an unseen storm, and neither of them dared to speak first.
Time passed and the farmers' anxiety only increased.
Eventually, the male farmer cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. "Why did you tell us this story?" His words were hesitant, his gaze flicking nervously between the men in suits. Fear and confusion twisted together in his expression.
The presumed leader of the group, the one with the cold, calculating eyes and the smooth, almost predatory smile, tilted his head slightly, as though amused by the question. "Why indeed?" he replied with an eerie calm, his words laced with malice like a snake's hiss barely concealed beneath honeyed tones.
One of the men, the one who had been sitting idly by with his cup of tea, set it down gently, as if savouring the moment. He leaned forward, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, but his words sliced through the silence like a blade. "Anyways, we know you have a gun. It's registered, we've got the papers. So, tell us where it is, or we'll put a bullet in your wife's skull."
The words hit like a slap. The male farmer's face drained of colour, and a wave of terror washed over him. His throat constricted as he swallowed hard.
His eyes flickered toward his wife, who sat beside him, pale and trembling, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. It was clear he was torn between fear for her safety and the desire to protect whatever dignity or life they had left.
A chilling silence followed. The farmer swallowed hard and, in a voice barely above a whisper, pointed towards a locked cupboard in the corner of the room. "It's in there."
The point was weak and hesitant.
Two of the men, neatly dressed and calculating, moved swiftly to the cupboard, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the wooden floor. The farmer didn't even look at them—he couldn't bring himself to. His attention was fixed on his wife, who was now biting her lip to suppress a sob.
Moments later, the two men returned, holding the gun like a trophy, their faces smug. The leader clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp and deliberate. "Excellent," he purred, the smile on his face almost too perfect, too practiced. He took the gun from the man's hands, his fingers brushing it reverently, as if he was savouring the power it represented.
Then, in a swift, fluid motion, he levelled the gun at Harry's chest.
Bang.
The gunshot rang out, deafening in the small room. Harry—one of the four men in suits—looked down at the gaping wound in his chest, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Blood poured from the wound, staining his shirt a dark crimson. His gaze slowly lifted to meet the leader's cold, unblinking stare.
"Why?" His voice was faint, the words barely escaping his lips before his body slumped forward, a sharp breath rattling in his chest.
The other two men burst out laughing, their laughter manic, cruel, and devoid of any humanity. They slapped each other on the back, shaking their heads as if they had just witnessed the most amusing spectacle.
The female farmer's face was a mask of horror, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she desperately tried to hold herself together. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
"Alright, alright," the leader said, finally managing to compose himself as the others continued their laughter. His voice grew sharp, demanding attention. "Alright!" he barked, and the laughter ceased immediately. The leader placed the shotgun down casually, then reached for his pistol, his gaze turning to the farmers, who were trembling in fear.
He let out a sigh, as if he were bored of the display.
From the depth of his trousers, he pulled out a rather old and obsolete pistol. Taking aim, he pointed the gun at the male farmer's chest.
The male farmer, realising the situation, attempted to flee. But before he could, three Ashtenghoul rounds were already implanted into his chest.
The male farmer's body jerked with the impact, his head snapping back, a spray of red arcing through the air. He crumpled to the floor, lifeless, as if his body had no more strength to hold itself up.
A scream tore itself from his throat, but it never made its way to the outside world.
"Nooooo." The female farmer yelled desperately running over to the body. Her expression began to contort into a variety of emotions: rage, fear, sorrow and despair.
The room reeked of violence, of a plan unfolding with perfect precision.
The men, still grinning, moved to stand over her. "Now, now," the leader cooed in a sickly sweet voice, almost as if he were reprimanding a child. "What to do next?"
The other men followed his lead, their eyes hungry to torment.
I couldn't stand it. The farmers had taken me in when I had nothing. They had fed me, cared for me, treated me with kindness despite their own hardships.
I couldn't just sit there and watch them suffer. I couldn't let this happen.
I launched myself at the nearest man, claws extended. My body was a blur as I raked my claws across his skin, drawing blood.
He recoiled with a hiss of pain, his hands instinctively swiping at me, but I was already on the move again. One of the men cursed, his voice tinged with frustration. "This is why I hate cats," he spat, his tone bitter.
I didn't stop. I wouldn't.
Another man swung at me, but I dodged nimbly, darting behind the sofa. I pounced again, claws sinking into the arm of another man. He yelped in pain and staggered backward, but I was relentless. The leader watched, momentarily stunned by my attack, but his smirk quickly returned as he reached for his gun.
"Get this damn cat off me!" one of the now three men in suits yelled as I latched onto his face, my claws digging into his skin. Blood dripped down as I hissed, sinking my claws deeper.
"No, Sparky, run!" The female farmer's voice echoed through the room, desperation tinged with the plea for mercy.
But I wouldn't run.
Not from this. Not from them.
Not after everything the farmers had done for me. They had taken me in when no one else would. Fed me when they had little to spare. Cared for me when I was sick and vulnerable, never once asking for anything in return. I owed them this.
I will have my revenge.
With a guttural hiss, I attacked again, slashing at the men who thought themselves untouchable. My claws found their mark time and time again, digging deep into their flesh, leaving them howling in pain.
The leader stumbled back, clutching his face where my claws had ripped open his skin. Blood poured from the gash, and he let out a frantic, panicked yelp.
I didn't let go. Not yet.
The two men scrambled to help their leader, but I didn't stop. I wouldn't stop until they were all broken. I leaped at the nearest man, my claws sinking into his arm as he tried to fight me off.
"Shit!" he cried out, his voice filled with pain. He fell backward, barely managing to stay on his feet.
I turned my attention to the third man, who swung his fist at me. But I was faster—so much faster. I dodged the blow, springing off the table as a springboard, launching myself back at him. My claws aimed for his eyes.
But just as I was about to make contact, I felt a sharp blow to my head. The butt of the shotgun collided with my skull, and the world went black.
The leader, now standing, wiped the blood from his face with a disdainful grunt. "Finally," he muttered under his breath.
I tried to stand, but my body was failing me. My head swam with dizziness, the pain too much to bear. I could feel my consciousness slipping away, but I fought to hold on.
I looked up just in time to see all three men raise their guns.
The world froze.
The deafening sound of gunfire shattered the stillness as each man took their shot.
One bullet. Two bullets. Three.
I didn't feel the impact. Not anymore.
My body collapsed to the ground, lifeless, but they didn't stop. They fired again. And again. Until the sounds of gunfire blended into nothingness.
The female farmer's screams filled the air, raw and guttural, but they too eventually fell silent.
***
It felt like days had passed but it was probably only hours.
The pain was unbearable. My body—what was left of it—rippled with agony. I couldn't stay awake. Each moment felt like an eternity, and every inch of me screamed for relief.
I knew that living beings would usually die from this, but my being was different.
Whether a blessing or a curse, death eludes me and as such I am stuck in a perpetual cycle of neither life nor death.
A lay there on the ground in agony, beyond what mortals could ever comprehend.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I became aware of something. A shadow above me. A raven, perhaps?
No, more than one.
The birds circled, their black feathers glistening in the dim light as they descended upon my broken body, tearing into me without mercy.
I couldn't move.
They ate me. Every piece of me. My flesh, my spirit, they devoured it all.
The pain was … unimaginable.
But as the ravens picked away at my remains, a flicker of light appeared before me. A bright, blue expanse, where I found myself once again, alone, standing before a single raven.
And so, I had returned.