Artyom Dereschuk

HATE THE SIN

A BRUTAL LOVECRAFTIAN HORROR NOVEL SET IN LIBERIA

Chapter 1

Corpse Eater

Corpse Eater was sitting on a dusty side of the hill, his right hand resting on AK-47. The hot African sun was setting beyond the hills on the other side of the river, and its rays were peeking into Corpse Eater’s eyes, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy’s mind.

He observed how his comrades—Homewrecker in his orange T-shirt with a Fanta print, Puppy Slayer (the shortest and the youngest), Marlboro Man in his denim jacket which he had found somewhere, and Desecrator with his red headband—were playing football with an improvised ball, a particularly large clew of old scotch tape. Its edges were hanging loose, collecting dust and sand on the sticky side.

They were having fun, as was evident by the fire of excitement in their eyes, but just as usual, their faces were serious, their tiny hands curled up into fists. At any moment, they were ready to abandon their game and charge toward the weapons they left beside the football field, dodging bullets of possible assailants. They were warriors first and children second, or at the very least that was what General Malaria had always told them. Then again, he didn’t consider them to be kids at all—according to him, every boy became a man the first time he saw the light fade in the eyes of his enemy. Thus in his eyes, they were all men.

They didn’t have much time to play games with the civil war going on around them. Games were the privilege of gutless, spoiled brats who didn’t care what would happen to their country. The ones who stayed home with their parents instead of growing up and taking their collective future into their hands. Corpse Eater was not like that, he always had a solid grip on his future and knew exactly what was it like—it weighed 3.47 kilograms, spewed 600 rounds per minute, and could shoot under water. In a way, it was a burden but, in his circumstances, he would never drop it—instead, he wouldn’t mind making it heavier by adding a bayonet.

He was a good, responsible young man, and he knew that his comrades, the ones who went into battle with him and would share a bottle with him at the end of the day, were responsible as well. All of them knew that the grown men were having a good time in other ways. They would drink or play cards or shoot up on crack or heroin. They would never succumb to such a childish desire as playing football: General was against that. At their age of thirteen, the General had been told to make his first human sacrifice as a newly elected shaman of his tribe; at the age of sixteen, he had been told to have a hundred enemies slain. The General had stated on numerous occasions that the first to repeat his achievement would receive the honor of becoming his left hand. All boys wanted to have that honor for different reasons, but that could wait. For now, they just wanted to be kids.

“What are you doing here?” Corpse Eater heard behind him, and his blood went cold. He recognized that voice—the voice that belonged to the one whom he had stayed on the lookout for.

“Hey, Tsetse… We were just playing around,” Corpse Eater said, deciding that lying would only make it worse. He was trying to stay calm as he turned around to face the boy behind him, but his legs were trembling slightly. His gaze focused on a point just beneath Tsetse’s chin: Corpse Eater was fearless on the battlefield, slaying his adversaries, but he didn’t have it in him to challenge Captain Tsetse. Captain was a whole year older than him, and he had been fighting for so long that he didn’t even remember the name that his parents had given him. The mere fact that he had survived for so long made him a symbol of terror in their small army of revolutionaries, a living icon of war, and his unkempt Afro had become symbolic in their small army. Seeing it in front of you meant good luck. It meant that all threats were either gone or close to it.

Tsetse was fourteen, and while puberty was already working wonders on his body, he still looked like a very tall kid rather than a fully-grown adult man. Nevertheless, the way he carried himself, the way his cold black eyes observed and measured up everyone, the way everyone stood aside when he was walking, spoke much more than mere words could.

From behind him, Corpse Eater heard Desecrator swear; the rest noticed captain’s presence and now froze in anticipation of what was to come. Corpse Eater could hear the ball shuffle against the sand as the wind picked it up and carried it away. The game was over.

“Whose idea was that?” Tsetse inquired, pointing toward the improvised toy, and Corpse Eater barely resisted from flinching as the Captain’s hand flew up and past his face. There was no reply: while it was a collective decision, everyone hoped that someone would take the blame. Of course, none of that would have happened had Corpse Eater done what he was supposed to do and stayed on the lookout. Now, there was only one way to redeem himself.

“It was me,” he said, pointing his eyes even lower. Tsetse slowly approached him and then stopped. For a moment, Corpse Eater eased up, thinking that he would just get scolded and that would be it, but then Tsetse hit him in the face with the butt of his rifle. The younger boy fell back, his lip splitting in two, and his arm reaching up to cover his head from further hits, but none followed; the captain simply observed him for a moment, as if trying to figure out whether that would be enough of a lesson, and then turned around. “General would get angry if he saw that. Come, he wants to see us.”

The boys hurried toward their weapons: the General liked when his younger soldiers followed his orders flawlessly. Desecrator headed for Corpse Eater but, instead of helping him, he simply jumped over him. Puppy Slayer and Marlboro Man hurried to catch up to Tsetse, averting their eyes from Corpse Eater; only Homewrecker stopped to help him up.

“Do you think he’s going to tell the General what we were doing?” Homewrecker asked in a whisper, his eyes fixed on Tsetse’s back.

“I don’t think so,” Corpse Eater replied, fruitlessly trying to wipe the blood off his chin. The taste of blood on his teeth and gums was familiar, but its warmth was not. “That lapdog doesn’t like to see the General angry, so he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

“General’s little bitch.” Homewrecker nodded and the two of them set out for the camp.

Before they had arrived and taken over the structure, it seemed to have been some sort of warehouse. Before the war, it was probably used as a way station for trucks heading from Liberia to Sierra Leone and Guinea, where the tired truck drivers could take cover from the merciless white sun, the rays of which seemed to be attracted to their black skin, and rest before resuming their trip. Now it was just a temporary home to the Revolutionary Brigade of General Malaria who, according to their leader, was fighting with the crooked government to pave way for the younger generation. It was a goal befitting their band of misfits, since the youngest warrior in their ranks was only ten years old, and the oldest one was twenty-ive—only one year older than the General himself.

The building was in a disarray, its walls covered in bullet holes and uninspired graffiti. The stench of sweat, piss, and decomposition lingered in the hot air; hygiene was not top on the list of priorities of the people here, and the closest thing to a toilet was a small muddy stream nearby. All the nearby structures were occupied with soldiers who, for the lack of anything better to do, were killing time by either drinking, taking drugs, or simply retelling each other stories that they had heard thousands of times before. Corpse Eater covered his mouth, not wanting anyone to spot his new bruise and start mocking or picking on him. His hopes of making it to the General’s tent unnoticed, however, came to a crushing halt.

“Hey you!” The kids froze when a boy in his late teens called them over. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and the characteristic yellow-brown tone of his teeth betrayed the fact that he smoked too much crack. “The General was looking for you! Where the fuck have you been?!”

Corpse Eater tensed up, ready to fight off the potential assailant. Though the creature in front of him was a man, the same rules applied as in the wild: his bleeding lip made him look like easy prey. From the corner of his eye, Corpse Eater noticed Homewrecker’s hand going toward his AK’s trigger.

“What’s that?” the older boy suddenly asked, reaching out and forcibly taking Corpse Eater’s hand away from his face. “Somebody sacked you? Did ya pay him back?” he inquired, his eyes getting wider and wider and his face coming closer and closer to the younger boy’s.

Corpse Eater nodded but, as much as he wanted to avoid that, he also looked away. He hoped that the older man wouldn’t notice his hesitation, but luck wasn’t on his side. The man in front of him had been preying on weakness his whole life. His nose was finely attuned to it.

“You see this?” the methhead asked, pulling his pistol out of his holster and sticking its barrel into Corpse Eater’s left cheek, right beneath his eye. Corpse Eater’s nostrils caught the fresh scent of gunpowder, and the hard steel that was pushing against his cheekbone was still hot. “This is the power in these lands. This makes you invincible. That’s why nobody fucks with me, boy. Because this is how I pay ’em back.” The gun suddenly clicked and the shutter jumped back, but there was no shot and no shell jumped out. The pistol was not packing.

The methhead slowly withdrew the gun from the boy’s face, seemingly confused by the fact that it did not fire. Then he turned around and threw it in the bushes, losing all interest in the boys in the process.

“Let’s go,” Homewrecker whispered to his friend, who was still rubbing his cheek. “I don’t wanna be the last one to arrive.”

General Malaria was the only one who had a personal tent and, just as usual, a long cord stretched from the nearby building like an overgrown plastic snake to provide electricity to an old used fan—the only means the brigade possessed to somewhat cool the General’s temper. So, even though it was not necessary, Corpse Eater made a big leap to clear it.

The General was sitting on an improvised throne that consisted of a plastic chair with an old rug thrown over it for decoration. While it was a measly attempt to make General’s presence more imposing, you could tell just by looking at him that, to him, appearance played an important role.

His head was covered by a red beret with an insignia of an unknown organization—most likely, a trophy from the battlefield. Had their Revolution Brigade of Liberia been larger, like the Liberation Front of Liberia, or the Independent People of Liberia that they were frequently in war with, the insignia would have been custom-made. Unfortunately, they lacked the influence to make the locals decorate their attire, and the General wouldn’t force them to do that with threats. Killing civilians was one thing, but forcing them to work? They had to uphold the reputation of the people’s brigade.

His attire was quite usual for Liberia—cargo pants, a green sleeveless military shirt, unbuttoned to expose his flawless muscles. Corpse Eater had no clue what he did to keep them in that condition with their irregular diet, and he never saw the man exercise, but he definitely saw what those muscles were capable of. The bulging bicep of his right arm was covered in ritualistic tribal tattoos—a throwback to the time when the only people the General had led had been the superstitious folk of his tribe.

The man was fiddling with a few rough diamonds in his hands—holding the entire budget of their operation in his palm. Playing with it as if it was a toy.

In any other part of the world, a man of his age wouldn’t accomplish much, but in Liberia, “the land of the free,” he was already a general at the young age of twenty-four—a feat unattainable in “less free” parts of the world. Their country sported a unique kind of freedom—the freedom to do and to be anything and anyone you wanted, with no repercussions.

The General knew that, and he relished in that freedom with every fiber of his body. Surrounded by his bodyguards, leisurely plastering himself over his less-than-prestigious throne, he radiated an unfathomable confidence. It was not his strength that made the soldiers follow him; it was his way of showing others that he was the one to be followed.

Corpse Eater had always hated his guts for that, and he prayed for the day when the man’s reign of terror would come to an end. He had been catching rumors that the war in other parts of the country was coming to a close, and that the new year of 1996 might be the year when peace finally returns to Liberia. The General had forbidden such talk under the penalty of death, stating that those were the sentiments of weak-willed cowards, and that war was the natural state of humanity. Yet still, Corpse Eater would sometimes overhear the soldiers whispering to each other about how another warlord had met his end by being publically hanged or mauled by an angered crowd. He hoped to see the day when the name of General Malaria would join their ranks.

The General was in the middle of explaining something to Tsetse, so he did not pay any attention to the newly arrived—a fact for which Corpse Eater was thankful.

“…so it is very important, Tsetse, that you keep your soldiers in check at all times, you understand? When you tell them to do something—they do it without hesitation. When I tell you to do something—you fucking do it in the blink of an eye. What are you going to do if we get attacked? Go looking for your soldiers? You should know where they are at all times.”

The General threw an angry glance in the direction of the children, who were still arriving, and Corpse Eater’s guts tied into a knot when the man’s gaze passed him. He recalled the things General did to his subordinates when he was angry at them. Luckily, the man turned his attention back to Tsetse.

“Come over here.”

Tsetse obeyed without hesitation, and General clumsily unraveled a map on his knee, pointing to some point on it with his knife: “This is our meal ticket. Our supplies are running low, and I need you to gather the troops and go get us some more. You got that?”

Tsetse silently nodded, eyeing the map. Like a beast stalking his prey.

“And remember”—General raised his finger—“you have a responsibility for your soldiers and for your seniors. You don’t come back empty-handed, you got that?”

Tsetse nodded again, locking eyes with the General. The older man smiled and shook the boy’s shoulder: “I like the look in your eyes, boy! Making me real proud. Now go. Do your thing.”

After that, the General lost all interest in the boy and waved for another man to come closer.

Tsetse turned around and, signaling to the other boys to follow him, he walked outside. Once there, he looked over his troops: fifteen or so boys, ages ten to fourteen. Some of them scared, other completely indifferent to what was going on.

Tsetse raised his hand and pointed toward the horizon: “There’s a village there,” he said. “The General wants us to go there and bring back all the food those villagers have.”

“All of it?” somebody asked. Tsetse nodded.

“All of it,” he confirmed. “Enough for everyone in our camp.”

Corpse Eater felt his guts clench again; there was no way they’d be able to carry back so much. As for the people in the village…

He caught himself thinking about them with odd indifference. Sure, they were probably going to take the last scraps of food from them, but those villagers were doomed the moment the General laid his eyes on their village’s name on the map. They would go to sleep with empty stomachs regardless of Corpse Eater’s opinion on the matter, and they would even be considered lucky since that sleep wouldn’t be their last one.

Besides, Corpse Eater knew from personal experience that that feeling of hunger was not the worst thing that could happen to them during the war.

Chapter 2

Desecrator

The mere outline of his captain’s unkempt hair was making him livid—the captain was the only one who the General allowed to forgo shaving.

Desecrator did not like Tsetse, and he would rather be shot than call him a captain. He didn’t understand what was so special about him that the General liked him so much; the boy did not act like a warrior. He never yelled their battle cries to motivate the others in the battle; he never saw him light up with the righteous anger of revolutionaries. Even the way Tsetse held his rifle seemed unmanly to Desecrator: his index finger only touched the trigger when he was already aiming, as if he was not ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. To Desecrator, such carefulness meant that the captain must’ve been timid. Surely, he had only survived for so long because he was a coward who shied away from the actual combat. Even the name he had chosen was lame—he hadn’t picked a war name that would strike fear into his enemies’ hearts, instead he chose to be called some insect, an infectious fly. And who could forget how the kid had closed his ears and opened his mouth when a grenade landed near them a month ago? Desecrator couldn’t believe how goofy their captain had looked at that moment. So why did everyone fear and respect him?

He had thought many times about ending him with a shot to the back of the head. In the heat of a battle, nobody would even notice where the bullet had come from. Yet for some reason, even aiming at Tsetse’s back seemed like a risk. Desecrator didn’t understand why he couldn’t force himself to do that or what that hesitation meant, and for a long time that indecisiveness tormented him. But eventually he told himself that he would only challenge Tsetse for his title in a fair combat. Soon, when the right moment came.

The village was close, its small wooden huts scattered along the riverbank—no more than two dozen of them. These people did not have that much, but that didn’t matter. Revolution was an important matter that affected everyone, and thus everyone had to contribute to the cause whatever they had. Whether it was their food, home, kids, or lives.

Other kids were cautious when they stepped out of the tall grass, but Desecrator was confident. He was a lion who came out of the prairie to feed on the weak, and his appetite would be sated.

Stepping out of the grass, he raised his assault rifle high into the air with one hand and pulled the trigger. He intended for those shots to be the thunder heralding his arrival. But instead, as soon as the first bullet left its casing, the recoil made his arm jerk down, and the rifle’s heavy and still-warm barrel hit him on the head—not too hard, but hard enough to make him twitch and stagger.

Somebody behind him laughed, and Desecrator swung on his heels, determined to make the arrogant fool pay. But when he turned around the perpetrator had already wiped the smirk from his face. Fifteen faces were staring at him, wondering what he was going to do next.

Tsetse stepped out of the tall grass and, while passing Desecrator, slapped him on the forehead: “Don’t shoot anyone by accident.”

Somebody giggled again, and Desecrator almost boiled with fury; he was being ridiculed in front of everyone—by Tsetse, no less! He wanted to scream, to cuss, but no words were coming out.

He turned around to see Tsetse calmly approach the village, without even minding the other boy. Completely open to his attack. Yet once again, Desecrator found himself unable to act. Something was preventing him from shooting his captain’s exposed back.

His time would come, Desecrator thought to himself, adjusting his rifle. For now, he had plenty of other opportunities to blow off steam.

A whole village of opportunities.

Alarmed by his shot, villagers were exiting their shacks and houses. Some were already running away, but the majority stayed. If they were to run away, they’d leave all of their belongings and food for the taking—and many of them simply couldn’t afford it. Even though the children in front of them were armed, they were still children. In their minds, children could be negotiated with, persuaded to let them be.

Seeing that he had the villagers’ attention, Tsetse raised his AK-47 high into the air—not unlike what Desecrator had done a few moments before.

“We are the soldiers of the Revolutionary Brigade of General Malaria,” he proclaimed. “The General wishes you to assist our cause by donating your food supplies.”

The villagers exchanged confused looks with each other; the General’s brigade had arrived at their region only a few days earlier, so they hadn’t heard the name before.

“Those who shall refuse will be deemed traitors and will be dealt with accordingly,” Tsetse continued, not changing his monotonous pace or tone.

The villagers started to shift around. One of them charged toward the bushes in the distance. Tsetse waved for the other children to advance and, as they approached, the villagers got more and more restless. Some woman started crying.

Tsetse was silently giving his henchmen commands, pointing first to one of the boys and then to one of the huts around them. Everyone understood what he wanted them to do without any words, and the boys started walking toward the houses, one at a time, where the villagers were already waiting for them. Some pleading, other angry, but all of them—scared.

Desecrator decided not to wait until Tsetse personally gave him a command. Choosing a hut that looked like it could have something of value inside, he headed toward it, gripping his gun.

A man in his forties crossed his path, his hands clenched in a universal sign of a plea.

“Please, don’t,” he begged Desecrator. The man’s legs were half bent, and he looked like he could fall to his knees at any moment. “My daughter’s asleep inside. She’s ill and she needs strength. If you take our last food—”

“Step aside, or I’ll shoot!” Desecrator shouted, cocking his gun. Somebody in the village screamed, and the boy felt grim satisfaction melt inside of him: This is how you motivate your troops. Others would undoubtedly follow his example and stop being so reluctant.

On the inside, the boy was hoping that the man would not obey. Give him a reason to shoot him.

“No, please!” The man fell to his knees and raised his hands even higher. The whites of his eyes were round and big as plates, a sharp contrast against his face, which was covered in cold sweat. “I beg you, don’t! Don’t you—”

The bullet punctured the man’s side, going clean through. He cried out and collapsed to the ground, grasping for his wound and curling up into a fetal position. A few more people started screaming, and the demands of the other boys became more agitated.

Stepping over the man, Desecrator headed for the entrance to his hut. Once inside, he started looking around for supplies.

“Daddy?” He heard a female voice coming from the other room. “What’s the commotion outside?”

Desecrator was intrigued: the voice sounded young. Perhaps the girl was even his age?

Pushing the veil that separated two rooms aside, he entered what could only be a bedroom. There was an old closet along the furthest wall, with different self-made trinkets within it, and just near the entrance to the room was one of two beds.

The girl was lying in bed, breathing heavily. She was sweating bullets, and her eyes had bags under them. The boy could tell that it wasn’t because she was scared—she was obviously plagued with some disease.

“Who are you?” she asked in a raspy voice. “Where’s my dad?” She tried to get up, leaning onto her left elbow, and the boy could see how much effort it was costing her.

Something inside him squirmed as he watched her struggle to get up, but he suppressed that feeling. She was not worthy of his mercy.

“Shhh, don’t sweat it, girl.” He kneeled near her, wiping sweat from her forehead and chuckling internally at his cunning pun. He cupped her hot cheek with his hand and made her look him in the eye: “I’m your daddy now.”

Something in her eyes faded and, pushing his hand away, she put her head down on the pillow and turned to face the wall.

“Don’t be like that,” Desecrator said, annoyed. For some reason, her anticlimactic reaction didn’t satisfy him. “He’s outside, squirming in the dust. He’ll live.” He paused for a second, and then added: “For now. Tell me where the food is and I might let him go.”

“It’s under his bed,” she quietly whispered. “We don’t have much.”

“I’ll decide what’s much and what’s not,” Desecrator said, heading for the other bed. Kneeling in front of it, he pulled out a simple carton box, inside of which, wrapped in a plastic bag, were two fishes and bread.

Not satisfied with his catch, Desecrator nevertheless grabbed what he could and started shoving it into the bag. The bag wasn’t very big, but there wasn’t that much to take. Grabbing the bag, he headed outside.

Before stepping under the sky, he leaned over the bag and sniffed it. The smell was good, and it was making his empty stomach churn.

Other boys were also coming out of the houses. Some of them had handfuls of food, others were empty-handed. Women were crying and men were desperate.

Across the street, a young man in his twenties crossed the path of Homewrecker, preventing him from leaving the house.

“Please, leave it here!” the man was shouting, moving back and forth. He wanted to grab a cheap plastic bag out of the boy’s hands, but as soon as he’d take a step forward he’d take one back, intimidated by the boy’s fearsome weapon. He was scared to approach him but, at the same time, he was too agitated to let it go.

“Stand back!” Homewrecker screamed, his voice trembling with fear. “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll shoot!” He was aiming his rifle with one hand, the other one occupied with his catch, and his aim was wondering around—from both the strain and his fear.

“Leave the food! Leave it!” the man shouted at him again, swinging his hands up and down. When Homewrecker would try to walk around him, the man would cut him off. Neither had the courage to do something about their situation and they continued their weird dance.

The man acted first: he kicked up the dust from the road, making the boy involuntarily flinch and cover his face with his aiming hand. The man made a rush for the plastic bag, grabbing it and pulling it back. But to his surprise, the boy didn’t let it go. They both froze in fear, looking each other in the eye. A second later the boy threw up his gun—just for a second, before its weight pulled his hand back down—and pulled the trigger, shooting the man in the chest.

People screamed. Both of them fell down: the man struck down by a bullet and the boy knocked down by the recoil. The boy quickly scrambled to his feet, throwing a look full of horror at the body bleeding at his feet, before dashing out of there in the direction of General’s camp.

Seeing the dead body, the villagers stopped resisting. Some of them were weeping.

“Curse all of you!” one of the women was screaming, with tears in her eyes. “You scum should never have been born!”

“Gather up,” Tsetse commanded the boys. Out of all of them, only he and Desecrator were not showing any distress. Tsetse’s eyes were as indifferent to the chaos and misery around them as always.

The captain looked over his troops, taking a glance at everyone’s catch. He patted Puppy Slayer on the head. Clicked his tongue at Corpse Eater’s catch of one loaf of bread. Glanced over Desecrator’s bag.

“The General will not be satisfied,” he said.

“This is all these people have,” Puppy Slayer replied.

Tsetse shook his head and approached Desecrator. The boy tensed up, thinking that Tsetse was up to something no good, but the captain simply grabbed a single fish from him and headed for Corpse Eater.

Desecrator started seeing red.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he protested. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s not yours, it’s General’s” Tsetse calmly replied, handing the fish to Corpse Eater. “I don’t want him to look empty-handed.”

“That’s his problem that he didn’t find anything!” Desecrator cried out, taking a step forward. “I’m not going to—”

“You will do as I tell you,” Tsetse cut him off without raising his tone. “When I tell you to do something—you do it in the blink of an eye. I was put in charge by the general,” Captain reminded him, turning around to face him. “Do you have something against that?”

“Yes I do,” was what Desecrator wanted to say, but the sight of Tsetse’s calm and confident gaze suddenly stopped him. Under the stare of those somber, serious eyes he suddenly found himself deflated and powerless, and the rage that was burning within him couldn’t break through to the surface, through whatever was holding him back.

His lack of reply seemed to satisfy Tsetse; the captain turned around and headed for the camp. Once again, Desecrator found himself staring at the captain’s back and yet unable to do anything about it.

Chapter 3

Puppy Slayer

The sun was already halfway over the horizon. Puppy Slayer was walking toward the camp along with everybody else. The camp full of terrors of war, of people who called themselves soldiers and who committed—and forced him to commit—the most atrocious things. Yet, at that moment, he wasn’t thinking about them; he wasn’t dreading the moment he’d be among them again. The only thing he could think about was the smell of food he was carrying. The one that was making his stomach churn.

He’d had his meal in the morning, but there was a reason why the General sent them all to that village for supplies: they didn’t have a steady supply of food rations. Sometimes they would fish or hunt, but generally they were quite the opportunists—they’d always take what they could.

Puppy Slayer looked down at the food in his hands. A dried fish, a crusty loaf of bread, and a corn pancake. It wouldn’t be enough to fully feed one man, and he was supposed to give it all away. And for what? So that the General and his men could feel themselves kings of the world once more? Robbing the villages was never a steady supply of food, and yet his men kept doing that. Taking away from the people who they were said to protect.

I am also one of the General’s men, Puppy Slayer caught himself thinking. He knew where he was heading with that thought, but no matter how much he wanted to ignore it, he continued to go with it. The General always says so. That we are men, and not children, and that we should act like men. Shouldn’t it mean that this food is also ours?

The boy looked down at the fish in his hands, and its salty smell developed his thought further, luring it out of his scared subconsciousness.

Wouldn’t taking something that is for someone else be considered a manly action by the General?

The smell was getting unbearable. Whoever cooked that fish did a good job: Puppy Slayer hadn’t smelled anything so delicious in months. He swallowed his spit, but he knew that more would be coming, and his stomach was overflowing with juices. He caught himself guessing: How would that fish taste? Was it as good as it smelled? Was it one of those things that smelled like one thing but tasted like something different?

Would it be easy to chew?

There was only one way to find out.

Puppy Slayer wasn’t thinking about anything anymore. He wasn’t afraid of what Tsetse or the General would say. There was only one thing on his mind—something that couldn’t be put into words, something that predated them. An impulse that had been passed down from generation to generation for millions of years, ensuring the survival of those who’d listened to it.

He opened his mouth and took a small bite out of the fish. He wanted to snip off a small piece but involuntarily bit off more than he initially intended to.

The fish was unlike anything he’d eaten in a long time, practically melting on his tongue. The boy instantly knew that all the risk was worth it. To have something so delicious in his mouth felt incredible, and he couldn’t resist closing his eyes from the pleasure. He wanted to taste it more, but his body was acting on its own accord, and his tongue pushed the fish further down his throat, into his stomach. Just like that, the amazing taste was gone, leaving only traces of it as a reminder of the boy’s trespassing.

Almost instantly, a wave of regret washed over him. What have I done? What will the General do to me when he finds out?

He curled his fists and looked ahead: Tsetse was still walking toward the camp, not turning around. Had he seen me eat that fish he would’ve stopped me, right? the boy thought frantically, trying to find a way out of his situation. And if he didn’t see me, then he won’t tell the General nothing. Because he didn’t see it. Right?

Unless someone else saw me, he realized, with another wave of panic already getting ready to wash over him. The boy slowly turned to his right, hoping to see no one, but his heart immediately sunk to new depths of despair.

Corpse Eater was standing some twenty feet away from him, holding the loaf of bread that Tsetse had given him. Looking in his eyes, Puppy Slayer realized: he saw everything.

The boy almost stopped breathing, frantically thinking over his options. Kill him? No, he wouldn’t be able to shoot another human again. He couldn’t bear seeing the flesh and bone being torn by his bullets. Run away? But where to? Who would accept him as he was?

But Corpse Eater didn’t look at him judgingly. No, his eyes relayed some other meaning. Jealousy? Sadness?

Hunger?

Corpse Eater looked down at the loaf of bread he was holding, and then slowly, almost backing out at one moment, raised it to his teeth and took a bite.

Puppy Slayer was silently watching how the boy was taking one bite after another from the bread that he was holding. From the corner of his eye, he noticed how another boy stopped walking and started watching Corpse Eater eating.

One by one, the boys around them were stopping to observe that small act of rebellion—not a large-scale one that their General envisioned, but a more personal one, a rebellion against the circumstances that were pushing on them. A performance to show that they could act on their own. And one after another, all the boys around him were starting to join in.

Some were more hesitant than the others, but all of them—Homewrecker, who killed a man to fulfill the General’s mission; Desecrator, who was forced to part with some of his trophies; Marlboro Man, who was had been smoking to dull the feeling of hunger; and even a young Death Herald, who was taking the General’s words and commands close to his heart—had stopped to take a bite out of their catch. One bite became two, two became three, and, encouraged by one another’s example, they started eating, pausing only to take a glance in Tsetse’s direction.

Puppy Slayer looked down at the fish in his hands and noticed that his teeth left a very distinct small bite mark in the fish’s leathery dried-up flesh. The General may ask where this bite has come from, Puppy Slayer thought to himself. Of course, he could say that he tore the fish out of some kid’s mouth… But that would mean lying to the General, and the boy trembled at the very thought of doing so. He was too scared to lie to the General. He was too scared to be exposed by him.

So if lying wasn’t an option, why leave any evidence at all? The boy took another, bigger bite out of his catch. He still had a loaf of bread to bring to the General, after all. He would be satisfied with it as well.

* * *

“Is this it?!” the General yelled, making Puppy Slayer wince. He was lucky the General didn’t see it, as the man was walking along the row of boys. All of them, with the exception of Tsetse, were looking down. All the food that they’d brought from the village was put into one big pile at the entrance to the General’s tent and, put together like that, it was obvious to Puppy Slayer that they’d eaten too much. “Is this all that you’ve brought?!” He shouted the question at his ranks, pointing at the small pile of food on the floor. One of the adult soldiers behind him snickered.

“Do you want to be kicked out of the brigade?!” the General shouted at Orphan Maker. The boy shifted around uneasily. “All right then. Go. Go!” He pushed the kid and he fell to the ground. “Get the hell out of my sight!” he shouted at the kid.

Orphan Maker didn’t move. He didn’t even get up. He was lying on the floor and eyeing the General with eyes full of fear. Even if wanted to leave the brigade, going through with it—or maybe even agreeing to it in front of the General—was a capital offence.

“You don’t like my orders, you don’t listen to me—go,” the General added calmly. The boy was on the verge of tears, but he knew that if a single drop rolled down his cheek the General would gouge his eyes out for showing weakness.

“Please don’t,” Orphan Maker whispered, gulping. “Please don’t kick me out, General. I’ll behave. I’ll be better, I promise.”

“You promise?” The General sneered at him. Then, in an instant, he forgot about the boy altogether. That part of his show was over.

The General straightened up and looked at the boy at the end of the row: “Tsetse, my boy, what did I ask you to do?” He approached his captain, inquisitively sticking his neck out like a goose.

“To bring food from the village,” Tsetse said, not dropping a beat. He wasn’t looking at the General, despite the man being almost in his face, and his expression remained stoic and disinterested as usual. Puppy Slayer could only dream about being as resistant to the man’s mental assault.

“Didn’t I tell you about the responsibility before your superiors?” the man asked, making half-circles next to the boy.

“You did, General.” Tsetse nodded.

“Then, what did you bring?” the General screamed in the boy’s face, simultaneously pointing at the food on the floor. “Is this what my soldiers are supposed to eat?! How are they supposed to go into battle if they are starving?! Huh?!”

Tsetse glanced at the small mountain, his head still looking forward. This is the end, Puppy Slayer thought to himself. His curled up fists relaxed and his hands dangled. There was no way Tsetse wouldn’t notice there was less food than when they left the village.

Tsetse was silent for a few seconds, inquisitively looking at the food. Then, turning his eyes forward, he said: “That is all the food we found in the village.”

“How can it be all the food they have?!” the General screamed at him, grabbing the boy by the collar of his T-shirt. “Tsetse! Look at me!” he shouted, and the boy turned his head, locking eyes with the General. Fury clashed with indifference.

“How can it be all the food they had, Tsetse?” the General repeated, lowering his voice, but still making it clear that he could burst at any moment. “The whole village can’t survive on so little food.”

Tsetse didn’t reply immediately, but he didn’t look away. The boy was thinking about something.

“I personally searched every house,” he finally said. “There was no more food.”

“You sure?” the General asked.

“Yes,” Tsetse replied without hesitation.

“You absolutely sure about that?” the General pressed on.

“Absolutely. We’ve brought all the food we’ve found.”

“…I see,” The General let go of the boy and took a few steps back. He was thinking furiously about something, and with each passing moment his face was becoming more and more intense.

But Puppy Slayer wasn’t looking at their leader anymore. His eyes were locked on the figure of their captain, who took it upon himself to protect them from the General’s fury. Whether or not he was doing it for himself to cover his own negligence or to protect the boys, didn’t matter to Puppy Slayer—he was just glad that it was over.

Thank you, Tsetse. Thank you, the boy thought to himself, feeling genuine gratitude that their captain was so brave. Had the General asked him where all the food was, the boy wouldn’t have been able to resist the pressure and he would have spilled the beans.

But the next words hollered by their leader made his guts go cold: “I’ll be teaching you how it’s done for as long as I’m alive, it seems. If they don’t want to share what they have willingly…” The man puffed his chest and sneered, his nostrils flaring. Puppy Slayer recognized that in a second the man was going to explode with anger, and he braced for the impact. “If they hide their food from us! If they don’t support their liberators, then they are traitors to our cause! Gather the troops! We’ll have to make an example out of them.”

Chapter 4

Homewrecker

“Gooonnaaaa shooooot them uuup,” the Death Herald slowly said, drawing out every syllable. His eyes were completely expressionless, without any spark of thought in them. “Gonna shoot them up,” the boy repeated, and his face started stretching into grin—very slowly. Now his eyes looked surprised, as if he had just only realized the meaning of his words. “Gonna shoot them up!” he cheerfully exclaimed, loud enough to make Homewrecker wince. “Hey, Homewrecker, we’re going to shoot them up!”

“I heard you, kid,” Homewrecker replied without any enthusiasm. The smaller boy jumped in place, giggling. “Right?” he asked, before turning around and walking toward a group of adults. Upon reaching them, he stretched out his hand and hollered as loud as he could (“Gonna shoot them up!”), startling a few of them. The other adults burst into laughter, and one of them pushed the boy’s hand aside, smiling: “You’ve had enough for now.”

Homewrecker didn’t pity Death Herald like the others did. Sure, he was only ten years old—the second youngest in their brigade—and his mind wasn’t quite there. The adults had found that giving the boy any drugs they could find was a great way to spend their time. So the boy’s brain was rotting alive, cooked up in crack and heroin knockoffs. But the things that the boy was doing on the battlefield and afterward—the violence and madness that were seeping from the boy—were too much for Homewrecker to overlook. To him, the kid was a lost cause, a symbol of what they were all destined to become, raised to an absolute. He didn’t make Homewrecker feel sorry for him. He made Homewrecker feel bitter.

The General exited his tent, his face and biceps covered in war paint. Despite it not being a real battle, the man was ready to go all out, which indicated how mad and serious he was.

“Troops! Get ready to take back what is ours!” he screamed, and dozens of voices responded with a shout. Homewrecker found himself shouting as well.

“This is going to be a bloodbath” He heard Corpse Eater’s voice; the boy approached him, also sporting some sort of war paint on his face. Homewrecker glanced at his friend, looking to see if he was distraught, but Corpse Eater was just staring into the horizon in the direction where the village was. He wasn’t calm; he was resigned to what was coming. The resignation had been injected into him (like a vaccine against the world’s cruelty) back during the initiation trial, when the boy first received his new name.

Homewrecker himself didn’t feel so resigned to his fate; the face of the man he’d shot was still fresh in his mind, down to the slightest details, like the wrinkles under his eyes and the red vessels in them. He had been secretly hoping that the man was still alive, that he hadn’t exchanged his life for a plastic bag of food. But now that hope could be abandoned: it didn’t matter in the end. The boy looked at Death Herald, who was having the time of his life, basking in the attention of the adults, and scowled.

“We have to tell the General.” The boys heard the quiet whisper behind them. Puppy Slayer was trembling in fear, and his eyes were frantically rolling in their orbits. “We have to tell him the truth. I don’t want those people to die because of us.”

“We have no choice,” Corpse Eater replied before Homewrecker had a chance. “If you want, you can go and tell him. But he will kill you for that. And if he won’t kill you, he’ll kill someone else. Are you ready for that?”

Puppy Slayer looked down and shook his head. “Good,” Corpse Eater continued. “Because it’s not up to us. It never was and never will be. If those people are smart enough they will have abandoned the village by now. If not… they’ll be killed by someone sooner or later. And there’s nothing we can do about that.”

Throughout his speech Homewrecker was nodding in agreement, but his friend’s words weren’t reassuring. If anything, they were only making him more desperate. But he also knew that they were true—and that was only making it worse.

“Line up! Line up here!” One of the adults called them over, and the boys obeyed. It was time to take their medicine.

“Take it.” The adult handed the three of them a blunt and a lighter. “Gotta light up that righteous flame, right?” He grinned at them.

Corpse Eater was not in a rush to light it up, so Homewrecker took it away from him. “Give it here.” He grabbed it and lit it up. He knew what drugs could do to him, but at that moment hesitation was gnawing at him, and he wanted it to go away. The time for regrets would come later.

He took a long hit. After that, he took another deep breath through his nose, pushing the smoke deeper into his lungs. Only after that did he exhale and, along with the smoke, his body was getting rid of all the sadness, fear, anxiety, and doubts.

“So what’s in it?” He heard his friend asking him through the smoke. Homewrecker smiled; he thought to himself that he should be more like his friend. Distant and uncaring.

“Feels like heroin,” he pushed the words through his lips, taking another hit. The high was just kicking in. But even though he was already feeling pretty careless, he felt like making sure that feeling would last. He wouldn’t want for it to disappear in the middle of the battle.

Corpse Eater took a hit as well, and a few moments later his face stretched into a grin: “Yes, yes, feels like it. This one’s good.” He took another puff and raised his head to look into the dark, starry sky.

* * *

Their assault was quick and ruthless. In a battle, it would allow them to catch their opponent off-guard and demoralize him, and in their urban fights where no one was moving in formations breaking the enemy’s spirit was already a guaranteed victory. But that night their opponent was not some other brigade or militia: that night they were civilians, and the word “opponent” was not appropriate either. They were prey.

The General and other adults were driving in roofless trucks packed to the brim; the boys were following them on foot. The vehicles approached the very edge of the village with their lights off and the engines barely heard, and then the General rose from his seat and let out a bloodthirsty war cry. Instantly, both men and machines answered him: a hundred voices roared in response, and the mighty engines followed the example of their masters, coming to life in an explosion of noise and light. The pedals were pushed to the floor, and the lights flooded the village with their gaze, as if the metallic beasts had awoken from their slumber.

In the lights of the trucks the whole village, which had been dark before, lit up as if the sun had come out to bear witness. Homewrecker saw the shocked and scared faces of those who were unlucky to be outside, saw the bullets tear through their clothes and skin, saw the flashing white heels of those who tried to run away.

“Stay where you are!” the General shouted into the loudspeaker. “Your village is surrounded!”

Homewrecker knew that it wasn’t the case, but he also understood that it was a ploy to make as many villagers as possible stay in their houses. If they were to see through the General’s bluff, they’d be able to survive; but they were too gullible for that. Nobody was leaving their houses, and a few of those who were running fell to the ground and covered their heads.

“We are the Revolutionary Brigade of Liberia!” his voice boomed again as his men started heading toward the houses. “For your crimes against our cause, you shall feel our righteous wrath!” The man threw the loudspeaker to the side, stepped onto the windshield, and threw his fist toward the dark skies: he reveled in his role.

His men didn’t need any further commands; they had performed such punitive operations in the past many times, so they had a perfect idea of what to do. One of them shot a person who was lying in the streets; they had to make it clear to those who were hiding in their houses that it was dangerous outside. “Stay inside,” was the message. “We’ll come right for you.”

The men spread out and took their positions near the doors. At that point, the villagers wouldn’t be able to escape even if they tried. The last seconds before the massacre had run its course.

Doors were busted and windows broken. The bloodthirsty soldiers—both adults and boys—were breaking in, eager to revel in the power they had over them, the drugs in their blood mixing with adrenaline to peel away the last sheds of humanity, revealing the beastly nature within them.

Some were pulling men and women by their hair outside. Homewrecker had seen it happen before, and he wasn’t sure who’d have it worse—the men, who’d be beaten down, tortured, and killed in the most gruesome ways, or the women, who’d be violated in front of everyone they knew and loved, with their survival depending solely on the mood of the assailant Others were staying inside—possibly to have their fun without having to share it with anyone else. Sometimes, a quick burst of light and sound would come from the inside of a house, signifying another death.

Homewrecker was not eager to join them—mostly because the drugs in his system hadn’t finished their course. Instead, he made a few shots into the sky, sent another burst of rounds above the rooftops, and walked into the village.

Desecrator pushed past him and rushed toward the house that he had visited during the day. Homewrecker half-expected to hear shots coming from the building, or at least to see him coming out dragging someone behind him, but Desecrator stayed inside.

Corpse Eater was helping someone with their victim, following the instructions of a soldier. “Get them back, bring them here, hold them still, pass me that knife of yours. ”Homewrecker could see that the boy didn’t enjoy it, but it wasn’t the time to argue. Corpse Eater had resigned himself to the role of an active spectator long ago. And the theater which he was stuck in didn’t take kindly to negative reviews.

Homewrecker shook his shoulders and moved on. The coat of heroin on his brain was carefully protecting him from the visages of hell around him, and his hazy unfocused mind could make out only individual shouts of both assailants and their victims.

“If you look away even for a second, I’m capping this bitch right here!”

“Your boy versus mine! Show him, kid, and this blunt is yours!”

“We gave you all the food we had, I swear! Please let us go!”

“We’ll see how you run now!”

“Please, take me instead! Take meeeee!”

“She almost clawed my eyes out! Hold her hand!”

“Whoever gets off my boys last gets their brains blown out!”

Fathers, mothers, daughters, brothers, neighbors—all of them exposed to each other’s weakness, mortality, vulnerability, their behavior in their worst hours. All of them were suffering both on their own and together, unable to escape or help each other.

“Come on, kid, do it!” the adults were urging someone. “Don’t pussy out like the last time! Do it! Show that you’re the man!”

Homewrecker came closer, and from a closer distance the faint light from the fires provided enough illumination for him to make out what was happening. A lone woman was standing in front of the wall of one of the huts, encircled by the General’s men on all sides. Homewrecker couldn’t make out what was she saying; she was bawling her eyes out so hard that she wouldn’t be able to speak even if she tried. Her eyes were full of the desperation of a cornered animal, and her hands were locked in prayer, aimed at everyone and no one in particular.

If any of them really wanted the woman dead, she’d be donning a large hole right through her cranium. But they didn’t act. Though there were other things they could do to her to sate their needs, they seemed to derive more pleasure from the miserable act she was putting on, hoping that they’d spare her. Homewrecker soon saw why they were keeping her alive and what was giving them so much joy.

In front of the men stood Puppy Slayer, with his assault rifle in hand. His entire body was trembling, and his legs were shaking so much that he was barely standing. It seemed like the boy would collapse to his knees under all the stress, just like the woman in front of him.

The men were laughing and egging him on to pull the trigger.

“Do it, Puppy!”

“Come on, pull the trigger!”

“Man, why do we still keep him around?”

The kid was freaking out, and his aim was wandering so much that he wouldn’t be able to shoot the woman even if he tried. Homewrecker was too numb from drugs to feel sorry for him; he suspected that they were keeping Puppy Slayer around for such cases. To have fun watching him lose bits of his sanity.

Puppy Slayer continued to hesitate, and the crowd was getting less and less cheerful. The initial thrill of watching the boy struggle was gone, and now they wanted something more.

“Hey, are you going to do it or not?”

“Kid, you’re making me feel embarrassed!”

“Either you do it with a gun or I’m making you strangle her!”

Tsetse stepped out of the crowd and approached the kid. He and Puppy Slayer quietly exchanged some words, although Homewrecker couldn’t quite make out what they said.

Tsetse stepped behind the boy and leaned in closer. For a moment he thought that the captain was hugging him, until Puppy Slayer’s panicked protests suddenly came through the background noise: “No, Tsetse, I don’t want to!”

The captain gripped the boy’s hand on the rifle’s barrel, while his other hand grabbed the boy by the shoulder.

“Aim,” the older boy commanded, guiding the gun’s barrel at its target. The woman wailed and clawed the earth beneath her. The crowd cheered. “Can you believe that?” Somebody laughed.

“Tsetse, stop!” the younger boy cried out. Tears were streaming down his face, and he was struggling and squirming to break free from the captain’s grasp, but his efforts accounted to nothing; despite the boy’s struggles the gun remained almost motionless.

“And then pull,” Captain cooed in his ear, grabbing the boy’s index finger and putting it on the trigger. With the last bit of willpower, the boy resisted for a few seconds, and Homewrecker was almost impressed that the kid managed to keep his finger straight for so long. But, ultimately, that was not a fight he could win. Little by little, the captain was pushing the kid’s finger onto the trigger, pulling it further and further, until it finally clicked and the gun threw up its lead charge.

Everybody around them cheered as the woman fell to the ground. The shot went right through her heart—not the most painless death, but still a relatively quick one, and she silently collapsed into a quickly expanding puddle of her blood. She wasn’t moving or twitching: it was as if, in her final moments, she finally found some bizarre peace.

Puppy Slayer fell to his knees as well. His shoulders were quaking in a silent cry. Seeing how there was nothing else to witness, the adults started leaving, seeking something else to thrill them, and Tsetse crouched near the crying boy. He whispered something to him, something that Homewrecker, yet again, could not make out, and Puppy Slayer gazed at his captain with eyes full of bewilderment that quickly changed to powerless fury.

“We’ll have to make up a new name for you.” One of the last adults to leave smirked before turning around and walking away.

Homewrecker and Tsetse exchanged glances. The captain’s eyes were as indifferent as ever, but then, Homewrecker wondered, was he really like that? Why had he intruded into that situation? To suck up to the General?

“You got a problem?” Tsetse wondered, and Homewrecker suddenly found himself scared. Was his face betraying his thoughts?

He shook his head and quickly headed away; quite conveniently for him, there was a commotion and cheering on the other side of the village. Judging by the loudness, whatever was happening there managed to gather many more people than Puppy Slayer’s execution. Homewrecker was sure that no less than a half of the Brigade had gathered there, so whatever was going on there was probably important.

The crowd of soldiers had gathered in front of the village’s largest house. Homewrecker carefully squeezed through the ranks of adults, trying very hard not to step on anyone’s toes, before he got to the front of the crowd, where he could see better. Only then did he see what all the ruckus was about.

The house that everyone had gathered around was not just the biggest—it was also the most decorated one. The walls were covered in curious paintings, and the skull of an unknown creature was hanging above the main door. Looking at it made Homewrecker’s head spin; he didn’t know whether it was drugs or something else, but the skull’s spiraling horns and numerous eye sockets were making him dizzy.

In front of the building stood their General. He was pumping his right hand into the air while holding a machete, and in the iron grip of his left hand was the throat of an elderly woman. She was impossibly old—at least twice as old as the next oldest person the boy had seen in his life. When the boy saw the ritualistic drawings on her hands and face, her colorful robes and the intricate necklace on her neck, it clicked for him: she was that village’s shaman, and the colorful house behind her belonged to her. It seemed that when the General joined the hunt, he went after the most prestigious prey.

Plus, he wouldn’t tolerate any competitors.

“These lands have only one priest!” the General shouted, and the crowd answered with an angry roar. “This woman”—he pointed the machete at her face as she was gasping for air—“has planted selfishness and ignorance into the hearts of these people! This woman that was supposed to lead them had turned their souls dark and their hearts callous! Because of her, they suffer! Because of her, WE suffer!”

The crowd furiously shouted, and some of the people started calling out to their leader.

“Kill her!”

“Long live the General Malaria!”

“Cut her head off!”

“Cut her heart out!”

“My warriors!” the General shouted again, and the crowd got quieter to hear what was he going to say. “I know what must be done to stop this evil here! Her crooked power will not harm our Brigade anymore!”

With one swing, the General tore her colorful robe off, exposing her wrinkly, elderly body to everyone around. Some men looked away in feigned disgust, raising their hands to cover their eyes, while others started making inappropriate sounds and gestures, suggesting that they did not see her as too old to partake in their activities.

Throwing the woman to the ground, the general climbed on top of her and, taking his machete into both hands, raised it high above his head, before plunging it right into the middle of the woman’s chest.

Her old brittle bones were no obstacle for his explosive, youthful power. The blade pierced her wrinkly skin and most likely went clean through. The woman wheezed and groaned, her punctured lungs struggling to have another breath.

Quickly, trying to do as much damage as possible while she was clinging to life, the General started making more cuts. Like a skilled butcher, he was swinging his blade with no rest, no pause between the strikes, carving her chest cavity open, until he cut it up enough to squeeze his fingers inside her wound and pull her ribs aside like the lid of an intricate casket, exposing her organs and, most importantly, her convulsing, still beating heart.

Throwing the machete aside, the General grabbed the woman’s heart with his bare hands and everyone cheered; they all knew what was coming next.

There was only one way to claim someone’s power—to eat their heart raw. Ripping the heart out, the General raised it to his mouth—a heart that was at least ninety years old. Dark blood flowed out of it, making the old worn-out organ lose its shape, collapsing from a symbol of life into a mere fleshy bag—as wrinkly as its owner. Homewrecker winced and looked away, but the sound of chewing was still reaching his ears, making his mind involuntarily recreate what was happening in front of him in gruesome details.

“Hey, over there! There’s a bitch running!” Homewrecker opened his eyes when he heard that. Indeed, some girl—twenty years old at most—was running into the darkness beyond the village. Judging from the direction she was running from, she must have snuck out through the window of the old shaman’s house. The General must’ve missed her when he was ravaging the house.

Bad idea, Homewrecker thought, watching her white, flashing heels. She should have stayed hidden if she hadn’t been found.

A few men raised their weapons, but the General stopped them with a gesture: “Don’t! Give me the gun! Give me the gun, now!”

The man standing closest to him obeyed, handing over his AK-47, and the General crouched on one knee to take aim. A lion before taking his leap. After a second or two of aiming, he pulled the trigger.

His aim was good—the bullet didn’t hurt her too much, going clean through the muscle of her left calf—making her tumble and fall down. Despite her injury, she was still trying to escape, desperately clawing at the ground. The men cheered, and the General laughed, his wide smile exposing blood covered teeth to the light of the flames.

“Bring me the bitch!” the General commanded, and two men ran off to grab her. When she saw them approach she turned on her back and started kicking at them with her healthy leg, screeching and crying but, with a well-aimed kick to the gut, one of the soldiers stopped her struggling.

“Yeah, that’s right. Bring her here, boys! Let’s take a look at what I’ve caught” The General smirked, wiping his mouth from blood, and the sinister laugh started spreading through the crowd around him. Not only the girl was young, she seemed to be quite a beauty, which gave his men plenty of reasons to be amused.

When the two men who were carrying her came closer, that suspicion turned out to be true; the girl was well-built, with feminine, rounded hips and firm breasts. Her hands were also soft and without any wrinkles. It seemed that she hadn’t needed to work in the fields or at the river, and her skin had had a chance to remain delicate.

The men lifted her up from the ground so that she could face the General. With a hand still stained by the blood of his previous victim, he grabbed her face and made her look into his eyes.

“Hey babe.” He grinned with his bloody smile. “Who was that old bitch? Your grandma?”

The girl didn’t respond, instead she stared at the General with a gaze full of hate. Homewrecker was impressed by her guts; despite being wounded and caught, she was still brave enough to look the top dog among her captors in the eye without flinching or looking away.

The General laughed: “Feisty one. I think she’s too stunned to see me, boys!” He looked at his men, awaiting their reaction, and it followed; his brigade was a warmed-up crowd and it made for a great audience.

Still laughing, the General flicked his lower lip with a thumb, getting some blood on it, and smeared it across the girl’s face. That caused the intended reaction: she flinched and whimpered.

“That’s more like it” The General grinned, wiping some more blood from his face and smearing it onto her. “Not so high and mighty now, huh? That’ll teach you how to be a stuck-up bitch. You two! Come here, you’ll hold her legs.”

Two more men approached and stood next to the General. One of them handed him a knife and, despite the girl’s struggling and resisting, he grabbed her dress by the collar before cutting it in one swift, refined motion.

“Whoa,” Homewrecker heard someone next to him exclaim. Marlboro Man was staring at her with eyes full of unparalleled awe. Her beauty captivated him to such a point that he seemed to be barely even aware of the reality of what was going to happen to her in a moment.

Her cries resonated deeper in Homewrecker’s mind; the dulling effect of drugs was wearing off, and the weeping of the girl in front of him was slowly bringing more and more memories into the spotlight of his mind. Memories of people crying, screaming, and begging.

He took one more look at the scene in front of him, and the events transpiring there were too much for him. He turned around and started to leave.

“Hey, where are you going? Don’t you want to try and get some yourself?” one of the men asked him, patting his head. But the boy just pushed his hand aside and continued walking through the crowd.

As he kept on walking, the sounds of death and misery around him were getting louder, more focused, gaining shape and emotion. He closed his eyes and ears, but even through his palms he could hear the loud female scream coming from where the General was. The scream of realization of what had been committed. A scream of loss, pain, and powerless fury.

Chapter 5

Marlboro Man

No matter how hard he tried, Marlboro Man couldn’t shake off that tingling feeling in his stomach. It was unfamiliar to him, and whenever he’d focus on it it would spread throughout his body, making his heart feel heavy and breath feel dry. It would feed his imagination with ideas and sceneries that were not becoming of a true warrior like him—the concept of conquest was quickly crumbling under the weight of sweet surrender.

And at the center of those dreamscapes was always her.

It had been a week since they’d raided that village, and yet he couldn’t throw the image of her pristine body out of his mind. The features of her face haunted his dreams, only in those dreams she wasn’t scowling—she was smiling at him. Sometimes she would hug him, and sometimes she’d do something more, but she was always happy to see him. And each time he’d wake up he would feel the same sense of frustration that she was not with him.

He didn’t talk about his dreams to anyone; the others would make fun of him till the end of their days if they found out, and he couldn’t afford that. From what he had seen, the adults had a different approach toward women—it was brutal, straightforward and one-sided. But he didn’t feel like that’s how he wanted to proceed with her. On the night he first saw her, he didn’t approach her—even though he had such a chance after the General was done with her. His heart was aching when he was looking at the other hands on her. He wanted her all to himself, but he knew that it wasn’t possible in their brigade. Guns and cigarettes could be personal belongings, but women were seen as a public commodity. It would never work out.

And yet with each day he wanted to see her more and more. With each day, her image in his memory was not getting hazy, but grew on its own, picking up more and more details from his imagination.

Finally, on the eighth day, Marlboro Man woke up full of determination: he was going back to that village to see her once more. Even if it was only from a distance, he needed to refresh his memories of her. Strengthen her image with a healthy supplement of the real deal.

He spent the rest of the day anticipating the moment when he’d have his chance to sneak out of their camp and go see her. Tsetse had been extra cautious of them throughout that whole week—no doubt wanting to make sure that the raid didn’t give them any ideas about whether staying in the brigade was worth it. But Marlboro Man knew that, unlike the fly he chose to be named after, Tsetse had only two eyes. He couldn’t possibly follow everyone. And if the day passed without any orders from the General, then it would be unlikely he would suddenly decide to make another move at night—their raid on the village was an exception that had happened only because of the man’s short temper. When the evening would come, all of the adults would be too relaxed to even care where he was, and their most immediate concern would be the set of cards in front of them.

Plus, Marlboro Man dreamily noted as he was slipping into the tall grass, it was likely that she would come to bathe in the river. He had only heard from other boys that women did that, but he was not losing any hope.

As he was heading in the direction of the village, he was thinking over what was he going to do if he were to meet her. Would he greet her, tell her that he wouldn’t hurt her? That might be a good idea, all things considered, but would she believe him? And if he were to confess his feelings to her right away—would she accept them? He wanted to believe that that was the case, but he was not sure.

And if she’d accept them—then what? He couldn’t take her back to the camp, that was for sure. But if she was truly the one, if they had any chance to be together—what would he do?

His heartbeat quickened at just the thought of it, but, nevertheless, he explored that opportunity further. What if he were to stay there with her? Or perhaps, if staying in the village was dangerous, what if they were to run away together? Somewhere far away? The thought of leaving the brigade was scary, but surely she would understand then how much she meant to him that he would be willing to leave his warrior ways behind for the sake of being together with her? Surely, if he were to proclaim that her beauty made him a new man she would succumb to his claim on her?

The roofs of the houses in the village were already visible in the distance above the tall grass. It was no more than a few minutes of walking. Marlboro Man stopped one last time and took a deep breath, hoping that it would help him calm his rapidly beating heart.

I can do it, he told himself. If I don’t approach her now, I’ll never gather enough courage to do it again. I’ve already left the camp. It would be pointless to stop now.

With that in mind, he resigned to take another step. But before he even planted his foot, he heard the grass rustling nearby.

The boy froze; was the sound coming from him? Was he imagining things so that he wouldn’t have to go through with his plan?

A few seconds passed, and he clearly heard the same sound again. The blades of grass breaking under someone’s feet, pushing aside as someone’s body was moving past them. Someone else was there with him, and he couldn’t see them.

The boy instantly kneeled, trying to make as little sound as possible—that way he wouldn’t catch a stray shot aimed in his direction. His heart sped up again, only for a completely different reason. Whereas before it was beating with sweet anxiousness, it was now pumping his blood making him ready to flee.

The villagers, the boy thought. They set up an ambush to keep us out.

He knew that they didn’t have any guns, or else they’d have used them to protect themselves when the brigade had first attacked them. But what if some of theirs had been lost or forgotten in the commotion of their nightly raid? What if, instead of guns, the surviving villagers chose to arm themselves with axes and machetes? Those wouldn’t have worked against the firearms in a standoff, but they were a perfect choice for an ambush. A quick blow to the back of the head wouldn’t make much noise.

The grass rustled again, and Marlboro Man cocked his gun, ready to fire. He didn’t know where the assailants were or whether they even knew that he was there, and the uncertainty was gnawing at him. Had the fight started, he’d have a goal—something familiar. Something he knew how to deal with, something that would keep his thoughts occupied. This? This was driving him insane.

A second passed. Then another. There were no more sounds. Nevertheless, Marlboro Man waited for a whole minute until he was sure that he couldn’t hear anything anymore. Only then did he rise and take another step.

Immediately, he realized his mistake; as if set off by his movement, the unknown opponent rushed at him. Unbeknownst to the boy, both of them had chosen the same tactic, and Marlboro Man made a poor move when he revealed his location.

His submarine’s position had been spotted by another one.

Whoever was coming at him was going fast, and there were no shots, which confirmed the boy’s earlier theory; the assailant was armed with some sort of melee weapon—something that was not practical at a distance, but that could do nasty damage if the attacker reached him. The boy had seen what kind of horrific wounds an axe could cause and, in all honesty, he would prefer the clean death a bullet could provide.

In a panic, the boy threw up his gun and emptied half of the magazine in the direction of the incoming noise, gritting his teeth. He realized that he could probably achieve the same result with fewer bullets, and in the heat of the battle every bullet counted. But it was too late to change anything. He silently cursed and listened.

The noise stopped; it seemed that despite the impulsive waste of ammunition—or maybe even because of it—his assailant was defeated. But it was too early to celebrate; perhaps the enemy was just playing dead.

Figuring that they already knew where he was, the boy started slowly moving toward his attacker, carefully moving grass out of his way with his free hand to have a clear shot.

He noticed the body when it was a few meters away from him—as it lay on the ground it pressed all the grass down with it, making a clearing in the green wall that surrounded them.

Marlboro Man carefully stepped into the clearing, keeping a close eye on the hands of the slain attacker. If the assailant had a knife in them, and if he was playing dead, he could slash at Marlboro Man’s Achilles tendon if he wasn’t careful, making it easier to kill him. But the attacker’s hands were empty and, if anything, they didn’t look like they could kill anyone. They seemed soft and tender, even for a woman—from up close, Marlboro Man could see that his attacker was indeed one.

A horrible suspicion crawled into Marlboro Man’s mind, and he took a step to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the face of his assailant. His free hand shot up to cover his mouth when he recognized her features—the same features that had been haunting his dreams for the past week.

Without a doubt, in front of him lay the young priestess of the village, struck down by his bullet.

“No,” Marlboro Man uttered, so quietly that he could barely hear the word himself. Only one phrase was flashing in his mind: It is all my fault.

This was not how he had imagined them meeting. The gravity of the situation was overwhelming; she saw him as only an enemy, and the moment they met one of them would inevitably end up dead. Standing over her motionless body, the boy realized: there was never a future where they could be together.

Perhaps she’s still alive, the boy suddenly realized. If I take her to the village, the villagers might still be able to save her. Maybe she’ll forgive me when she sees that I’ve saved her… And if not, then at least she’ll live.

That hopeful thought brought him the strength to move again. Kneeling next to her, the boy grabbed her shoulder, intending to turn her over; he had to examine the wound first.

Poor thing, the boy thought as he looked at her pristine face. You have endured so much over this last week… Stay strong. Your people will see to you soon.

As he thought that, he took a glimpse at her leg, and something caught his attention, making his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

The wound on her leg—the one that the General left when he shot her—had healed. There was barely a scar left; the only thing that made her leg stand out was a strange semi-transparent coloration of skin where the scar had been.

Confused, the boy nevertheless turned her body over to examine the wounds.

There were none.

Her dress had no holes or blood marks on it, and her hands and legs were also unscathed. Even more confused, the boy looked at her face, fearing that the bullet had gone into her forehead.

Her eyes were open, looking straight at him. In them, Marlboro Man didn’t see the sympathy or longing that he had hoped for during his sleepless nights. The emotion in them was the complete opposite of that, clear as a day, signing a death warrant for any hopes the boy had nurtured, its clarity instantly making the boy’s soul drop into the abyss of despair without any effort from him to stop that.

Hatred. Cold and refined, it crystallized in her eyes with absolute purity.

Its intensity made the boy lean back from her and assume the defensive position. Had it been anyone else in his shoes, he’d scoff at them for being scared of a woman’s glare. But at that moment, he wasn’t thinking about what a true warrior would do; the things he saw in her eyes shook something in him. They weren’t a man and a woman anymore—they were something that preceded a time when creatures had two sexes: a predator and its food.

She’ll probably try to kill me now, the boy frantically thought. Even though she was unarmed, the confidence in her eyes that she could pull that off was scaring him. That’s why she stopped playing dead. Will I have to kill her for good?

But before he could take even a step back, her face changed to a scowl of fury, and her hand flew up in an arc, hitting him in the face.

The unexpected weight behind her blow split both of his lips and knocked a few of his teeth out, making him flip backward and land on his stomach. Marlboro Man couldn’t understand what had just happened—how could something like that happen? But the sharp feeling of pain sent his whole body into a state of emergency.

Meanwhile, the girl slowly rose to her feet. She did it calmly, without rushing, with an inhuman confidence despite the fact that she was going unarmed against an armed opponent. Marlboro Man jumped to his feet and aimed the gun at her.

“S’an’ ’ack!” he uttered, spitting blood, carefully stepping away from her, trying not to lose footing in the high grass. “I’ll ’oot!”

The girl didn’t seem intimidated. Gazing at him confidently and hatefully, she took another step.

“I ’ean it!” Marlboro Man shouted at her, and his voice broke into a squeak. The girl smiled: “Not so high and mighty now, are you?” she taunted him, before dashing in his direction.

Marlboro Man shrieked in terror and pulled the trigger. The bullets went clean in, hitting her in the abdomen but, to the boy’s horror, the girl didn’t even wince. Grabbing him, she tackled him to the ground, and practically ripped the gun out of his hands, breaking his finger in the process. Then, before his disorientation passed and he could raise his hands to protect his face, she bashed him in the throat with the butt of the rifle.

She did it at half-strength, that was for sure; with the power she had displayed earlier, there was no way she wouldn’t be able split his throat in two, and her fresh wound that now was oozing with blood and ichor didn’t seem to impede her strength one bit.

The boy’s thrashing made him an all-too-easy target; she could do whatever she wanted to him, but instead she grabbed his wrists and pushed them to the ground. After that, she froze in place, as if waiting for something. She did it only to subdue him, the boy realized, gawking at the wound in her abdomen. What for?

Marlboro Man realized the answer to that question all too soon; the tall grass rustled (signaling the approach of someone), parted, and into the clearing that their fighting had made stepped something else. Two arms, two legs, and torn, bloodied clothes, with brown spots of dried-up blood surrounding the bullet holes. But at the same time—something inhuman, something different, something… off. Its limbs were slightly longer then they should be, its hide, while undeniably black like Marlboro Man’s own skin, exhibited the same transparent coloration that the girl’s scar had.

And the face, the face that he had seen before. Not in his dreams, but in drug-fueled waking nightmares. The nightmares where he was the monster and not the other way around.

The boy tried to scream, but his wounded throat was barely allowing any air through, and his scream of terror became a light wheeze.

The girl laughed at how pathetic it sounded, seemingly unconcerned with the monstrosity that was standing right next to her. She gently patted Marlboro Man’s cheek, before standing up and stepping to the side, giving the bizarre otherworldly creature next to her a clear passage. “You all were so sharing when you were having your fun with me,” she said as her features started tensing up, the feigned lightheartedness giving way to her true feelings. “I figured I would return the favor.”

She gave the creature a light tap on the shoulder, as if inviting it to take her place, and it obeyed her suggestion, taking a few steps closer to the boy who lay helplessly plastered on the ground. Marlboro Man started crawling backward, wincing when a grass stem got caught on his broken finger, but he didn’t get far; the creature took a wide step forward and pinned him to the ground with its deformed foot.

He tried to ask the girl for help. Explain to her that he wasn’t among her violators, that he was guided by the others into battle. But it seemed that she had lost all interest in him; she poked her delicate finger deep inside her wound, which had already stopped bleeding, pulled it out, examined it, and then sucked on it, licking all of the blood and other strange liquids off of it. As far as she was concerned, the boy’s fate had already been decided, and it was not up to her to take away someone else’s revenge.

As for his attacker… One look into its eyes was all that Marlboro Man needed to know: it remembered him. And it wasn’t in a forgiving mood either.

Chapter 6

Corpse Eater

The sun had already hidden beyond the horizon, and the last glimpses of its red glow were obscured by dark rain clouds. The thunder was rocking across the hills, heralding the coming of rain.

Corpse Eater was hiding from the clouds above under an old tarnished tent along with the others—Homewrecker, Puppy Slayer, and Desecrator. The four of them had managed to get the tent just for themselves, setting up in the middle of the field across the road from the warehouse. They ousted other boys under pretenses and threats, so that the four of them could enjoy a game of cards in peace without having to share the breathing space with others. It was a small luxury, but they took it.

The tent was one of those used on beaches mainly to hide from the sun and weather, so it didn’t have any walls, and if the wind was strong it wouldn’t make for a great cover against the rain either, but in their still wildly imaginative minds it was as good as a fortress, and the rain wasn’t all bad news: it meant that the adults wouldn’t come over to bother them, instead they would choose to stay in the comfort of the old warehouse and the adjacent buildings.

“Anyways, you should’ve seen that girl, you guys, a real beauty.” Desecrator was telling them a story that they had heard many times over the past week. “You ever had something like that, with someone your age? I say you can’t be a warrior if you didn’t get your noodle wet, right?” He nabbed Homewrecker in the ribs with his elbow.

“Marlboro Man is missing,” Homewrecker noted, looking over his cards, trying to change the subject. “Must’ve come down with something. Probably ate something nasty.”

“He better show up before it starts showering.” Desecrator smirked. “Or he’ll be shitting in the rain.”

The thought that Marlboro Man could’ve run away never crossed their minds; out of all of them, he showed the most signs of actually enjoying the lifestyle they led.

The rain started dripping, picking up strength with each passing second. It seemed that their hopes for a light drizzle hadn’t been heard.

“You jinxed it,” Corpse Eater grumbled at Desecrator, looking at the warehouse to see if the adults had already gone to sleep. Tough luck; he could see a group of them continuing to play cards under the protection of a large metal canopy adjacent to the warehouse where the dining area used to be.

“I didn’t jinx it if I said the truth.” -Corpse Eater heard Desecrator chuckle behind him.

“Ugh. Just shut up,” Corpse Eater said, rubbing his temples. He would prefer to spend some more time with his friends and not go back to the camp when the adults were at the peak of their drunken stupor.

“Maybe it’s going to pass quickly,” Puppy Slayer suggested, trying to protect his face from the slanting rain that was getting under their tent. “If the wind is so strong it may carry the clouds away, right?” he asked Homewrecker.

His question went unanswered; a strong gust of wind suddenly blew over them, picking up the tent and tumbling it over, it’s plastic leg grazing Homewrecker’s shoulder in the process.

“There goes our game,” Corpse Eater said grimly, looking at the tent quickly increasing the distance between them. “Goddamn it!” he swore loudly; he had no choice but to go back to the warehouse now. The rain was getting stronger with each passing second, as if taunting him, and another gust of wind picked up the cards that were lying on the ground and scattered them, making Puppy Slayer gasp and charge after them.

“We better go,” Homewrecker said, grabbing his shirt by the collar and pulling it up over his head to cover it from the rain. The thin cloth did a poor job of protecting him from the water; it was getting soaked more and more with each passing second, and he had to comically raise his hands so that the sleeves were on the same level as his ears now. “Or we’re all gonna catch a cold.”

“You look ridiculous,” Desecrator told him. “That’s some childish shit you’re doing.” Homewrecker turned around to look at him through the hole of his collar: “Yes, but at least I’m dry.” Even though his face couldn’t be seen, the boys could tell that he was smiling by intonation of his voice.

Corpse Eater eased a little and smiled too. Puppy Slayer did the same thing as Homewrecker and was wildly flailing his arms around, making spooky noises. Corpse Eater let out a short chuckle and did the same. All three of them looked like headless creatures with very long bodies. Homewrecker charged at Corpse Eater and body slammed him, laughing giddily, and Corpse Eater returned the favor.

“Ridiculous,” Desecrator repeated. “The General would whoop your asses if he saw you like that.”

“Enjoy being wet, then,” Homewrecker taunted him. “Wet like your noodle,” Puppy Slayer snuck in an uncharacteristic-for-him joke, and Homewrecker practically howled with joy, giving the younger boy a pat on the shoulder.

Corpse Eater smiled as well. The joke wasn’t particularly funny, but Corpse Eater was never picky about them—they were pretty rare, and the jokes of the adults… He simply didn’t like them.

“Whatever, man,” Desecrator said under his breath, but there was nobody around to hear him: all three of the boys were already heading in the direction of the warehouse. Standing alone under the heavy droplets of rain, Desecrator grunted, took off his T-shirt, and put it over his head. It immediately started soaking in water, getting heavier by the moment, and its wet cloth started dropping down onto his face, obscuring his vision. Grunting again, he hurried after the rest of the boys.

Homewrecker, Corpse Eater, and Puppy Slayer were up ahead of him. The three of them started slowly, but as their clothes were getting more and more soaked, as the wind was getting more turbulent and violent, and as the droplets were hitting them harder, the boys started picking up the pace.

“Man, this is some bullshit!” Corpse Eater screamed through the wall of water, and he heard Homewrecker’s laughter in response.

A few steps later he tripped and fell down, scratching his knee on a treacherous rock that lay hidden in the grass; the T-shirt pulled over his head made it hard for him to see where he was running, and the pouring rain didn’t help. He got up and looked ahead; the cover under which the adults were seated was just a few hundred feet away, and he was relieved to see that the lights were off. It seemed that the adults had already left for the night.

“You all right?” Homewrecker helped him up, his shirt still pulled over his head. His seriously concerned tone didn’t mix with his goofy appearance, making Corpse Eater giggle and forget about pain.

“Race you to the cover!” he exclaimed, pushing his friend away and charging past him. As he ran, the words muffled by the rain reached him from behind: “Not fair!”

Corpse Eater rushed ahead, finally feeling happy for the first time in a long time. The future might not hold a lot in store for him, and the past was filled with mistakes, wrongdoings, and pain, but he felt like living in the moment, fleeting as it was. At that moment, his childish nature overcame the burden that not every adult could bear. At that moment, while he was running, he could just be a kid, and neither the General nor Tsetse were around to take that away from him.

Jumping through a small waterfall of water rushing down from the roof, the boy jumped under its cover. He almost slid on something as he landed, and when he took a step he realized that his feet were sticking to the concrete floor.

There was no light to see what he was standing in, but as he kneeled down and touched the still-warm substance with his fingers, he instantly recognized what it was. The same substance his entire life was tainted with.

He couldn’t see how far the pool of blood stretched or where it was even coming from, but turning around he saw it flowing outside, where it was mixing with the running water.

The boy froze: Where did the blood come from? Was the blood on the floor the result of a card game that had gone bad? But then, why hadn’t he heard any shots? Did the adults get into a knife fight? Or was there something else, much more sinister, at work?

“Man, I’m going to bust your cheating ass!” With laughter, Homewrecker burst through the wall of falling water, followed by Puppy Slayer. “I’m serious, I’m going to—” He felt silent when Corpse Eater hushed at him, raising his finger to his lips.

Still keeping his finger pressed to his lips, Corpse Eater pointed downward with his other hand. The boy looked to the floor, cocked his head inquiringly, raised his foot, and, finally realizing what he was standing in, gasped.

“What happened?” Puppy Slayer whispered, looking around. “Are we being attacked?”

“I don’t know yet,” Corpse Eater whispered back. “I can’t see anything.”

“We gotta turn on the lights,” Puppy Slayer said, heading toward where the lamp was.

“No, don’t.” Corpse Eater tried to stop him. “We can’t reveal that we’re here when we don’t know—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t need to; the younger boy, stumbling over something, didn’t reach the lamp. For a second he was silent, and then he let out an exclamation—filled with surprise, terror and disgust.

“Keep your voice down!” Corpse Eater hushed at him, and Homewrecker jumped to Puppy Slayer to help him up. A moment later, he let out an exclamation of disgust as well.

Puppy Slayer fell on his butt and started crawling away from the shadows. Something long snagged him, and he hastily threw it off, before getting on all fours and puking.

By that time, Corpse Eater had already realized that the boy must’ve found the corpse that all that blood was leaking from, but he couldn’t figure out why both Puppy Slayer and Homewrecker were acting up. While the former was prone to be icky and have panic attacks at the sight of violence, the latter was more used to such things, if only by virtue of being a year older. What was it about that body that caused such a reaction?

Corpse Eater leaned over the table that separated him from the body and squinted his eyes to take a look. His nostrils were hit with a very sharp smell of manure. From his experience, many people soiled their pants after dying, but the smell was rarely so defined and hard to miss.

Lighting cracked through the sky, illuminating their dark corner for a split second. Corpse Eater gasped.

The body in front of him was mangled beyond recognition—literally: the man on the ground had had his face ripped off, with a single eye hanging by the thread of its nerve. His left arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, and his abdomen was carved wide open, with torn intestines and half-processed food spilling out. His outstretched right arm was permanently frozen in the air, trying to reach the pyramid of AK-47s that the adults had so carelessly set one step too far from their gaming table.

The corpse itself, however, and the state it was in, was not the worst thing; that short burst of light that the lighting provided Corpse Eater had allowed him to catch a glimpse of four more bodies lying on the floor. He didn’t need to come closer to them to reach the conclusion that they were most likely just as mangled as the one in front of him was.

Judging by their poses, they had given up trying to reach their weapons and had instead betted their chances of survival on escaping. For Corpse Eater, who had seen these men fearlessly charge down the streets under heavy fire, that sight was bizarre—almost off-putting, in fact. What kind of opponent would make these men who didn’t value any life—including their own—flee?

He didn’t say anything, fearing that Puppy Slayer, who was still too busy writhing on the ground, would freak out and attract unwanted attention, but he knew that Homewrecker had seen everything as well. Pointing toward the younger boy, Corpse Eater made a hush sound, and Homewrecker slowly nodded. He went to help Puppy Slayer up, and Corpse Eater looked around.

The cover, made of old rusty metal sheets and supported by equally rusty girders, was overlooking the forest that started some hundred feet away from it. In the past, during lunch breaks when the sun was high up in the sky, heating everything below with its curious and omnipresent but scorching gaze, it was probably a favorite spot for tired warehouse workers to rest and enjoy the view while listening to bird songs. For the same reason, the adults of their brigade had chosen this spot as a designated area to spend their time—with some of them idling away there around-the-clock.

Now it was a deadly trap. Its allure and comfort lulling the soldiers’ senses, making them oblivious to the threat looming over them, a threat that crept closer and closer until it was too late to grab a weapon. This place was an accomplice to the massacre that had taken place here, luring the men in, the rain muffling their dying screams.

“Do you think a wild beast did that?” Homewrecker wondered. Corpse Eater shook his shoulders: “I dunno, maybe… But what kind of beast would do something like that? And most importantly… What kind of beast would turn off the lights?”

“Maybe it got broken in the fight?” Homewrecker suggested.

Corpse Eater carefully walked over to where he had remembered the lamp being and, reaching out, felt his fingertips get coated in still-warm blood, running down the very much intact glass. “Doesn’t seem so,” he said, trying to shake the blood off of his hands. “It’s still in one piece,” he explained, wondering to himself if the walls were coated in blood as well.

“This is bonkers.” Corpse Eater could hear growing panic in his friend’s voice. “The lights were on just a few minutes ago; I remember looking here when the rain was starting and seeing that the game was still on. We did nothing but run here after that and now, when we’re here, everyone’s suddenly dead?”

His friend’s words made Corpse Eater’s blood run cold; indeed, when could this bloody massacre have taken place? The window of time when the adults were unaccounted for was very small—during those two minutes when the boys were running toward the adults.

Did that mean that when they had been blindly charging ahead, laughing and giggling, with their clothes pulled over their heads, they were rushing toward a slaughter taking place at that very moment? If they had looked up while they ran, would they have seen the enigmatic assailant slaying five grown soldiers as they tried to escape with their lives? If Corpse Eater hadn’t stumbled and fallen, would that mysterious killer have noticed them coming and killed them as well?

It had disposed of the adults so easily and then vanished without a trace, even turning the lights off before leaving. With such agility, Corpse Eater thought, as the dread was rising within him, creating a lump in his throat. It could be anywhere. That thought made his skin crawl and his leg muscles itch for movement. But, more than staying in that place, the boy was afraid of running out of it, only to come face-to-face with whatever it was that had left five adults lying dead with their guts torn open and necks snapped.

“We need to go to the others,” Puppy Slayer said, panting. He had finally emptied his stomach to the point where he wouldn’t be able to squeeze out another single drop of stomach acid. “We need to wake everyone up and let them know that there’s some animal in our base.”

“I’m not going there.” Corpse Eater shook his head, looking around. “I’m staying here. It already left this place and went somewhere else. Let it be someone else’s problem. I don’t care.”

For a second, there was a pause, as everyone processed what he had said and whether or not it was a good idea. Then, quietly, with concern in every word, Puppy Slayer asked: “Where’s Desecrator?”

Homewrecker spun in place to look at the field where they had come from. His head was turning quickly as he was trying to catch a glimpse of the fourth boy. “I don’t see him,” he said calmly, before he raised his hand to his mouth and gasped. “Do you think it has taken him as well?”

“Can’t be.” Corpse Eater’s breathing was getting erratic, and his head was spinning. “Can’t be,” he repeated, also trying to locate the boy’s red headband. Nothing. He grabbed his head and violently shook it: “No, it can’t be, he was right behind us! How could it snatch him as well?”

Although he couldn’t call Desecrator a friend, his concern was understandable; if the boy was snatched away, then it meant that the unknown assailant—or his accomplice—had been right on their heels the entire time. That meant that he most likely saw them and, at that very moment, was probably planning an attack.

“Son of a bitch!” Corpse Eater swore, startling the other two. “You sure you don’t see him either?”

“I don’t!” Homewrecker shouted back. Panic was making them careless, making them forget that they wanted to stay quiet. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know, keep looking!” Corpse Eater exclaimed, trying to pick up at least something in the rain. “If you don’t see anything, we might make a run for it, if you do—keep your head down!”

The boy’s plans were changing with every passing second; he was too afraid to run, but also afraid that with each passing second the unknown assailant was getting closer.

Puppy Slayer ran over to them, hugging three assault rifles. Corpse Eater appreciated the gesture; he was so in so much panic and confusion that the thought of arming himself never crossed his mind as a viable option. After all, the adults not arming themselves in time didn’t mean that guns were useless. He took the gun and, as its weight rested in his hands, he felt a bit better.

“What the hell is that?” he heard Homewrecker wonder. The question that Corpse Eater dreaded so much made his heartbeat spike; he feared that his friend had spotted something beyond his grasp or understanding. But then he realized that the question didn’t have any fear or shock in it—only complete and utter bewilderment.

The boy glanced at his friend, trying to figure out where he was looking. But contrary to what he had expected, Homewrecker was not looking up ahead; his gaze was aimed at something on the ground.

Corpse Eater glanced down and saw something that, despite everything he had seen in the past few minutes, managed to raise his eyebrows in surprise.

The unknown killer, despite being such a stealthy being, still managed to leave a trail. The imprint of a hand, pressed deeply into the ground, with scratch marks behind it. Though it was already being washed away by the pouring rain, it was deep enough to last long enough for boys to see it.

There was another one next to it, and two other trails on the ground further from the cover probably indicated where the legs were. Scratch marks behind hand imprints could mean only one thing: the attacker, whoever he was, had crawled up close to the very edge of the building, taking up every last inch of darkness before it was dispelled by the light of the lamp, unseen behind the waterfall from the roof. And when the moment was right, he launched himself at them like a wild lion.

But even that wasn’t the strangest detail. The most bizarre thing about this already unbelievable situation were the imprints themselves. The index finger was way too long and thick at its base—at least twice as long as it should’ve been and twice as thick. The thumb, on the other hand, looked more like a solid hook then a finger. And, as Corpse Eater was trying to make sense of these weird traces, he noticed that the footprints were too far behind the hand imprints—separated by no less than seven feet. At that point, it was easier to think of the attacker as non-human, as something else entirely. Some creature that none of them had ever seen.

“There’s another pair,” he heard Homewrecker say. Looking in his direction, Corpse Eater saw that his friend was right; there were more imprints along the line where the water was falling from above. “And here’s another pair.” He pointed, walking along the edge of the concrete platform, noticing more and more. With each phrase he spoke, Corpse Eater’s heart was sank lower and lower.

“And another. And another. And here as well. And—”

The lighting cracked the sky again, shining light under the cover. Then Homewrecker’s voice was cut short by Puppy Slayer’s incessant screaming. It was not a proclamation of disgust as before; the emotion in his voice was primal terror.

“Don’t look at them!” Corpse Eater shouted, turning around. He was expecting to see the younger boy gazing at the mangled corpses that the lightning exposed, but instead the boy was staring into distance—right into the forest. His mouth and eyes opened wider and wider, the whites of his eyes and teeth creating a sharp contrast against the darkness of his skin, and his scream became a high-pitched screeching. Even in the darkness, Corpse Eater could see the boy’s eyes—full of terror and disbelief. He had never seen anything like it.

Corpse Eater glanced at the forest, but the darkness had already settled, concealing whatever Puppy Slayer had seen there. Grabbing him by the shoulders, Corpse Eater demanded answers: “What did you see there?”

“I didn’t want to,” the boy hysterically lamented. “I didn’t want to do it! Tsetse forced me to! Please forgive me!”

Corpse Eater turned to Homewrecker: “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

“Yeah,” Homewrecker uttered, taken aback by what he had just heard. “I do.”

The thunder from the lightning finally reached them, its low rumbling slowly rolling over them, before being overpowered by short crackling bursts—somebody was firing their weapon. It appeared that whatever had attacked the five gamblers had found its way into the main camp.

“I’m not going there.” Corpse Eater shook his head. “They’re on their own. I’m not facing whoever did all of this.”

“No! We need to go to the others! Please!” Puppy Slayer suddenly started pleading, grabbing Corpse Eater’s hand. “Let’s go, right now!”

“Are you crazy? Whoever did all this is probably there at this very moment!”

“We need to go. Please. We need to go” Puppy Slayer whimpered, looking at Corpse Eater with wide, full-of-fear eyes. It was clear that he wanted to join the others but was too afraid to go there alone.

This didn’t seem like the usual Puppy Slayer, who was always evading combat, nor was it even logical. If he was scared of what had killed all of the adults, why go to the place where they knew it was at this moment?

What did he see in that forest that made him terrified beyond reason?

Perhaps he should be scared, too?

Corpse Eater grabbed Puppy Slayer by the shoulders and shook him again: “Man, you have to tell me: What did you see in those woods?”

But no matter how hard he tried to force the answer out of the boy, Puppy Slayer wasn’t replying.

Corpse Eater was getting impatient; this was neither the time nor the place to throw a fit for no apparent reason. “Listen, I’m getting sick of it. Either you tell me right now or—”

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Homewrecker reached out to him, and when Corpse Eater looked at him, the boy made a “hush” sign and pointed upward.

The old rusty roof was slightly screeching as the metal sheets were rubbing against each other. Something was moving on top of it.

Chapter 7

Desecrator

The three boys running in front of him were gaining a significant lead on him, but Desecrator didn’t want to follow their example and speed up—partly because he thought that racing was childish, and partly because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to catch up and overtake them. And you can’t lose if you don’t play.

The rain was pouring more and more, but running through it would only make it worse, so the boy resigned to walking at a steady pace. If the adults were to see him racing along with the rest of the boys, he could get in trouble—just like they probably already had.

He looked ahead at where the adults were and stopped in his tracks. He thought that his eyes must’ve been deceiving him. There was no way that was happening.

From such a distance, it was hard to see what was going on, with everyone almost looking like stick figures, and at first the boy thought that he was imagining things. And yet, as he blinked and wiped the water from his eyes, the same scene was unraveling before him.

One of the adults was already lying dead on the floor, while the rest were trying to escape, completely abandoning any attempt to help him. Their pursuers were what made Desecrator question whether he was feeling all right—he couldn’t see them well, but he could definitely make out that there was something off about their appearance, and the difference was strong enough that he could easily tell them apart from the soldiers of his brigade.

The attackers’ limbs were unnaturally long, carrying their bodies with inhuman grace and speed. When they leapt toward their prey, Desecrator could swear that their legs had more joints than a normal human leg should, and when they swung the long blades in their hands the boy was sure that no knife could be held like that.

Those can’t be humans, Desecrator realized. They looked more like grasshoppers who had revolted against crawling on the ground, insects that learned to walk upright. And yet, their resemblance to humans was uncanny. Arms and legs, while bizarrely elongated, were attached to their bodies just where a normal human would have them, and the heads on their shoulders had the same shape and size as the boy’s own. He thought that he could even make out some clothes on their bodies.

They operated with precision and without any remorse. He could see the adults run past their guns, too scared to pause even for a second to pick them up, and he saw how futile it was when the monsters caught up to them in three steps. The men were probably screaming, but Desecrator couldn’t hear them—the rain had turned off the volume.

And all the while those creatures were slaughtering them, while the number of living soldiers under that old rusty roof went down from five to zero in mere seconds, as the grey floor and blue-and-white walls were rapidly turning red, three boys were cheerfully running toward them, completely oblivious to the carnage that was taking place some two hundred feet in front of them.

The last of the soldiers had his throat slit, and the gush of red blood landed on the lamp. Its light immediately changed from warm yellow to hot red and, to Desecrator’s surprise, one of the creatures approached it to turn it off—most likely to conceal the crime scene from unwanted eyes.

A second after the light went out, Corpse Eater tripped and the boys stopped running, approaching him to help him up. During those few seconds, the monsters crawled out of the darkness, swiftly moving on all fours, and headed in the direction of the warehouse where the rest of the brigade was.

As if waiting for their signal, more creatures charged out of the woods. Desecrator counted seven, but he wasn’t sure there weren’t more in the darkness or approaching from the other side of the building. Some of the monsters were crawling on all fours, almost dragging their stomachs on the ground, while others were gracefully leaping on their hind legs, as if on long stilts, covering a good ten feet per leap. These otherworldly monsters, demons that his mother scared him with in childhood, were marching toward the brigade. An unearthly parade marching seemingly straight out of hell.

All of them vanished behind the building. All of them—save for one. It stood up on its hind legs, its head towering three meters above the ground, and looked at the running boys. For a moment, Desecrator thought that it would charge straight at them, but instead it fell to the ground and crept back into the bushes at the edge of the forest.

Corpse Eater vanished in the darkness beneath the roof, and ten or so seconds later the other two boys caught up to him there. Desecrator could not see what was going on there, but he had a good idea.

Everything that had transpired took place in no more than one or two minutes. The shock of what he had seen hadn’t passed, and the boy felt tempted to pinch himself to make sure that it wasn’t some bizarre dream. Five minutes before, he had been playing cards with the only people he could start to call friends, and now his mind was open to the existence of unimaginable monstrosities. Even during his worst trips on the battlefield, where the waking nightmare blended in with drug-induced horrors, he had never seen anything like this. And only shock, and the fact that he was a distant observer and not an active participant of those actions, spared him from having a mental breakdown.

Distance was making it all seem unreal. Yet if those creatures were to get close to him, the reality would quickly catch up as well.

Are there any of those monsters around? he wondered, and the mere thought that he might not be so far away from them made his knees tremble. He quickly lay down on the wet grass, trying to keep his head low, and only then carefully looked around. Nothing. He was safe—for now.

The sound of rolling thunder reached his ears, along with crackling gunshots—it seemed that the monsters had reached the brigade and were now engaged in combat with them. Desecrator could see gunshots lighting up in the distance, but he didn’t see the combatants themselves—most of the fights were taking place indoors. The boy shuddered at the thought of being trapped in an enclosed space with one of those creatures. Years on the battlefield almost made him forget how to fear a bullet, but he could imagine all too vividly what horrific wound those claws could cause and how much it would hurt.

Some movement caught his eye. He turned his head to see what it was and froze: one of those creatures was climbing down the roof of the warehouse toward the adjacent cover that, at that moment, still housed the other three kids. Desecrator watched it get to the very edge of the warehouse’s roof before leaping down onto the cover.

He couldn’t see the reaction of the boys, but he was sure that there was no way they missed the noise such a landing should’ve made. At any moment he expected them to run out of the darkness beneath the cover and run to the other side of the warehouse. But the darkness lit up with the flares of gunpowder ejecting rounds out of the gun, and the creature started twitching under the barrage of bullets; the boys had chosen to open fire instead of running away.

“They found the guns.” Desecrator smirked, feeling some sort of camaraderie with them growing in his chest—a new, but very pleasant feeling. He almost felt like rooting for them, if only because, unlike him, they could actually do something. “Lucky bastards.”

Of course, their luck was minor; had luck truly been on their side, they wouldn’t have ended up in this situation. They’d be near Desecrator, hiding in the grass while the rest did all the heavy lifting.

Despite the fact that their line of sight was obstructed by a sheet of metal, the boys did a very good job pinpointing the exact location of the creature above them—if Desecrator had to guess, he’d say that it was due to the noise that moving on such a rickety surface would produce. Yet even though they emptied what seemed like half a magazine each into its belly, the damned thing was still alive; Desecrator could see it try to crawl away from the line of fire despite the heavy damage it had sustained. Its right arm was barely moving and its general outline seemed pretty tarnished, yet despite all of that it still was not giving up trying to escape. For Desecrator, it was clear: these monsters were not just extremely deadly, they were also very hard to kill. An awful combination.

“The General would give an arm and a leg to have a few of those under his command,” Desecrator noted, watching the vile monstrosity finally fall off the edge of the roof.

Somebody walked out from under the cover—judging by his shirt, it was Corpse Eater. Desecrator grunted as the boy put a few final shots in the creature’s head: “Show off.”

After making sure that the creature was dead, the kids ran off in the direction of the gunfire, to join with the rest of the brigade. Desecrator thought that it was a good move on their part, but he had no intention of doing the same. Unlike the boys, he didn’t have any weapon on him, and he was far enough from the action, so keeping his distance was the best strategy for him. At that moment, he wasn’t burning with desire to prove his worth to the General; those creatures weren’t civilians or enemy soldiers. They didn’t go down so easily. So even if he had a gun on him… If it took three guns continuously firing at a point-blank range to kill one creature, what could he possibly do alone?

“Shying away from combat?” He suddenly heard a female voice behind him. It startled him to the point that he thought he’d experienced a heart attack. But it wasn’t just because of the sudden appearance of that woman coming seemingly out of nowhere—it was the intonation with which she asked her question, completely calm and carefree, as if the world around them wasn’t going to hell.

Turning around to take a look at the new arrival, he saw a young girl, no older than in her twenties, in a short dress, standing some two meters away from him. Her dress had a blood-soaked hole when her abdomen was and, although the pouring rain was doing its best to wash it away, her face and hands had blood on them as well.

No wounds, though.

Desecrator could put two and two together. He knew that the bizarre woman’s appearance and those monsters attacking weren’t taking place at the same time out of coincidence.

Which meant that she probably meant trouble.

He slowly tried getting onto his feet. She didn’t stop him.

“The hell you want, bitch?” Desecrator tried to sound tough, but nothing in his voice carried any threat—he was too scared for that. If anything, it sounded like he was concerned with what she could do to him.

The girl cocked her head to the side: “You don’t recognize me?”

“I recognize you want some trouble, bitch,” Desecrator tried to intimidate her. She was unimpressed.

She examined him from head to toe: “Where is your gun?”

“Not your concern,” Desecrator cut her off, carefully eyeing her. She didn’t seem to have any weapons on her either. What was she doing walking like that near their base, right when it was being attacked? And what was with the blood?

The girl turned her dreamy gaze to the base where the carnage was taking place, and, pointing at it, asked: “Are you with them?”

“Hell yeah, I’m with them.” Desecrator clung to that opportunity; if she didn’t recognize his authority then perhaps she’d recognize the authority of the General. “We are the Revolutionary Brigade of Liberia, this country’s finest. So you don’t mess with me or we’ll kill you, all right?” Desecrator finished with an aggressive glare, feeling his confidence coming back to him.

“How long have you been with them?” she asked in a calm tone.

“Bitch, I’m the one asking quest—”

“How long. Have you been with them,” She repeated her question more sternly, staring the boy right in the eye. Suddenly, he felt that even if he had a weapon with him he wouldn’t be able deal with her. At that moment, he was willing to bet that she would win in a stare down with a rhino.

“Uh, I’ve always been with them,” he answered, trying to regain his composure. “I’m the OG, girl. I’m with the Brigade from the start. Been to a hundred fights and, uh, I killed a lot.” He paused, and after some thinking, added: “Don’t mess with me, all right? So, who are you and…”

“I see,” she said, and the tone of her voice made Desecrator stop talking. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that she had just passed his sentence. “Then what are you waiting for? Run to your people.”

Desecrator was befuddled. Did she really expect him to run to them when those monsters were there?

“What?” Was all he asked.

“Run,” she repeated, and glanced at something to their side.

Desecrator suddenly had a very vile feeling. He turned his head, dreading what he was going to see there. Yet no preparation could prepare him for the reality.

One of those creatures was running toward them. It was far away, and the long, graceful leaps of its stilt-like legs made it look like it was running in slow motion. But Desecrator knew: with each leap it was getting fifteen feet closer to him.

He turned around and started running toward the base. The girl stayed where she was, but somehow Desecrator knew that the creature wouldn’t harm her. He was running as fast as he could, to the place where just a minute ago he thought he wouldn’t approach, because he knew: his only salvation was there. If we were to run away from the base it would catch up to him. His only hope was that somebody would see him running away from that beast and spare a few bullets to save him.

You can’t lose if you don’t play. Sadly, not playing wasn’t an option for him anymore. At that moment, as he was pushing himself to run at his limit while hoping that he wouldn’t tumble, he wished that he had raced with the boys instead. Perhaps they also had it rough, but there was no way their situation was worse than his.

The roars and squeals of his otherworldly pursuer were making his hair stand up; strange and unknown to his ear, they nevertheless sounded similar to a human voice—making its screeches even more uncomfortable. The boy was not looking back as he ran—he knew that the sight of that monster, the visual confirmation of the fact that it was chasing HIM of all people, could drive him crazy. He was not in the same situation as those adults he had witnessed dying, he told himself again and again. Bad things were happening to other people. He couldn’t be in any danger. He was supposed to live to be a hundred years old and die in his sleep.

Driven by such thoughts, he was putting everything he had into running. He was doing his best not thinking about the fact that the monster’s screeching was getting closer. And, as the buildings of the old warehouse and other structures adjacent to it were getting closer, the boy started to hope that he could make it. That he could outrun the beast that was hot on his heels.

And then, he actually did.

The building closest to him had its windows on the first floor broken, leaving only dusty shards of glass. It was Desecrator’s chance to survive, to try to change the pace and surroundings of their chase, but more importantly, the boy heard shots going off inside that building—meaning that there were other soldiers inside. Meaning they were armed. Meaning they could fight back. Sure, it also meant that at least one of those creatures was inside, but he already had one on his tail. His situation could hardly get worse.

Like a bunny escaping from a wolf, the boy charged toward the window—his small rabbit hole—and in one jump he clung onto it, pulled himself up, and crawled through. Later he would find out that a dusty shard of glass had sliced his ear, almost cutting his earlobe off, but at that moment he didn’t feel any pain—it was extinguished by adrenaline.

The beast behind him roared in frustration, and the boy could hear its pitch change as it sped up and charged toward the window, hoping to catch him. He jumped forward onto the floor, hoping to do a roll as he landed, but in his panicked state he lunged forward with too much strength, and his roll devolved into a clumsy fall. He winced and hissed as his shoulder blade hit the corner of an old clerk table. A moment later, a loud strike echoed through the room; the creature had crashed into the wall, failing to jump through the window after Desecrator.

Desecrator didn’t want to look at it, but he did anyway—if only to get a handle on his situation. What he saw horrified him—not because the sight of it was so outlandish, but because it confirmed his deepest fears and concerns.

The creature had a human face.

The left corner of its mouth stretched back all the way to the ear, making the thing look like it was wearing a goofy apologetic smile and revealing strange bone-like growths; it seemed like the creature had wanted to grow extra teeth, but had only a picture of a coral reef as a template. A piece of glass was sticking out of its bleeding (and very-much-human-looking) eye, but besides that it was the normal face of a male in his thirties. Even if the monster wasn’t a human, it definitely had been in the past.

Further confirming the boy’s theory, its intact eye spun in its orbit until it could look straight at the boy, and the creature stretched its mouth further. Desecrator was not sure if it was meant to be a smile or a snare.

“Rhinoceros Beetle,” The thing suddenly spoke. Its voice was low and raspy, like that of a smoker on his deathbed. “Peeking Princess. Unlove.”

There was cohesion in what it was saying. Whatever its message to the boy was, it was lost and confused in translation as the creature was not experienced with the tongue it had inherited from its past life. It had the different pieces of the mosaic, but the glue to keep them together was missing.

The boy shook his head, trying to get rid of that image. But despite his protests, it had already anchored itself in his psyche. Till the end of his days, he would remember that conversation with the stranger in the window.

He jumped to his feet and rushed for the old door at the end of the office, blindly hoping that it had some sort of padlock on the other side.

“Legless Sunset?” He heard the question, before the shard of glass started rustling and breaking as his pursuer started pulling his body through the window. Just when the boy reached the door, he heard its body hit the floor.

He grabbed a handle and pushed at the door with his full weight. The door was locked but the old cheap plywood it was made of didn’t offer much resistance, and he swung it open, leaving the lock where it was. For a second, he panicked that he had no means to close it behind him, but the solution offered itself almost immediately; the door led to a narrow corridor and, right across it, along the other wall, stood a large dresser.

The boy swung the door closed, but as he did that he turned around—just in time to see the creature rise to its feet. At three meters in height, its head almost touched the ceiling, and the length of its arms and feet gave it that uncanny resemblance to an insect that Desecrator had noted before. At the same time, unlike the other creatures, this one was completely naked, and its uncovered privates were another disturbing reminder that the creature in front of him was once human. The skin on its long, thin, multi-jointed legs was stretching to a point where the boy could almost see through it, and it was even tearing on its left disfigured calf, hanging from the muscles like an old, overused sponge. In fact, due to its unashamed nakedness, the boy could see in great detail that many spots on its body were losing their coloration, becoming almost see-through, opening up the opportunity for an onlooker to gaze at the inner workings of the processes that were molding the body into a fearsome killing mechanism. Processes far too disturbing and complicated for the boy to describe.

The creature glanced at Desecrator and made a move toward the door. With a terrified screech, he slammed it shut and jumped toward the dresser. With a significant effort, pushing into it with his hurt shoulder, he managed to topple it against the door.

Not even bothering to check if his improvised barricade would hold the beast, he turned around and dashed down the corridor. He heard the creature crash into the door but, judging by the sound, it didn’t break through; to do so it would need to completely crush the entire dresser, as it was pushing against the wall opposite to the door. Old as it was, it had to endure for at least some time. With that hope in mind, the boy rushed down the corridor, with its plaster peeling off and the stain of piss lingering around, and around the corner.

Desecrator was disheartened that there was no one on the first floor, but maybe it was for the best; who knew how things would have turned out if one of those creatures had been waiting on the other side of the door.

The door leading back to the outside was in front of him, but he wanted to go upstairs. Partly because he wanted to get to other adults—judging by how long he had been hearing their shots, they were probably alive and kicking and, at that very moment, they were shooting at the things roaming the streets outside—and partly because taking an elevated position when in danger was an evolutionary adaptation, passed on to all humans from their tree-dwelling ancestors. The boy trusted his instincts; he knew they wouldn’t lead him into a trap.

But as he was nearing the stairwell that would take him to what he believed to be his saviors, a terrible scream full of terror reached him from above. He heard the heavy thumping of boots as the soldiers were running above him, trying to reach the exit, and the inhuman exclamations of their executioners: “Promote! Dust of Yellow! Dreaming Below!”

Desecrator had made the wrong bet. The soldiers in that building were not taking defense. They were being cornered.

As if to confirm his guess, he heard a body hit the floor just above him. Blood trickled down in a thick red stream, and he heard the sound of clothes, meat, and bones being cleaved apart. At the same time, the sound of wood breaking under a relentless assault reached him from around the corner, and the roars of his pursuer suddenly became much clearer.

He couldn’t run outside, he knew that. He was out of breath, but that wasn’t the biggest problem; he could not bear being chased around helpless, without any means to defend himself. He’d rather face death than that torment again. The torment of laying eyes on them again.

Trying to move both as quickly and as quietly as possible, hoping that his trembling legs wouldn’t betray his presence by accidentally kicking some piece of rubble lying around, he snuck under the concrete stairs and assumed a fetal position. The stream of blood stained his head as he crawled under it, and a puddle of blood was quickly forming under him, but he paid it no attention. If anything, it could mask his scent.

He had to squeeze his mouth and nose shut as he heard his pursuer charge past the stairwell outside, and he held his breath as the second creature descended from above.

I reek of sweat, Desecrator was thinking in panic. His hands were trembling so much that he was afraid the creature would hear his bones rattling. It’s going to smell me. I should’ve run outside.

He didn’t know if the creature was aware, or even suspected, that he was so close to it. His heart was pounding against his ribs, urging him to make a break for it. If that thing finds me here I’m done for. There’s nowhere to run to here. The boy was desperately thinking, weighing his options. If I make a run for it, I might get past it. Maybe it’s my only chance to survive. Or is it? Should I stay or should I go?

The creature stopped right above him. The boy heard it pull air through its nostrils.

Chapter 8

Homewrecker

“They can be killed! Focus your fire on one at a time!” Homewrecker shouted as he and the other two boys ran toward the group of adults.

The majority of their forces had reunited and set up their defense in the warehouse. The soldiers were just as scared as the kids; none of them had ever been in such a situation before. They were used to being the most terrifying force on the battlefield. None of them could cope with their new roles.

Nevertheless, their power was in their numbers—doing a quick headcount, Homewrecker came to the conclusion that most of the men were already inside the warehouse. Once they realized that these monstrosities, no matter how durable, could be killed, things would go their way. Homewrecker believed in that.

The General was overlooking the warehouse from the platform on the second floor, which had an iron staircase leading up to it. Before the war, that was the main office where logisticians counted their numbers and kept the paperwork on stored goods. Now it was the General’s fortress, his nest from which he commanded his troops in what seemed to be their final battle.

The boys came inside just in time; the soldiers were already closing the gates of the warehouse and bolting them shut. It would not stop the beasts from entering—only their own men—but it seemed that neither the General nor his men cared about that. The sounds of gunfights and slaughter taking place outside were not their concern.

“Set up the perimeter!” the General commanded to his men. “I want eyes on every entrance to this building! Nothing slips through!”

A creature tried to break through the window; Homewrecker heard the glass shatter and when he turned around, a long hand with a terrible claw for an index finger was wildly swinging around, trying blindly to hit someone.

A dozen or so men closest to the window opened fire on it, but only a few bullets managed to hit it before it retreated. There was no roar of pain or anger from the monster on the other side of the wall—it simply realized its mistake and pulled out before further damage could be done to it. The indifference to bullets with which these monsters were going into battle, their complete disregard of the very concept of death till the very end, was what was making everyone terrified. The General could probably see that the morale of his soldiers was waning, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The best thing he had going for him at that moment was that there was nowhere for his soldiers to run. Their salvation lay in their numbers; they were gravitating together, and the man was their axis.

At that point, the monsters had realized that the warehouse was impenetrable, and were now circling it, most likely looking for an opening. The soldiers got quieter, hushing and swearing at those who were still talking, trying to pinpoint the location of their assailants. In the silence, everyone inside the warehouse could hear them moving and shifting around, their claws scratching against the walls and rubble, their incoherent mad ramblings driving the soldiers crazy. A pair of claws clanked against the metallic roof, and a few men opened fire into it. The clanking stopped, but no one had any doubts that the bullets didn’t hit their target.

“Where the hell is it?”

“Do you think we hit it?”

“There’s something behind that window!”

“What are they all muttering?”

“We need to get out of here!”

“None of you are going anywhere.” They heard a voice coming from the outside. The sheer unexpectedness and loudness of that voice made everyone stop what they were doing and listen. Everyone could tell that the person wasn’t using a loudspeaker. The sound was female, and it was nothing short of a miracle that her vocal chords didn’t tear.

“Did you just hear that?”

“Who was that?”

“It’s one of those creatures, I’m telling you! You heard that they can speak, right?”

“I have a proposition to everyone inside!” the voice continued, and everyone went quiet again. “We want only the General! Give him up and we’ll let the rest of you go!”

“Don’t listen to her!” the General exclaimed from the platform. He was keeping his cool, and Homewrecker had no way of knowing if he was intimidated by the promise of the unknown speaker. “She’s saying that to deceive you and make you lose your guard! The moment we open any of those doors they’ll be all over us!”

“The General will keep hiding behind your backs! He will not hesitate to put all of you in the line of fire if it means that he will survive another minute!”

“That crazy bitch lies!” Anxiety started to creep into the General’s voice. “She wants to behead our Brigade! Those creatures did nothing but kill you and your brothers out there! You’re going to trust such an enemy?”

“We will not be held back by these doors for much longer. Sooner or later we’ll break in. Once we do, everyone we’ll find inside will be killed! You have one minute to decide.”

The soldiers started whispering and murmuring to each other, discussing their situation, and Homewrecker himself started thinking: Perhaps it really was possible to just give them the General?

After all, he thought, we can’t be sure that we will be able to kill all of them. Who knows how many there are of those demons outside.

“Do you think we should take her up on her offer?” Homewrecker asked Corpse Eater.

The boy shook his head. “No way. You’ve seen what her demons did to those men. We don’t know who she is or what she really wants, so trusting her is not smart.”

“We can’t trust them,” Puppy Slayer whispered. “They are not here to make peace with us.”

Not everyone agreed with Puppy Slayer. At that moment, unbeknownst to them, everyone had become a player, and the brigade had split into two teams. Everyone wanted to win—nobody wanted the house to take it all. The lingering questions that ran through everyone’s minds like news through a telegraph wire were: What would be the best course of action? And how would the others react?

How to make the right choice and choose the winning team?

Which team would win?

The commotion was silenced when the General fired a shot into the ceiling: “Do I hear doubt in you? Did my ears betray me?” His voice was not worried anymore. Instead, it carried confidence and power, as well as deep sorrow. It was the voice of a father who had found out that his son was misbehaving.

“Listen to me!” the General shouted, and everybody instantly obeyed. His confidence was like the north to everyone’s internal compass. “You think she’ll do you violence? She’s still wet behind her ears when it comes to such things. I’ve been doing it for over a decade and you know it. Nothing—nothing! That she can do to you will ever match my wrath if you betray me and listen to her.”

It was a ballsy move; on the verge of being betrayed the General decided that the best course of action would be to double down on his stance. And it was working.

“You are not a cowardly lot. I can see you are all ready to battle but some of you—some of you!” he repeated for a greater effect, casting his gaze upon the crowd, and Homewrecker saw, from the corner of his eye, Puppy Slayer lowering his head. “Have doubts about it. Well, I’ll pretend that I didn’t see you doubt me. For this time only, I will let you join your brothers in a fight and I will not mention that I saw you trembling. I will not make you into everyone’s whore and feast. So pick up your weapons and fight for me, as you always have!”

Homewrecker figured out what the man was doing. He was not appealing to the men’s bravery—he knew it to be an unreliable and treacherous quality. No, he was doing the opposite. He was appealing to their fear. Their fear of casting the wrong choice and landing on the wrong side of the barricade.

And one by one, accepting the rules of the game and making the choice to leave the choice to the man, the soldiers started to cheer for him. And Homewrecker could see how, one by one, the adults around him were getting more and more restless. Hyping themselves up and going all in.

“All hail General Malaria!”

“We never doubted your words, General!”

“We will prevail!”

“Death to the witch!”

“Idiots,” Homewrecker heard Corpse Eater whisper under his breath. “But maybe it’s for the best. At least now they’re all on the same page.”

“I guess that means ‘no,’” they heard from the outside. “Even better. These people lusted for your blood anyway.”

The heavy gates suddenly screeched and heaved, breaking under the pressure exerted on them from the outside. The soldiers raised their weapons, aiming at the gates. They expected them to smash open, revealing the monstrosities on the other side—yet nothing followed. There was only silence. There was only tension.

Homewrecker could smell it—it smelled like sweat on unwashed bodies. He could taste it—it tasted like iron. He could hear it—it sounded like raindrops hitting against the slate sheets on the roof.

And he could hear something else—the clanking of claws scratching against the slate on the roof.

For a moment so short it couldn’t be measured, he and everyone else in the warehouse froze, bound together by the realization that struck all of them at the same time. For the first time in his life, the boy could feel the connection between him and the grunts around him. All of them sensed where the enemy was. All of them knew what was coming next.

Then the moment passed. Everyone and everything started moving at the same time.

The sheets of slate scratched against each other as they were moved out of the way by monstrous hands, and one them fell down, landing on some poor soul’s face who was looking up at his death. The rain instantly poured in, and the columns of water falling from above let everyone know where the breaches were. Standing near them meant certain death, and Homewrecker mentally said his goodbyes to those who were drenched in it.

The creatures followed the rain, pouring from above into the warehouse. They wanted to flood it with blood, and Homewrecker had no doubt that they would easily manage that.

Some of them landed poorly, breaking their limbs, but that didn’t hinder their advance. Their bodies were no more than vessels for hatred that transcended death, mediums for the priestess’ hatred. Even lying on the ground, they crawled toward their prey, intending to use their jagged, exposed bones to gouge the scared eyes out, extinguish their light.

The warehouse wasn’t their salvation, Homewrecker realized. It was their prison, their cage, their tomb. The concrete pot in which they were served.

The noise was deafening. The sounds were bouncing against the walls and each other, trying to break free. The shouting, the screams of terror and pain, the shots, and the mad incoherent ramblings all mixed together to create a cacophony of hell.

They can speak, was all that Homewrecker could think about in a panic. They can speak!

It seemed such an odd detail to point out, but it was driving him insane. His youthful mind was confused by that juxtaposition, by the fact that he couldn’t place these creatures in some one precise folder in his mind. They looked like humans—and yet they weren’t.

He was trying to lock onto some target, but wherever he looked there were soldiers running around. He didn’t want to shoot any of them, so he wasn’t pulling the trigger. And he received a confirmation that his worries weren’t groundless when he saw one of the soldiers get accidentally shot in the back of the head.

The General was shouting instructions to them, but nobody listened. Everybody knew better. Everybody could see only the most immediate threat and react to it accordingly, whether it was fighting, running away, or both. Their formation, if there had been any, was ruined.

Blood and madness. That was what surrounded Homewrecker. It was like a flashback of the nightmare he had experienced the week before, only there were no drugs to dull his senses.

A creature with the innocent face of a fifteen-year-old girl was sinking its teeth into the face of a soldier, and the distance between her jaws was quickly shortening from four inches, to three, and then—in one quick snap—to none.

Another one—a thing with the visage of a frail old man—was slowly pushing its claws into some poor soldier’s abdomen. Its hands went in up to the middle of the forearms, but the creature wouldn’t stop, even though its claw had already pierced through the skin on the man’s shoulders and were now looking like two growing spikes.

All around Homewrecker, soldiers were dying, soiling themselves, trying to shoot the enemy and hitting each other instead, throwing their weapons away and kneeling before the attackers, trying to plea for their lives and setting up themselves for a clean shot to the head. They were being butchered, and it didn’t matter whether they were grown-ups or boys.

The creatures were taking heavy losses, too, but considering how each of them could soak in a full clip of ammo at a close range before going down, Homewrecker almost felt like they could afford it. Their limbs fell away, their ravaged flesh sloughed off, and yet they persevered. They ignored all reason and logic of life with heretical tenacity, and where their enemies were falling from a single strike, they could endure twenty.

Homewrecker was weaving between the soldiers left and right, like a needle going in and out of cloth, constantly on the lookout for an outstretched hand with a monstrous claw. He knew that stopping meant dying, that his only chance of survival was leaving the fighting to someone else and hoping that they would succeed. Hoping that he wouldn’t catch a stray shot in his face. A selfish position, but so far it worked. He could see Corpse Eater doing the same. The gun seemed heavy at that moment, but even though he had no intention of fighting he still kept it on him. Just in case.

As he was looking out for more threats, his eyes rolling in their orbits trying to calculate the best trajectory for him which would put the most bodies between him and the attackers, he suddenly noticed something from the corner of his eye. Something that, even with everything weird going on around him, was too bizarre not to notice.

A female figure.

Her small, lean silhouette was a sharp contrast to the asymmetric shapes of the monsters or the soldiers’ bodies, and it didn’t fit into the picture inside the boy’s head. He couldn’t grasp how she could be there or where she had come from. He was sure that the soldiers hadn’t brought any trophy wives from the village—not that the girl looked scared or shaken by what was happening around her.

She turned her head, and Homewrecker felt like he had been seared by the ferocity her gaze radiated.

But also, he was shaken because he recognized that face. He remembered where he had seen her before. Her screams of desperation had been echoing around his head for the last week.

He had seen her in the previous nightmare. She was the girl whom the General had shot and violated.

And she wasn’t a victim anymore.

Her small build was giving her an advantage—nobody paid much attention to her until it was too late. Even though she lacked the blades or limbs retrofitted for better killing, she was just as deadly as the rest of the creatures. Homewrecker shuddered when her tiny fist went into some soldier’s chest up to the wrist, breaking through his ribcage and stretching his skin, and when another one nearby noticed her presence she pushed his head backward until his neck broke.

Looking up at the General on the platform, she took a deep breath and then shouted his name.

“General Malaria!”

Homewrecker instantly connected the dots: it was her voice he had heard before. It was her voice that had been powerful enough to dwarf the sounds of rain outside, and the sound of it rivaled the burst of a grenade. It certainly had a similar effect on everyone standing nearby, with a few of the nearest soldiers missing their shots completely. The boy wasn’t sure if it was due to the loudness or something else, but her voice made him feel dizzy.

Even from a distance, Homewrecker could see that the General was shocked to see her. Their eyes locked, and despite the carnage happening around them, neither of them looked away.

Some soldier used that opportunity and opened fire on the priestess from behind. The bullets hit her in the back, sending her stumbling forward, but Homewrecker was shocked to realize that even though a few shots went clean through, they did nothing to her. Turning around, she jumped at the man who raised his weapon in defense and, in one move, twisted his head around—seemingly just as easily as if he was a chicken.

Another shot flew in her direction, blowing a piece of flesh out of her shoulder, yet it did nothing but anger her. She seemed different from the creatures around her—more alive, in a human sense of the word, and her body sustained wounds just like any other body. Yet some unseen force was warding death away from her, holding her tired and exhausted tissues together. It didn’t make any sense that she could be alive when the boy could see her entrails—and yet that was the case.

She screamed again, and her shout was so loud that it ceased to be a sound wave—it became a blast. Homewrecker could feel the air around his face tremble as the woman’s vocal chords commanded it.

The remaining glass in the windows shattered under her assault. Many of the soldiers let go of their weapons to cover their ears, and Homewrecker was one of them. The priestess’ roar of fury was too much for them to endure. It didn’t just strike fear into everyone around her—it physically incapacitated them. Even the beasts lowered their heads in submission.

When Homewrecker raised his head again, he could see the woman going in his direction. She was heading for the General—but the boy suddenly received an image in his head that she would walk right through him on her way to her goal, even if he were to drop to the ground. As if to confirm his thoughts, she stomped on the head of one of the soldiers rolling on the floor, making his eyes pop out of the sockets that became too narrow to house them.

Oh no, was all the boy could think. This is how I die. An absurd, ridiculous in its simplicity, almost funny thought. He had always imagined his last moments to be more dramatic.

Would anyone mourn him?

His ears could barely register new noises, so he almost didn’t hear the shot, but he could see its results. The priestess’ throat suddenly ruptured and exploded, and she reached for it to cover it.

Another shot fired a few seconds after that, hitting in the same area and blowing her fingers to bits. Then, a second later, another one came.

Someone was firing at her—methodically, with great precision. Someone who seemed to be unaffected by her sound blast. Someone who saved him.

Homewrecker took a look. It was Tsetse.

The boy was the only one standing. With everyone around them on the floor, shell-shocked, he had a perfectly clear view of his target—and he didn’t lose that opportunity. Homewrecker could see with his own eyes why their captain was so feared. Every bullet in his gun counted. Every shot would hit where it hurt the most.

The priestess lowered her hands, and Homewrecker could see that her entire throat—along with the jugular veins and everything else—was gone. The only things that remained were the neck muscles with which she was miraculously keeping her head upright, white bones protruding out of her spinal cord… and something else.

Something unrecognizable was sticking out of her wound, as if it had decided to take a peek at what all the commotion was about. Flesh without flesh, a plant that grew up under some other sun. The boy wasn’t sure where to place it, but one glance at it was enough to conclude that it wasn’t something he—or any of his ancestors, down to the first organism—had ever seen. He revolted against it on instinct; he despised how it was swirling and licking her many wounds, and he didn’t understand where those feelings were coming from.

She raised her hands to defend herself from more shots, and instantly, without a moment of delay, as if they were an extension of her, the creatures jumped toward her, covered her as a veil. Guarding their priestess from more wounds. They started heading toward the door, ignoring the soldiers they were stepping on… and very quickly the brigade caught on to that.

To fall back was seen as a weakness, and the brigade had been preying on the weak since the beginning of the war. They recognized the opportunity to attack, and just as a pack of wolves senses the right moment to attack, so did they.

One after another, they started picking up their weapons and opening fire on the retreating formation, peeling one monster away from it after another. With newfound valor, they capitalized on the opportunity Tsetse had created.

There was a pause at the door, and then the sound of the rain outside burst in from one more location when the doors were opened. The formless mass of monsters squeezed through and dispersed into the night. The fight was over.

Nobody cheered.

Except for the General.

“Tsetse! My hero!” the man shouted from above. “I knew you’d save me some day.”

The boy silently nodded and headed for Homewrecker. Everyone was stepping aside to clear his path.

“Tsetse, I—” Homewrecker tried to say something, but Tsetse just put his hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper into the boy’s ear: “When you anticipate a grenade explosion you cover your ears and open your mouth. I taught you that, didn’t I?”

Homewrecker was taken aback by that comment. They had just fought back the army of hell and Tsetse was concerned about something like that? Wasn’t he even a little bit shocked at what had just happened?

“Next time you don’t listen to what I say—you die” Tsetse grimly warned him and walked off into the crowd, leaving the boy confused.

* * *

The night was restless for everyone; the fighting had left everyone exhausted and drained, while the terror that the creatures and their undying leader could return at any moment kept them on edge. Homewrecker couldn’t catch any sleep; as soon as his eyes would start closing, he would either wake up in terror, fearing that something was sneaking up on him, or he would be awakened by the shouting of other soldiers who believed they had seen something moving in the shadows. He only managed to get a few hours of sleep near the morning, when the exhaustion finally claimed its victory over anxiety and forced the boy to get some sleep. At that point, he was so tired that he wouldn’t miss any sleep even if it meant certain death. Certainly, it was a better alternative to the waking reality that surrounded him.

He was woken up by Tsetse, who told him that it was no time to sleep. Homewrecker blurted out something offensive and snappy, but nevertheless obeyed the captain’s command.

Everyone in the camp had already woken up, so it seemed that Tsetse had allowed them to sleep more than the adults. Homewrecker didn’t know how the captain accomplished that, but he suspected that, with everything going on, the adults simply didn’t care about them.

There was a palpable tension in the air. Looking around, Homewrecker could easily see that the usual careless attitude of the soldiers was gone. For the first time since the beginning of the war, they weren’t invincible or above morals. Their actions had real repercussions now, and, scariest of all, the word “justice” wasn’t something that only they decided. Throughout all of their lives, they had been the only judges of right and wrong in these lands, their power and numbers establishing their authority. To have both of those things questioned was a wake-up call they were not ready for.

The biggest blow to their morale, however, was the fact that the dead had risen from their graves, imbued with whatever mystical power the witch possessed. They had been surrounded by stories from their folklore, and legends about revenge from beyond, from their very childhood. Although they had never openly doubted the existence of the supernatural and mystical, being superstitious folk, they had never faced it either. And now, when the slain had indeed returned as spirits of vengeance, the soldiers were in shock; what other myths and legends that were so meticulously and creatively crafted by their ancestors could turn out to be true? Would they drag them to hell or simply deny them the afterlife? Would they hang their souls on the tree branches to dry out in the sun? Was their entire family tree cursed now?

Nevertheless, the adults did their best to keep themselves busy. To distract themselves from such thoughts with menial tasks. They were all split up into groups and each was doing something of their own. Some were staying on high alert, walking along the perimeter of their camp in small groups; the boy could see that they were pretty anxious about their assignment.

Others were gathering up the corpses of their fallen comrades and pulling them to the muddy stream that ran behind the warehouse; they liked to refer to piles of corpses formed that way as “brotherly burials,” and Homewrecker didn’t want to discourage them.

The third group, as far as the boy could tell, were rounding up the corpses of the demons into one big pile in the middle of the camp. They worked in groups of three: two would pull the carcass while the third one would follow them with his gun ready.

Just one glance at their faces was enough for Homewrecker to conclude: that job was as stressful as it looked. At any moment, it might turn out that the creature that had defied death once before had enough life left in it for one final showdown, with the closest targets being the soldiers who carried them. If Homewrecker didn’t want to get assigned to that, he would be smart to find something else to do for himself.

With that in mind, he noticed the closest duo of soldiers who were carrying the body of a dead man and headed toward them, intending to help them. However, it seemed that they had it all figured out and didn’t need his help.

’Get lost, kid!” one of them shouted. “We already got this, the hell do we need you for? Go look inside that building—there was a massacre on the second floor.”

“Yeah, go help the guys there,” the second one added, adjusting his grip on the body in his hands. “One leg at a time.” With that grim remark, they laughed and left.

Homewrecker could take a guess at what they meant by that. But he figured that even if the second floor was as messy as they suggested, he’d be working indoors, and thus would be safe from eyes looking for some extra set of hands to help with the devils. With that in mind, he hurried toward the building they pointed out.

The stairwell to the second floor was all covered in dried-up blood; one of the poor souls had met his end at the top of it, and it looked like the devil that got to him made sure to bleed him dry.

The boy had no desire to go up there. He already knew what he would find there: dismembered bodies, blood-stained walls, and maybe the remains of one of the things that the soldiers had managed to mortally wound before it got to them. Pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, the boy lit it up and took a heavy hit. Even if it was just an ordinary cigarette with no drugs in it, he still eased up as nicotine spread through his body.

“Slacking off?” He heard a familiar voice behind. Corpse Eater approached him and stretched him hand forward. Taking another heavy hit, Homewrecker passed him the cigarette, and upon grabbing it Corpse Eater raised it in a gesture of appreciation.

“This is seriously messed up,” he said after a few moments of silence. Homewrecker simply nodded. “I couldn’t get a moment of sleep last night,” Corpse Eater continued. “I kept seeing those things as soon as I closed my eyes. They are… something else. What do you think the General’s going to do?”

Homewrecker shook his shoulders. “Knowing him, he’d probably try to kill every last villager who survived.”

“You think he shouldn’t do that?” Corpse Eater suddenly asked.

Homewrecker paused; he wasn’t sure he knew the answer, but something about how nonchalantly his friend asked that question irked him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he finally said. “That would only make things worse. Plus, I don’t think the adults will approve. They’re scared shitless. I’ve never heard them cry out in their sleep.”

“Yes, when they are on the receiving end they suddenly lose their spirit,” Corpse Eater summed up.

He was passing Homewrecker his cigarette back when something suddenly moved under the stairs. The boys clearly heard the shuffling of soles against the dusty concrete. The cigarette fell to the ground, never reaching its target.

“Screw that” Homewrecker blurted out and turned around to rush for the exit. Just in time to come face-to-face with Tsetse.

“Move!” Homewrecker tried to push past him, but Tsetse stopped him: “What’s the rush?” the captain calmly demanded.

“There’s something under the stairs, move!” Homewrecker didn’t give up trying to squeeze in between the captain and the door, but just as he managed that the older boy grabbed him by the shoulder: “If it was one of the demons that attacked us last night then you’d be dead already,” he concluded, looking Homewrecker in the eye. “Don’t you think?” he added, and the boy felt pulled back into the room. It was not his muscles that pulled him in, but the gravity of the captain’s commanding gaze.

“Fine,” he said as he entered the room, his head hanging low. “Go take a look,” Tsetse ordered Corpse Eater, pointing at the staircase. The boy hesitated for a second, but seeing as the captain was calm and his barrel was aimed at the ground, he obeyed.

Homewrecker was nervous; what would they find there? He prayed that it was just a rat, attracted to the smell of death by its life-sustaining lack of good taste. However, the expression on his friend’s face wasn’t relief or shock. It was genuine surprise.

“Holy shit! What the hell are you doing there?” Corpse Eater exclaimed.

Slowly and carefully, throwing a concerned glance from beneath the stairs, Desecrator crawled out from under the stairs. His tired expression told Homewrecker that he had spent the entire night there, without an ounce of sleep, listening to the demons walk right above him in their search of the next prey. But there wasn’t a sign of relief on the boy’s face; he was shamefully hiding his eyes from the boys, and he turned his head away when he realized that Tsetse was in the room as well.

“We thought that you were dead,” Homewrecker said, bewildered. “Have you been hiding there the entire time?”

“No,” the boy said, still hiding his eyes. “I saw those creatures attack the base and ran here to join the rest of the soldiers.”

“You saw what?” Corpse Eater was confused. “You were right behind us, and then you were gone. When exactly did you see the attack? And why would you run here?”

“I saw it when they attacked those guys who were playing cards,” Desecrator explained.

“And you didn’t try to warn us?” The disappointment in Corpse Eater’s voice was immeasurable. “Seriously? We could’ve been killed!” he angrily exclaimed. “We were looking for you!”

“I tried to warn you, but you didn’t hear,” Desecrator said. “After that I was attacked and had to run off here.”

“Bullshit!” Corpse Eater was getting worked up. “We looked around and we didn’t see either you or any of those things. You fucking coward! You must’ve hid while we were fighting for our lives!”

“I ain’t no coward.” Desecrator looked up, trying to remain stoic, but his gaze was wondering. “I fought them here, okay? I was fighting them upstairs with the rest of the troops. So don’t push your luck.”

“Where’s your gun?” Tsetse suddenly asked, his commanding tone interrupting the flow of the conversation. Desecrator looked at him with wide eyes, and Homewrecker could see that, for a moment, the boy was thinking over an answer.

“My gun?” Desecrator’s eyes darted down for a second before he replied: “I lost it somewhere.”

“You lost your gun,” Tsetse repeated. “A gun that you have found somewhere, I presume. You lost it while fighting for your life.”

“What’s with the interrogation?” Desecrator burst into anger. “Yes, I lost it. It was crazy here, all right?”

Tsetse remained unfazed by the boy’s outburst. He simply shook his head, making Desecrator grit his teeth, and headed for the exit.

“Thinking when to fight and when to run will do you good in the future” Tsetse told Homewrecker on his way out. “Right, Desecrator?” he added before leaving the room.

Homewrecker glanced at Desecrator; the boy was livid with anger, but he didn’t say anything to the captain. He was not willing to start a fight he was not going to win. Even though he had been shaken by the events of the previous night, Homewrecker felt nothing but disgust for him.

“Come on, man, let’s get out of here,” Homewrecker told Corpse Eater, following Tsetse. “It smells like piss in here.”

The left the room, and Desecrator didn’t follow them. As they were leaving the building, Homewrecker heard the thump of a fist hitting the concrete wall.

Chapter 9

Puppy Slayer

Outside there seemed to be some commotion; the adults were gathering from the entire camp, abandoning what they were doing, converging onto one spot. There, the boys saw the General standing, and one of the creature’s bodies was lying in front of him on the ground.

“Did so many die last night?” Puppy Slayer heard the man talking as he came closer. “I reckoned more of you had survived.”

“There were more survivors, my General” one of the men answered. The boy could hear that he didn’t want to be the one to bring the bad news. “But many of the soldiers have… deserted you. Killmonger took twenty or so men with him and took off early this morning.”

“I see,” the General said grimly. “They’ll get what’s coming to them.”

The General carefully approached the monster’s corpse, his bodyguards just one step behind him. He observed the carcass for a few seconds, before kicking it and taking a quick step back, fearing that it might come back to life once more and lunge at him. Nothing happened.

Nevertheless, he raised his gun, aimed for a few seconds, and then landed a well-placed shot into the creature’s cranium. It didn’t grunt or squeal—it had indeed been dead and not just pretending. Despite the fact that he did not root for the General, Puppy Slayer let out a sigh of relief and, to his surprise, heard it echo across the rows of grown soldiers.

The General kneeled near the creature, scratched his chin. His finger started to trace the carcass’ limbs, poked its long claw, turned its head to take a better look at its face. A man in his forties.

“Anyone recognize him?” he asked the crowd of soldiers behind him.

There was a moment of hesitation. Then one of the soldiers raised his hand, like a schoolboy during a lesson: “I do, my General. I saw him in the village we raided a week ago. He was one of the men who tried to fight back when me and Undertaker tried to break into their house.” Puppy Slayer glanced at the soldier; his eyes were wide with terror and, for the first time, the boy felt an odd connection established with one of the adults. He could relate to what he was experiencing.

A wave of unrest rolled through the ranks of the soldiers; they had just received another confirmation that their attackers were the ones whom they had killed a week before.

“I see…” the General poked at the bullet wounds, as if trying to count them. He got to his feet and scratched his chin again. He was thinking.

“Get me a knife,” he finally said.

“What?” one of the soldiers standing closest to him asked.

“A knife!” The General exploded in anger. “Bring me the biggest machete we have, I’m going to carve this bastard open!”

He turned to the soldiers: “Don’t stand around gawking, move! What are you so afraid of? This thing is dead and I’ll prove it to you!”

The soldiers started moving around, and a few minutes later the General had a machete in his grip.

Just like with the old woman, he got on top of the creature and raised the machete high above himself. Looking at its face, he shifted around uneasily, before bringing the blade down.

“Oof,” Puppy Slayer heard somebody uncomfortably say. Even the grown soldiers, the men who had spent their lives fighting bloody wars and witnessing their General commit countless atrocities, were finding this sight in front of them to be disturbing. Some of them were stepping from one foot onto another, as if working out before a run. No doubt they were ready to make a beeline for the horizon as soon as anything went wrong.

The General was swinging the blade again and again, but it was obvious that he was having some trouble with his usual ritual. The blade kept on getting stuck inside the corpse’s rigid ribcage, and when he pulled it out, long ropes of some gelatin-like substance would get pulled along with it from the inside. Even in death, the avenging monster was not going to make it easy for the man.

“Some of you might have doubts whether what we did was right or wrong,” he said, making one systematic cut after another. “That we’re being punished by higher forces.”

He didn’t look up at his soldiers during his speech, and Puppy Slayer was grateful to the man for once. He didn’t want to see his scornful, judgmental gaze.

“You think that the priestess is in the right, and you’re not wrong,” the man continued, and Puppy Slayer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He could see that he wasn’t the only one startled by the man’s words, but no one dared to make a sound.

“She’s in the right because she has the power. And because of that, she gets to call the shots. History is written by victors. I can respect that.” He rose to his feet and pointed at the crowd with his bloodied blade: “What I don’t respect is hypocrisy.

“She thinks that she’s right because some divine power said so. Because she has morals on her side. But when you think about it, morals were established by warriors like us, long ago. There’s nothing divine in them. They are just a set of rules.”

He kneeled over the corpse and continued hacking away at it. His actions were becoming less and less refined as the man was droning on. His speech was consuming all of his focus.

“You see, she fails to see one simple thing. We didn’t attack their village because we had nothing better to do. We did that to exact vengeance. So when she comes at us with the same intent, hating us for what we had done… She’s a hypocrite.”

Puppy Slayer could see Desecrator quietly nodding in agreement, soaking in the man’s every word.

“Of course, she’s not aware that everything in this world operates on the ‘will to vengeance.’ Every living being in this world seeks power so that they could avenge something. She’s a part of this process, and yet she fails to see it. And yet that’s how the world was built. A bird needs power to protect its children from the snake—or to make it pay if the deed was done. One tribe wanted vengeance against another one, and they joined forces with an ally who had the same agenda. They became kingdoms, countries. We rode into wars on horses and drove out on tanks. Women don’t realize that the war is the most brilliant thing that could happen to mankind. Wars breed heroes. Wars breed progress. We need new ways to compete, to kill each other. And we always find them. So no matter how she rebels against it, war is a natural state of humanity. Just look around and you’ll see. Don’t you agree?”

There were a few sluggish responses, and the General, seeing that his preaching was falling on deaf ears, just waived his hand at them and carried on with the body.

A few minutes later, after the General had finally cut up the ribcage to the point where it could be opened up, he grabbed the ribs and pulled them aside, revealing what was inside.

“Ugh,” Puppy Slayer heard one of the men at the front of crowd say. “These things are as ugly on the inside as they are outside.”

The boy stood on his toes to get a glance. Indeed, the exterior was not the only thing that had undergone some changes; the insides of that man had gone through some drastic changes as well.

The boy could still make out its organs—the lungs and heart, already showing signs of decomposition, but undeniably human. Yet everything in between them was covered in black and yellow growths. If the boy was to say what they reminded him of, he’d say that they were like the underside of mushroom’s cap. And at the very center of the heart, a wicked flower of seven petals had spurted. Now all dried-up and crumbling, it seemed that it had passed on much more recently than the rest of the body.

The General examined the creature’s insides for a moment, moving the organs around with the tip of his blade.

“You know, in all of my years as a warrior I have never seen anything like it,” he said, looking at his soldiers. None of them replied; they wanted to know where he was heading with that thought. The General continued moving the organs around, carefully examining them. “And even before I walked the battlefield, I had some experience in mystical matters. I saw many strange things when I was a boy, and learned a lot as well. How to draw in good luck, how to get the support of the spirits, how to take away someone’s strength,” he finished that last sentence as he carefully poked the heart of the creature with his finger. “Yet never have I seen anything like it. The curse that the witch has placed on us, the one that makes the dead rise up from their graves… it’s not something I’m familiar with,” he concluded, raising the blade to his nose and carefully sniffing it.

He poked the heart again and rubbed his chin. His finger damaged one of the dried-up petals of the peculiar flower, and it fell off. The man shook his head: “And it seems that I won’t get any answers here. So,” he said, standing up, “we need to ask the locals. Gather up. We’re going back to the village. We’ll get our answers there.”

Silence was his reply, but the General didn’t seem like he expected anything else.

* * *

“Oh, man, not again.” Puppy Slayer heard Homewrecker sigh, then hold back his gag reflex.

They were on their way to the village, finding their way through the field of tall grass, when Homewrecker, who was going ahead of the younger boy, suddenly entered the clearing. Whatever he had seen there had made him uncomfortable enough.

“Don’t come closer!” he warned Puppy Slayer, taking deep breaths. A moment later he squeezed his nose; it appeared that the stench was also not good.

“What is it?” the boy asked, but Homewrecker didn’t reply. “Oh, you poor soul,” he said to someone else who Puppy Slayer could not see. “They got you good.”

“Hey, what did he find there?” Puppy Slayer heard Desecrator wonder right next to him and felt his hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go, let’s take a look.”

The boy suddenly felt Desecrator’s grip on his shoulder tighten as the boy started pushing him forward, toward where Homewrecker stood. He tried to resist, but he lacked the strength to break out of the older boy’s clutches.

“Come on, don’t be squirmy,” Desecrator taunted with a poorly disguised sense of superiority in his voice. He was leaning in so close the boy could feel the smell of his stomach acid.

“Hey Death Herald! You come over here, I’ve got something interesting for you!”

As they were approaching the clearing, a sharp smell of decomposing meat and manure hit the boy’s nostrils. A smell all too similar to the one he had experienced the night before.

“Hey, get him away from here, he’s going to throw up all over the place.” Homewrecker tried to stop them from coming closer, but it was already too late; pushed by Desecrator’s steady hand, Puppy Slayer walked into the clearing. Already knowing what was there, the boy closed his eyes.

“Oh man…” He heard Desecrator speak. His voice was laced with bewilderment. “Is that Marlboro Man?”

“Yeah, it seems he’s been lying here since yesterday. What the hell was he doing here?” Homewrecker wondered.

“Wow, he’s all over the place. Hey Puppy, are you looking? Puppy? Come on, open your eyes and take a look!” The older boy laughed as he started prying the younger boy’s eyes open with his fingers.

“Cut it out!” Puppy Slayer felt Homewrecker push Desecrator’s hand aside. “What’s wrong with you? You feelin’ good?”

“What’s wrong with me? I’m fine! What’s with you? Acting all scared and shocked.” Desecrator let go of Puppy Slayer, and his voice got really close to where Homewrecker’s voice was coming from. “Does this stuff scare you?”

“Quit playing all tough,” Homewrecker responded. “You chickened out last night and hid under the stairs while the rest of us were fighting.”

“I ain’t scared,” Desecrator replied, trying to enunciate with every syllable that he was the most careless man in the world. “You’re all scared. I just ran out of ammo while I was shooting those pricks last night. The others would tell you but they’re all dead. You’ll be dead too if you don’t shut your mouth.”

“Cool!” a third voice came out of nowhere. “Is that Marlboro Man? Did you all do it?”

“See?” Desecrator asked. The grass rustled as he approached the newcomer. “Death Herald ain’t scared, either. Maybe I’ll hang out with him instead.”

“Yeah, you go with him. You ain’t shit, Desecrator.”

The boy just smirked and walked away. Puppy Slayer heard Homewrecker approach him. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, not opening his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Homewrecker said. He paused for a moment, then spoke again: “They did a really nasty number on Marlboro Man. We need to bury him sometime.”

“Yeah,” Puppy Slayer quietly said. He was moved by the older boy’s idea, but at the same time he knew all too well that it was too unrealistic. They’d need a lot of time and manpower to move his remains to some other place and dig him a grave. The adults wouldn’t let them off the hook for that long.

“All right, let’s go. We need to move.” Homewrecker gave him a pat on the back. They headed onward to the village—a place which, in Puppy Slayer’s mind, was linked firmly only to death and suffering.

* * *

“No! Please no! Why?!” some woman lamented when she saw the soldiers enter the village.

The men felt exposed—Puppy Slayer could feel that. Standing in the middle of village they had ransacked a week before, under the sun’s burning rays, they felt like cockroaches in the kitchen. The light had already been turned on, and it was only a matter of time before the owner of the house would come in with a rolled newspaper in hand.

Some of them raised their weapons, but the General stopped them with a gesture: “Hold your fire. Stay alert, but don’t shoot anyone. I don’t want to attract those devils again.”

With that, he raised his hands and started walking forward: “Listen up! We do not come to harm you. We are here for one person only—your new head priestess. Give her up or tell us her location and we’ll let you be.”

Silence was their reply. Nobody took him up on his offer. The villagers were just staring at them with eyes full of hatred—some were scowling while others were smirking. No doubt they knew what had transpired the night before.

“Your dead have risen to attack us!” The General continued his speech. “Your priestess has brought them back to our world and will not let them rest in peace. Think about it!” He raised a finger to his temple. “They are out there to do their bidding! It is not the way to honor—”

“They will rest when you are all in hell!” one of the villagers suddenly cried out. His dried-out pink eyes were staring at the General with unparalleled malice. “They did not rise because she told them so—they rose to avenge themselves and others!”

“Go grab him!” one of the officers commanded his soldiers, and they hurried toward the man. The villagers rushed to get out of their way, but the man himself calmly allowed them to apprehend him. “Do you think you can scare me?” he asked, looking the soldiers in the eye as they put him on his knees. “You’ve taken everything from me! Everything! If you want to kill me—do it. I’ll join my wife to have a good hunt for you later,” he ominously finished, pressing his forehead against the rifle’s barrel.

The General was impressed. He raised his hand to signal his soldiers to not shoot him, and crouched in front of the man. “Can she bring you back if my people were to blow your brains out?” he asked the man, and a few of his men laughed eerily.

“The girl hasn’t failed us so far,” the man answered, locking eyes with the General. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“And you’re so willing to give up your souls and bodies to her?” the General wondered. “Have you seen what those who have risen from the dead look like? She turns you all into demons while she herself walks around in her right mind.”

“Can’t hold it against her,” the man grunted. “The process affects those who are living differently.”

“Is that so?” the General almost purred; Puppy Slayer couldn’t tell why, but the answer had him satisfied. “And what is that ritual?” the General asked. The man didn’t reply. The General rose up and stroked his chin.

“You know, when I was thirteen I was chosen to be the priest of my tribe,” he said, slowly circling in front of the man as he spoke. “I was taught many things. I was taught how to converse with spirits and other secrets, but I’ve never been taught that you can bring back the dead as bloodthirsty devils. There wasn’t a ritual I didn’t know.” He stopped and raised his finger to point out the importance of that statement. “But I’ve never been taught a ritual that can heal gun wounds in mere days or let you walk away from a shot to the chest.” He continued circling in front of the man. “The rituals are a good supplement, but can’t carry you to the victory on their own. Trust me, your priestess is fooling you. There’s no way for her mumbo jumbo to win against our guns. So don’t make our job harder. Tell us what it is so we can end it quick and easy, because you’re not going to like the hard way.”

“Don’t compare yourself to that woman.” The man spat into the dust. He wasn’t intimidated by the General’s threats. “She’s gone to the Underworld and back to bring back the herbs for the ritual! She is from a very respected family and your barbaric tribe isn’t a match for it.”

“And why is that?” the General asked. “What is it about that family that makes them better than my tribesmen?”

“Because they were instructed with the secrets of the Underworld!” the man said. “Did your pitiful shamans even know about that place? You think it’s bad now? That place holds such things that you can’t even imagine! She’ll be going there again, and when she comes back she’ll wield such power that your guns will melt in your arms!”

“Interesting… Can you show me where that place is?” the General suddenly asked. The man looked away; he realized that he’d been played and had said too much.

“Listen… Here’s a deal for you,” the General said, stopping right in front of the man. “You tell us where it is, and in return we don’t kill every single person in your pathetic village. I’d rather take that offer; there aren’t many of you left as it is.”

The man was silent. Not satisfied, the General gave his soldiers a command: “Start rounding up the villagers. Children and women first.”

“I don’t know where it is!” the man exclaimed, looking up into the General’s eyes. The General shook his shoulders: “I see that you’re not lying. But then what use are you?” He flicked his wrist and the soldier hit the man with his gun, making him collapse to the ground. More hits and kicks followed. People screamed in panic. The General frowned: “Just don’t kill him. Round up the rest here.”

“Listen up!” the General shouted when the soldiers brought the villagers before him. “I have a new deal for you. Tell me where I can find that Underworld of yours and what herb from it I need for the ritual your priestess has performed and I’ll let you all live. Stay silent and I’ll start executing you all one by one, starting with that girl.” He pointed his finger at a girl who was hiding behind her mother’s skirt—no older than eight years old. “She won’t make a good devil, so don’t count on her coming back to hunt me.”

The girl squirmed, burrowing her face even deeper into her mother’s skirt, and the woman started nervously looking around.

“I wonder if I can make a shot from here.” The General pretended to hold a weapon in his arms, aiming and taking a shot at a girl. Some soldiers laughed. “One.”

“We have to tell him!” The woman started panicking. “Please, don’t let him take away my daughter! She’s all I have left!”

“Two.” The General waved for one of his goons to hand him his gun.

“Somebody, please? Anybody know? Aunt Fatuma, you have to know that!”

“Three?” the General wondered as he lined up the shot. “Do I take a shot or are you going to show me? What’s it gonna be?”

“Stop it.” An old man walked out from the back row of the crowd and stood in front of the women. Despite the fact that he was no older than fifty, his face and arms were incredibly wrinkly; compared to him a rhino would be as smooth as a baby. “That’s enough violence. I’ve been to that place before. If you want to go there so badly, then fine. I’ll take you there. Let the devils decide your fate.”

The General, however, was not convinced: “How do I know that you’re not lying?” he wondered, squinting his eyes. “None of these people seem to know where it is, and yet you do?”

The old man sighed. It was obvious that he did not want to remember any of that. “Twenty years ago, my brother fell ill to some disease. Nothing we tried helped to relieve his pain. So the previous priestess, the one you have killed”—he glared at the General—“agreed to help. But she warned us that there would be consequences, and she took my word that I would keep my mouth shut.” The man shifted around uneasily and turned around to take a look at the young girl. Her mother was glaring at him with pleading eyes full of tears. She did not care about his promise, but he could hardly blame her.

Sighing, the man continued his story: “I carried him with her to a nearby abandoned mine, and then she had me wait outside while she took him inside the mine. I waited for the entire night, hearing inhuman incantations and sounds of devil’s music coming from below.” He paused and looked into distance, his gaze obscured by the scenes from that night.

“And then?” the General impatiently asked.

“And then, when the sun rose… my brother walked out on his own two feet, along with the priestess. Whatever she had done to him returned him his powers.”

“Marvelous story.” The General slowly clapped. “So you’re saying that there’s an abandoned mine nearby that just happens to lead to some mystical land? Do you take me for a fool old man?”

“It’s—”

“Because if you are, I’m going to eat you raw.” The General suddenly leaned in, not letting the man finish his sentence. His bloodshot eyes were wide open, staring down into the man’s own, trying to sniff out any signs of deception. “I will do the same I did to your grandma witch, and I’m eating that little bitch for a dessert” He pointed at the little girl he had been aiming at a few moments ago, and she squirmed, trying to bury her face into her mother’s skirt.

“Are you finished?” the old man calmly wondered. The General’s speech left no impression on him, and the younger man, recognizing the old man’s resolve, smirked and stepped back, crossing his arms. The old man took it as an invitation to continue, and so he did: “Those caves had always been there. Out tribe had been guarding their secrets for thousands of years—some say even before men crossed the great desert to found the Ghana Empire. They have different names, but the one mentioned the most was ‘The Keep of the Giants,’ and it said to span the entire world… and even beyond.”

The General didn’t ask any questions or interrupt him so, clearing his throat, the man continued: “Over time, the true masters of those caves either left or fell asleep, and the entrance to the caves was thought to be lost in an avalanche. But then somebody found diamonds there, and so the excavation began.”

“Diamonds?” The General cocked his eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of any diamond mines in this area.”

“That’s why it’s called ‘abandoned,’” the old man commented.

“Don’t push your luck old man, all right? I don’t like your tone,” the General informed him, pointing at him with his knife. The old man ignored the threat and continued: “We tried to warn against mining there, but nobody listened. As a result, the gates to the lost kingdom were opened, and everyone who slept inside, waiting for their master’s return, started crawling out. Had the sun not posed such a threat to them they’d be crawling all over the continent by now. But, we got lucky. Although we still sometimes catch a few running around here in the night.” He nodded toward the burned down house of the priestess. The General didn’t understand what was he talking about, but Homewrecker did; he remembered the bizarre shape of the large skull that was hanging above the main door, and he shuddered at the thought of how monstrous its owner must’ve been during its life.

“All right then, I see.” The General rubbed his chin. “So that’s where that bitch got her powers from. An herb, was it? From that Underworld of yours?”

“The Blood of the Giants,” the old man said. “That’s what she called it. She said that it’s the herb that grows at the base of the sleeping giants’ feet,” the old man said, shaking his shoulders. “If it means what I think it means then she’s braver than I thought.”

“And you’ve seen it?” The General pressed the old man for an answer.

“Might as well say that I didn’t, my eyesight and my memory are not what they used to be.” The old man shook his shoulders again.

“Don’t bullshit me, old man,” the General warned him. “You better start remembering and I hope you remember where that mine is, because you’re going to take a quick ride with my buddies here. If the mine you’ve described is not there or there’s nothing inside of it… you and everyone in this dump are going to feel my wrath.”

“Oh, it is still there,” the man assured the General. “I don’t need to lie about it. If you think that it holds the key to your salvation you are gravely mistaken. But, don’t let me convince you otherwise,” the man ended with an ominous smirk.

The General didn’t reply, only grunted in response. Puppy Slayer could see that the man was annoyed by the fact that some old man was not intimidated by him. “Pack him up,” he told one of his officers. “Check out that place he’s talking about, take a look inside that mine of his, and stay on guard. It may be another trap. Don’t stay there for too long, we’ll wait for you at the base.” With that, he turned to face the villagers and, taking a deep breath, shouted as loud as he could: “If my men don’t return by the sunset, none of them villagers survive the night.” It was clear that he was not talking to the civilians; in his eyes they were no more than a brainless herd. No, he was talking to their shepherds.

He turned to his officers and, keeping his voice low, told them something. Even though Homewrecker was standing very close to them, he could hear only the end of the phrase: “…find me those who have seen it.”

As the soldiers were leading the old man to their truck, he turned his head and shouted: “I warn you: many men have tried claiming the Keep’s secrets in the past, and none have succeeded. Different beasts hunt on those dark plains, and things that sleep there should not be disturbed from their slumber.”

Chapter 10

Corpse Eater

The sunset was beautiful as always. It seemed almost like a cruel joke that their land was filled to the brim with violence and death. Maybe in this way, god wanted to show that he was still looking out for his children and that there’s always hope for something wonderful on the horizon. Or maybe, when the sun’s disk was touching the ground it was soaking in all of the blood from it, so that it could take in more on the next day.

The soldiers, along with the old man, returned not long before the sun hid beyond the horizon. None of them were missing, and they had no wounds on them, but their faces were all sunken. No doubt whatever they had seen at the place where the old man had taken them had made an impression on them.

They didn’t share their findings with the rest of the crowd, instead taking the old man straight to the General’s tent. Five minutes later, they all emerged out of it—the old man as well. Judging by the fact that he was still alive and in relatively good health, he had indeed led the General’s men to the place he had described.

Corpse Eater didn’t know what had transpired in the tent, but it seemed that the soldiers had emerged with new orders. Rushing to where the majority of the adults were, they told them something, and more soldiers joined them. Wasting no time, they jumped into two trucks and rode into the sunset. Corpse Eater had no clue where they were going, but he suspected that their haste was due to the setting sun. With an enemy still lurking around, they would be smart to put as much distance as possible between them and the area where the enemy likely lurked while the sun was still out. Getting ambushed in the darkness by those demons meant certain death.

Corpse Eater couldn’t guess where the men were heading during the night. Surely the General understood that they needed every man, yet he took the risk of splitting their forces. What for? Corpse Eater was sure that the men hadn’t gone to the village—if the General needed something from it, he’d either send a smaller squad or order the entire brigade to move there. Was it the mysterious entrance to the Underworld that required the attention of his men? That was more likely, but the boy had his doubts. Based on his experience in the brigade, the General would move out in the morning, with the entirety of his forces surrounding him. Sending a squad of only two trucks at night would accomplish nothing at best, and was a waste of firepower at worst.

The vagueness and rashness of the General’s plans was scaring the boy. He could never guess what was on the man’s mind, but he had rarely split their already dwindling forces like that.

Corpse Eater had always thought that, with the rumors that the war was nearing its close, the day when the man’s regime collapsed and their small brigade got disbanded would be the happiest day of his life. But now that the General was actively putting their small brigade in jeopardy, seemingly drawing them closer to that day, he was getting concerned.

As the sky got dark, Corpse Eater kept close to the rest of the boys. Looking around, he could see that they were all as distressed as he was. Night was not the time when they could rest anymore. The stars above signaled open season, and they were the game.

When Tsetse walked in, nobody paid him any attention. “We have a new assignment from the General,” the boy said. Someone groaned. “We’ll have to protect the base during the festivities.”

There was silence among the boys’ ranks. Finally, realizing that he wasn’t the only who didn’t understand what was going on, Corpse Eater asked the question that was on everyone’s mind: “What festivities, Tsetse?”

“The ones that the General holds for the adult soldiers,” Tsetse said. “He wants to raise their fighting spirit.”

Nobody said anything, but Corpse Eater could feel that everyone was thinking the same thing. Despite feeding them all the same mantra over and over again, that they were all adults and rightful soldiers of the brigade, the man ultimately didn’t care about what would happen to them. They were the first line of defense against their enemy. Their morale was nobody’s concern. They were expected to die in case of an attack so that they main force of their brigade had their time to put out their blunts and grab their weapons.

Corpse Eater had always known that his position in the brigade was disposable. But to have it shown to him in such an indifferent manner was, for some reason, heartbreaking. The last place where he belonged had rejected him as second-class goods. He could feel the lump form in his throat.

“Say, Tsetse!” The boy suddenly heard Homewrecker’s voice. “Do you think that’s right? Do they really expect us to protect them from those creatures while they’re shooting up crack?”

His voice sounded angry, wounded. Without even looking at his friend, he could tell that the boy was experiencing the same feelings that he was. Corpse Eater didn’t say anything, but he nodded his head in silent agreement, in order to show his support for Homewrecker’s sentiments.

In response, Tsetse did something that made everyone’s eyes bulge: he smirked. “After all this time, that’s where you draw the line?” he asked.

Homewrecker, however, was neither impressed nor amused by his captain’s newfound display of emotions: “Hell yes, I do! Why do we have to risk our lives while they are partying? Is it even a time to do something like that?”

“You can go to the General and tell him that you want to join,” the captain said, his face reverting to its usual mask of indifference. “But I don’t think he’ll be particularly interested in hearing what you want. He seemed to be planning something special for the soldiers, and he won’t listen to your objections.”

“But Tsetse, come on.” Corpse Eater stepped up as well. “He sent a squad away and now he wants to split our forces even more? If those devils attack again tonight we won’t stand a chance on our own.”

“Man, quit your bitching.” He heard Desecrator’s arrogant voice behind him. “These mofos ain’t—”

“They were wounded last night,” Tsetse interrupted the other boy, looking at Corpse Eater. There was no objection from Desecrator, and the captain continued: “If they could kill us all they would have done so yesterday, but they had to fall back. Plus they lost almost a half of their forces, if not more. So as long as you stay together and keep an eye out for each other you should be fine,” the boy concluded.

“This is nonsense.” Corpse Eater stubbornly shook his head, pursing his lips. “Suicide.”

“If it makes you feel any easier, I’ll be there as well,” Tsetse said, patting his gun. “And I don’t wish to die any time soon. So don’t think that I’m sending you to your deaths. And stop wasting my time—the General already expects us to be at the perimeter.”

* * *

The festivities that Tsetse had been talking about were going at an unprecedented scale. From a distance, Corpse Eater could see that the General had rolled out pretty much everything they had at the moment. Bottles were clanking as soldiers toasted each other, and the smoke of multiple blunts that sent the adults on a vacation to the heavens was billowing upward, showing them the way. The only thing missing was music; the boom box that the soldiers loved so much was silent.

“Man, I oughta be out there.” Desecrator sighed as he watched the adults having fun. “I’ve slaughtered those bugs more than any of those pussies over there.”

“Go ahead and join them then,” Homewrecker urged him in a serious tone. Corpse Eater took a glance at his friend; not a single muscle on his face was relaxed. The boy was not taunting Desecrator. “I’m sure if you tell them the details of your achievement they’ll want to keep you close.”

“Nah,” Desecrator answered after a short pause. His eyes were glued to the center of the camp, and he didn’t even make a move to face the boy who conversed with him. “I don’t mind killing me some more. If I don’t come with you, y’all will piss your pants.”

“My hero.” Homewrecker sarcastically chuckled, making a sour face. He turned toward Corpse Eater and sighed heavily: “Are you ready for this?”

“Well, don’t lose your mind or anything but I actually got a confirmed kill last night.” Corpse Eater tried to lighten the mood. In reality he was feeling anxious, but he decided that showing that would not benefit anyone.

Homewrecker, however, was not so easily led on: “I’m in no mood for jokes,” he said as he grimly nodded toward something behind Corpse Eater. Turning around, the boy understood what was making his friend so moody.

It was one thing to think about guarding the perimeter, but completely different to see it with your own eyes. Just beyond the outskirts of the base, where the light emanating from the party was dissipating and fading, there was a pitch-black darkness. For as long as he had been in the brigade, Corpse Eater had never feared the night—it hid nothing that he should’ve been afraid of. But now that he was wiser, now that he knew that real monsters lurked in the dark, he found out that he was not as confident after the sun set as he had been in the past. In a way, it was a return to simpler times when he was just a kid and the legends and fairy tales about demons and evil spirits occupied his still-innocent mind. Only he couldn’t say he appreciated such nostalgia.

“Stay in groups when you circle the base.” It seemed that Tsetse shared their concern. “Keep an eye out both for things around you and for each other. If you see someone missing, alert the others.” The fact that their captain was considering such a possibility was not giving Corpse Eater any confidence.

“Oh yes,” Homewrecker said bitterly. “If I’m alive by the time I see them I’ll raise hell, don’t you worry about it.”

Tsetse gave him a light slap on the back of the head, but said nothing. The captain approached Puppy Slayer and put a hand on his shoulder: “You’ll be coming with me. Everyone else, split into groups of two or three. If you see any of those things—don’t try to fight them. They are ambush predators, so if you see one of them the others might be sneaking nearby.” He turned around to face the crowd of boys, and examined them. “I don’t think they’ll attack us tonight. They need to heal their wounds. But it’s best to stay vigilant.” With that, he gave the younger boy next to him a light tap on the shoulder and headed into the night. Puppy Slayer shuffled his feet awkwardly and then hurried after his captain. The rest followed.

“Goddammit,” Corpse Eater whispered under his breath. “Let’s go?” he asked Homewrecker, and his friend nodded. They headed forward into the night. With some grim satisfaction, Corpse Eater noticed that Desecrator was not in a rush to join them.

* * *

“It would be easier if they gave us a flashlight,” Corpse Eater complained after five minutes of staring into the darkness. While the boy was still strung up, the initial stress had already passed, and the only thing that remained was anxiety. As they circled the base, he could see the group in front of them, and he knew that another group behind them had their eyes on them. While Tsetse was not a brilliant tactician, his strategy seemed to work.

The only thing that annoyed Corpse Eater was the lack of light. They could at least see where they were going while they were passing the openings between the buildings, where the light from the festivities could reach them, but when they were in the building’s shadow it was too hard to see even where to step. Corpse Eater had already tripped on high grass once, as had Homewrecker.

“I don’t think they even have any.” Homewrecker sighed.

They walked in silence for some time, surrounded only by the sounds of the party on one side and songs of night creatures on the other.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking…” Homewrecker started. Corpse Eater could hear hesitation and doubt in his voice; whatever the boy wanted to talk about was hard for him to discuss.

“With all this news and rumors about warlords getting captured and hanged, I was wondering if we’re next,” he said, looking into the starry sky. “I mean, I heard the adults talk about how General Rambo was captured and fed to dogs. And his brigade was located no more than a hundred miles east from us. General Butt-Naked is said to have repented and become a priest. And now that we’ve taken such a heavy toll… Do you think the brigade will last for much longer?” he asked his friend.

Corpse Eater thought about it for a moment. “The General does seem to be desperate to keep things under control lately,” he said, glancing at the center of the base; two soldiers seemed to have started a fistfight, and the rest of them had surrounded them and started making bets as to who would be the winner.

“Right, and don’t you think that he has his reasons?” Homewrecker asked. “I feel like… like he senses that the war is going to be over soon. And when the war is over, he’ll face the consequences for his actions.”

Corpse Eater shook his shoulders: “I’ll be only happier when this is over. I’ve had my share of fighting. And if the day that man is hanged by his balls comes, I’ll dance on his grave,” he grimly concluded.

“Well, can’t say I disagree. But what will happen to us?” Homewrecker wondered.

Corpse Eater stopped. He could feel that his friend’s question carried some deeper meaning. He knew it—Homewrecker wasn’t one of those who’d miss their days of glory on the battlefield. But why was he concerned?

“I don’t follow,” Corpse Eater finally admitted. “What do you mean what is going to happen? We’ll finally be free from this hell,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah? So what’s been keeping us in the brigade all this time, huh?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow. “Dude, haven’t you thought that when the brigade goes down, we’ll go with it? What if, when the war is over… we’ll become the war criminals?”

“No, that’s… that’s not right.” Corpse Eater shook his head. “We weren’t given a choice. We were made to go to war. People know that.”

“Oh do they?” Homewrecker asked sarcastically. “And if they know, do they care? Maybe we were forced to join against our will, but we still killed and pillaged, right? We still took our part in all of this madness. That’s why those devils are hunting us, remember? They killed Marlboro Man and they didn’t ask if he wanted to be a soldier or a fisherman. People look at us and they see rabid dogs… And when the dog goes rabid, it is put down.”

“Listen, what choice did we have?” Corpse Eater said, feeling his blood starting to boil. He was slightly irritated by the topic—mostly because the truth that it could reveal was highly uncomfortable. “I did not choose to be in the brigade. I did not choose to be named Corpse Eater—they chose this name for me because they thought that it would be appropriate. I’ve done plenty of messed up things, but I didn’t do them because I wanted to. And if I had a choice to leave I would. But where would I go? Who needs someone like me?”

“Precisely,” Homewrecker noted. “That’s what I was saying. We are not safe in a normal, peaceful world. We’re only safe here, in the brigade. As long as the General has enough people to do his bidding, we are safe along with him. We are his shield and he is ours. We’re only alive now and not torn apart like Marlboro Man because of the brigade.”

“We wouldn’t be prey right now if it weren’t for the brigade,” Corpse Eater noted.

“You think I don’t know that?” Homewrecker snapped at him. “I wouldn’t have to do a lot of things if it weren’t for the brigade.” He paused, as if thinking over his next words and whether or not they should be said, and then continued: “I killed a man just last week. I killed him over a bag of food. He wanted to keep his family safe and fed, and now his family doesn’t have a provider… If they are even still alive. But because he is dead… I was fed.”

They walked some more in silence. Finally, Corpse Eater asked Homewrecker: “Do you think we deserve to be punished?”

“…I don’t know,” the boy replied. “I mean, we had a choice to be like Puppy Slayer.”

“If we all acted like Puppy Slayer, the General would have long since made us into rations.” Corpse Eater shook his head.

“Yes, I guess you’re right,” Homewrecker agreed. “So, not really a choice.”

The boys stopped when the voice of General had reached them from afar: “My warriors! Tomorrow is going to bring us greatness!” The noise of the soldiers talking got quieter as they turned their attention to their leader.

“Now what?” Homewrecker almost moaned. Just like Corpse Eater, lately he was finding the General’s ideas especially unimpressive.

Seeing that he had everyone’s attention, the General continued: “Sons of Liberia!” he exclaimed, and paused for dramatic effect. Judging by the silence that surrounded him it had the desired effect; the soldiers, high on drugs, were an easy audience, and they instantly became so invested and absorbed in his speech that the boys had no issue at all hearing the General.

“Yesterday, we were attacked by the creatures conjured into this world by black magic. That witch that brought them into this world made sure to employ the dirtiest tactics available to her. She robbed those people of their deserved rest in peace! And she brainwashed the rest of the village to follow her with her enchantments!”

The soldiers took the bait; they always it enjoyed when their egos were satisfied and the blame shifted.

“You say it, General! Say it as it is!”

“They know no honor!”

“I don’t want the future of our country to be like that!”

“I bet it was her, along with that old bitch, who made those villagers so evil in the first place!”

“Such underhanded tactics,” the General continued, and the crowd instantly fell silent again in order to not miss a single word. “Is not something we’re used to. But I know you know no fear! I know that you will do your best to overcome these hard times!” The crowd cheered, and the General had to raise his voice as his soldiers, riled up by his words, would not go quiet anymore. The man didn’t seem to mind, though.

“As a former shaman of my tribe, I feel the responsibility to lift the curse that she has placed on us. But to do that, a great challenge must be overcome.” The crowd got quieter and its cheers started to sound more confused and out of sync. “Tomorrow, we will strike at the heart of this evil in order to get rid of this curse forever. Ancient rituals must be performed, and they can’t be done without the root of this black magic.”

“You can’t be serious.” Corpse Eater sighed. The boy had figured out where the General was heading with that, and the revelation was so shocking that he simply didn’t have enough strength in him to process it, nor was he willing to go through with it like the rest of the brigade.

“My warriors, tomorrow, we will have our first siege—we will conquer the Keep of the Giants from which the source of the witch’s black magic originated. We will find it and use it to reverse her curse, and seal it off forever, so that no one can use it against us again! I have already dispatched a group led by Undertaker to bring us the necessary equipment, and they should be here with it tomorrow morning. It will be a challenge unlike anything that we’ve faced before, but nothing in this world is achieved without a sacrifice! I promise you: if you follow me tomorrow into the depths of the underworld, we will finally be free from that witch’s reign of terror!”

The collective cheer let out by grunts was louder than anything Corpse Eater had ever heard. It wasn’t a cry of victory; the soldiers were exhilarated that there was hope for them, after all. It was a cry of relief that sticking to their leader (an idea that was heavily questioned by the events of the past few days) would bear its fruits.

Corpse Eater, however, did not share their enthusiasm. For him, it meant that they would follow the man to the grave in their quest to save themselves. Their morale was never so high, and it meant that the brigade, torn and shredded as it was, was nevertheless stronger than ever.

Somehow, he was not glad that they would all find a way out of their sticky situation. If anything, he felt demoralized.

His hope of seeing the General and his creation go down in flames flickered and became dim.

“Man, no wonder he wanted them to be high.” Homewrecker clucked his tongue. “No sane person would agree to that.”

“Uh-huh.” Corpse Eater nodded, staring at the General as the man was riling his troops up and basking in their support. “I know, right?”

“Something doesn’t add up about his rant though,” Homewrecker said. He glanced around and lowered his voice, even though they were alone: “He said today that he wasn’t aware of what kind of ritual the priestess had used to curse us.”

“And?” Corpse Eater urged him to continue. He wasn’t sure where Homewrecker was heading with that thought.

Homewrecker pursed his lips and tapped his temple: “Think! If he doesn’t know what we’re dealing with, how can he be so sure that it’s a curse? And more importantly, how can he be so sure that he’ll lift it when he gets the herb?”

Chapter 11

Puppy Slayer

Puppy Slayer and Tsetse were circling around the base in silence—not counting the noise coming from the base itself. The younger boy was constantly turning his head, trying to see the enemy coming, and each uproar from the General’s little motivational party was making the boy anxious that he would miss the sound of the approaching enemy.

The thought that some of those creatures could be as close as a few steps away from him was making the boy lose his mind. Only the presence of the older and much more experienced Tsetse was calming him. The captain’s confidence, and his way of showing that he knew what he was doing, was having a soothing effect on him.

The boy heard the General’s speech and the effect it had on the troops, and it started brewing a conflict inside of him. On one hand, he was relieved that there was hope to get rid of the devils. He wasn’t sure if the General could pull it off, but he wanted to believe him, to rely on him.

On the other hand, the prospect of descending into the Underworld, the very place that had spawned those devils, was making him quake in his boots. How could that be a good idea? Surely they would be outnumbered a thousand-to-one there, their bodies torn to shreds and their souls devoured for the next thousand years.

Perhaps he would be chosen to guard the base, along with the rest of the boys? And perhaps, the General and the brigade would vanish forever, never to return?

“Do you want to run away?” Tsetse suddenly asked Puppy Slayer. The boy was caught off guard by that question, and looked away. How could he know? the younger boy frantically thought. Can he read thoughts? Am I not safe even inside my own mind?

“I… I didn’t even think about it…” the boy muttered under his breath, trying not to look Tsetse in the eye.

“If you want to run away, you better do it tonight,” Tsetse said, startling the boy. He always expected Tsetse to be against breaking the rules. Was he testing him?

“I don’t want to—”

“Tomorrow it’s going to be too late. So take my word for it, tonight is your last chance,” the captain interrupted him.

Puppy Slayer gathered up courage and looked at the older boy. His face was as expressionless as ever, but somehow Puppy Slayer could tell that he was serious. That he wasn’t taunting him.

Was it even in Tsetse’s character to taunt someone? Could he even be not serious?

“Why are you suggesting that?” Puppy Slayer asked the question that was bothering him at that moment. “Shouldn’t you be looking after us?”

“I am looking after all of you.” Tsetse nodded. “Which is exactly why I am suggesting it. But keep this in mind: if you escape, you are on your own. We will not be there to help you. So think well before making your decision.”

His words stung Puppy Slayer. The boy had just gotten hopeful that his nightmare would be over, that he would finally be free from the torment that followed him every day—only to realize that he was facing a decision where there were no good options. Stay with the brigade and go underground, where the demons most likely would suck his soul out? Or escape and come face-to-face with those horrors—alone? The boy didn’t have the resolve to make that call, he knew that. And so his only option would be to leave things as they were. To have that choice made for him by his circumstances. By his cowardice.

He couldn’t bear the frustration anymore, and tears streamed down his face.

“Don’t cry,” Tsetse commanded him. “If anyone sees you crying you’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

“Why do you keep tormenting me, Tsetse?” the boy asked, wiping his nose. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? Stop making me do all these things, these choices! Do you think it’s funny—to give me hope and then take it away? Did you have to open your mouth and tease me?”

“I was not teasing you,” Tsetse calmly answered. “I let you know that it’s up to you what you do next.”

“Yeah? Should I be grateful that I get to pick my poison? Did I really need to know that? All my life someone has decided for me. I had no say in any matter. And this is the first choice you give me? Why? Why do you keep testing me, Tsetse?”

“Because I’ve told you,” he calmly said. “That you need to man up. I can’t give you anything. It’s up for you to take it. This is not a fairy tale. We have to be our own heroes.”

* * *

The night passed without any more events but, regardless, Puppy Slayer could not sleep peacefully. As soon as he would close his eyes and try to focus on sleep, he would see Marlboro Man’s mangled body. He didn’t know how exactly the boy had died, so his mind was filling in the blanks, adding and removing different wounds. In his dreams, Marlboro Man was dying over and over again—every time in a new and horrifyingly creative way.

He couldn’t stop thinking that it was all his fault that Marlboro Man had died and that the rest of the boys would have to risk their lives. If he had kept his urges under control, if only he hadn’t bitten that fish, none of this would have happened. The boys wouldn’t have followed his example, the General wouldn’t have gotten angry at the villagers, the villagers wouldn’t have had to suffer, and the vile witch wouldn’t be hunting them. It was all clear to him. Clear as the day the arrival of which he dreaded so much.

If only he had been a good soldier like Desecrator or Tsetse. None of this would have had happened.

Perhaps he should just listen to Tsetse and try to escape, if only so that those monsters would capture him. Perhaps if he managed to say a word before they killed him, if he had time to explain himself to them and let them know that the rest of the boys weren’t to blame, they’d take only him and leave the rest of them alone. He hated the adults and wasn’t very concerned about them, but the boys were in the same situation as him—they would be pushed to the extreme again and again, until a preying claw would end their sufferings.

Little by little, the sky started to get brighter as the sun was slowly finding its way back from beyond the horizon. The sky’s baby blue color, getting brighter with each minute, was taunting Puppy Slayer with the inevitability of the coming day.

The squad that the General had sent off had arrived with the first rays of sun. All of the adults were in a good mood—most likely due to the fact that they had managed to evade any signs of trouble, as their numbers remained visibly the same, and their trucks had no signs of a battle taking place.

Some of the soldiers were hanging to the side of a truck instead of sitting it its trunk, as it was fully occupied with something bulky covered in cloth. Puppy Slayer couldn’t guess what it was, but he had a strong suspicion that it was somehow connected to their General’s new desire to go explore the Underworld.

The General was visibly delighted that they had come back without taking any losses. The number of his grunts was dwindling and he was glad that they had managed to find their way back safely. After the last few days of chaos, things were finally starting to turn around for him.

Sending a group of them away was a strong risk—not only could they encounter those devils on their way to their destination point, but there also had been a risk they would decide to abandon the brigade altogether and try their luck on the road. Puppy Slayer figured that they had been facing the same choice as him and had probably decided that trusting the General to lift the curse was the best course of action.

The General held a private meeting with the adults, and five minutes later Tsetse came to the boys and instructed them to start preparing for the march to the Underworld. Puppy Slayer’s heart sank.

“Tsetse.” He approached the captain as he was leaving. “I don’t have much ammo left… I think I have thirteen rounds left in the magazine, but that’s it…” He was stopped by the captain’s gesture.

“Come over to the center of the camp,” he told the younger boy. “The squad that the General sent off yesterday brought ammo, among other things. Enough for everyone.”

“What other things?” Desecrator curiously inquired. “Did they bring explosives?”

The captain didn’t reply, leaving Desecrator without an answer. The boy awkwardly shifted, before proclaiming to everyone: “I bet it’s explosives. I always wanted to see them blow up.”

The captain didn’t lie; two adult soldiers were standing near the trunk of one of the trucks and handing out magazines to everyone—two into one set of hands, tied together with sturdy duct tape.

Everyone, grown-ups and kids, were rushing to them, afraid that there wouldn’t be enough ammunition for everyone. Pushing, scowling, screaming. No gun would shoot without ammunition, and the 7.62 rounds could mean death for someone caught in the cross fire. But for the gun’s wielder, each bullet had the opposite effect. Each bullet could carry salvation and a free highway to a calm peaceful death from old age—or, at the very least, it could prolong life for a few more seconds until the next opponent would arrive.

Someone tried going in a second time, but the soldiers in charge of handing out the magazines recognized him and pushed his hand away. Corpse Eater dodged an elbow that was aiming for his face as he was trying squeeze in, and Homewrecker got on all fours and started crawling between legs.

Puppy Slayer understood why they were taking such risks, but even though he was almost dry he didn’t feel like rushing in. Instead, he decided to bide his time and wait for everyone else to calm down and walk away from the truck.

While he was standing there and looking around, he noticed that the soldiers had already unloaded the trucks, and its contents were now standing next to them, ignored by everyone.

It was two massive generators, a tall stack of canisters of fuel, a few long reels of cables, and around a dozen lamps—so big that they might as well be floodlights—and something else. Two long and seemingly heavy objects, wrapped in cloth.

The soldiers also brought two large trolleys for large cargo from the warehouse, and they were now parked next to the generators—no doubt they were intended to be used to carry the heavy equipment around.

It was logical, the boy suddenly realized, that the rays of sun never could never reach the place called “Underworld,” and thus, in a spark of ingenuity, the General had decided to bring a source of light with them—powerful enough to last them throughout the entire trip. Sending off the squad during the night suddenly made sense—without the light their little expedition would never happen, and they’d have to forget about ever lifting the curse.

Soon enough, when everyone realized that the ammo was rationed and they wouldn’t get any more than what they were already given, the crowd thinned out and Puppy Slayer could easily approach the truck. The soldiers standing in the trunk smirked when they recognized him.

“Don’t shoot yourself by accident,” a soldier joked, handing the boy his two magazines, and the other man cheerfully laughed.

The General joined them not much longer after that. The man had paid extra attention to his appearance, and his face and arms were already covered in a thick layer of war paint. His clothes seemed cleaner and tidier than usual, and his favorite beret was cocked carefully to the side. All the attention to details worked: as soon as the grunts saw him approach, they all fell silent. From the corner of his eye, Puppy Slayer even saw one soldier straighten up, as if they really were in the army.

“Everyone! Today is the day,” the General declared, walking alongside the front row of soldiers. “Today, we take the fight to the devils and we take our fate back into our own hands. We will march toward the mines where the entrance to the Underworld is located and descend there. We have enough fuel to provide us with light for the whole day, but we better move fast. We don’t know how large the Underworld is. Our mission there—” He stopped and raised one finger to indicate the importance of his statement. “Is to find the herb which the witch used to place a curse on us. Only with it we can undo the curse.”

Contrary to Puppy Slayer’s expectations, the soldiers weren’t cheering. They remained stoic and serious, and the boy was sure: the reason for such a drastic change from how they reacted the day before was because they had sobered up. Their minds were clear enough to recognize the seriousness of the upcoming mission. The General wasn’t promising them another raid or battle with other brigades; he was suggesting something far more dangerous, something that they weren’t used to. The attackers that had assaulted them before had planted fear in their souls, fear that the enemy might rise up from the dead to exact their revenge. No doubt, if their future didn’t hinge on the success of their upcoming operation, none of them would have agreed to it. So the soldiers were mostly nodding and only some of them were talking.

“Right, right.”

“Hear! Hear!”

“Let’s get this over with.”

“All right,” the General said in a less enthusiastic manner. No doubt he saw that his speeches didn’t have their desired effect anymore. “If it’s clear, then let’s not waste any more time. Load all of this into the trucks and let’s get going. Keep your eyes peeled and watch out for my flanks. No doubt that witch had already seen through our plan and will try to take me out before I can reverse of the curse.”

Chapter 12

Homewrecker

Throughout all of their trip, they remained silent. It wasn’t that Homewrecker didn’t have anything to say (he was practically screaming on the inside that what they were doing was madness), but he decided to do his best not to show his feelings. Judging by the serious mugs around him, he wasn’t the only one who was going through the same thought process: everybody was on edge. Whenever somebody spoke, the others hushed him, and started turning their heads, trying not to lose even an inch of ground to a possible threat.

Deep inside, Homewrecker felt some sort of bizarre, repulsive respect growing for the General; the man was not only the only one brave enough to come up with such a daring solution, he had enough strength of character to lead their entire brigade as well. The boy was sure that none of the soldiers would follow anyone else, even if that person could also lift their curse, nor would they risk such a daring plan had they been able to do it themselves.

He still couldn’t expunge from his head the eerie suspicion that the man didn’t really know what he was doing. But then again, that was how the man operated—he would always meet a problem head-on and then try to improvise the solution. Perhaps he thought that he knew how to break the curse—if there really was one—but how? What methods from his time as a shaman of his tribe could aid him?

The man’s words from the previous night suddenly sprang up in his mind: “…nothing in this world is achieved without a sacrifice.”

Just you try, he thought, squeezing his gun. You better not do what I think you’ll do. I will not go down easily.

Some soldiers were travelling in the trucks—the General personally selected the best shots to provide them with an elevated position so that they could see everything around the brigade. The rest of the grunts were travelling on foot—same as the boys. Even Tsetse, who was considered to be the best shooter—not just among the children, but in the entire brigade—was walking on his own two feet. In the brigade, there was nothing more important than status.

After a few hours of walking, they finally reached the abandoned mining facility, located on the side of the hill, with a narrow chasm splitting it in two. Homewrecker didn’t know for sure, but he made a guess that the entrance to the Underworld was in one of the mines.

The mining facility was in a sorry state: the rusty fences, rickety buildings made out of wood, and glass windows so dusty that you couldn’t see through them showed that it was abandoned long ago. The hill was dotted in mine entrances half covered in rubble and lined up with dusty roads weaving to and from them, and small hills of excavated ground that gave the scenery such uneven look had long since slumped under their own weight. Sagged from old age.

It was the same kind of mine where other, larger fighting groups, were excavating diamonds. Their brigade couldn’t afford such a side gig—they lacked people to oversee such a monumental process, as they needed every set of hands on the battlefield. For now, all of the diamonds they had were trophies from the battlefield.

The brigade entered the mining site slowly, carefully. Half a hundred pairs of feet shambling forward, each step measured, careful not to stir any trouble. A hundred eyes were darting around, hoping not to catch a glimpse of scythe-like finger blades and wanting maws, and five hundred fingers were gripping their guns so that they wouldn’t slip out of their sweaty grasps.

The boy suddenly heard gasps coming from the front of their procession. They weren’t gasps of fear—rather, there was shock and disturbance in them. The boy could tell that they weren’t going to fight anyone, but then what was the issue?

When he walked up closer and pushed through the crowd to take a look at what was stopping them, he saw the reason for their delay.

A pile of severed heads was lying on the ground. There were roughly twenty of them, and the height of the cone they formed reached up to the boy’s knees. Some of the heads had clean cuts, while others seemed like they had to have been torn out of the shoulders that used to bear them. The location of their bodies was not known.

And at the very top of the pile was the head of the man whose name Homewrecker had heard before. Killmonger, the leader of the group that had escaped the day before.

So that’s why they didn’t attack yesterday, the boy thought, looking at the fly sitting on Killmonger’s open left eye. They were busy with other prey.

Which could mean only one thing: the priestess and her monsters were done with the appetizers. It was time for the main course.

Other soldiers seemed to be sharing his worries. Their guns were eagerly circling their surroundings, trying to pinpoint any movements.

“Hey, kid.” Homewrecker felt a strong hand grab him by his shoulder and forcefully turn him around to make him face one of the officers. “Grab one of your friends and go check out that old office. I wanna be sure there’s nothing inside.”

He had no choice but to obey. Turning toward Corpse Eater with pleading eyes, Homewrecker saw his friend nod; he would accompany him. Letting out a sigh of relief, he slowly started heading toward the building, keeping his gun ready.

It was a no-brainer to figure out that the building was indeed the main office—or at the very least some other sort of administrative structure. It was two stories high and, looking at its walls of rotten wood, Homewrecker was concerned that it would cave in at the slightest push of the door, burying the boy under it.

The building, however, endured; the door creaked as it was disturbed from its thirty years of rest when the boy carefully opened it, but that was it. No other noises—like the shuffling of feet rushing away from the door, or toward it—had been picked up by the boy. He nodded to Corpse Eater, and the boy assumed position near the door.

Corpse Eater snuck the barrel of his gun into the opening so that he could fire at a moment’s notice, and Homewrecker pushed it open, taking a step back and raising his gun. Not the most delicate or correct way to enter a building with a potential threat inside, but with no enemies in sight it did the trick.

The building was empty; it was clear that nobody had set foot in there for many years. At the far wall of the room stood a large plywood table, with an old map of Liberia hanging from the wall behind it. Years had drained it of all of its colors, although Homewrecker could say that its new bleak colors suited it better. Aside from that, the room had a few empty cabinets in it, a door leading further into the building with a heavy rusty padlock on it, and some mining equipment piled up in the corner, clearly not valuable enough to even be taken away when the place was abandoned.

Despite the fact that there seemed to be nothing of interest, the boy nevertheless entered the room. He could hear his friend follow him. Even though there was no way they—or anyone before them—could get past the padlock, he still felt the urge to come in—if only because the chilly interior of the building provided better protection from the sun and otherworldly attackers than open space outside.

As he walked, he felt old papers rustle under his feet and, looking down, he saw a paper trail from the cabinet to the door. The place seemed to have been left in a rush, and the old owners didn’t seem to have cared about the lost paperwork.

“Hey man,” he heard Corpse Eater speak to him from behind. “Check this out.”

Turning around, he saw his friend swatting dust from the table, leaning in to take a closer look at something hidden beneath the thick layer of dust. When he came closer, he realized what Corpse Eater was looking at: and old stack of black-and-white photos.

“Check this out,” the boy said as he picked one of the photos up. Time had not spared it, but at the same time everything else had; even though it had been left out in the open, it had been protected from harmful exposure to moisture and the sun outside. At first, the boy struggled to figure out what was he looking at, but after a few more seconds of staring at the old picture, he figured it out: it was a photo of a dismembered body of what seemed like one of the mine workers.

“I don’t think he was mauled by a wild beast,”—Homewrecker said, and Corpse Eater understood what his friend meant; the gruesome wounds on the worker’s body seemed awfully similar to the ones inflicted on the group of gamblers they had found killed two days before. The photo seemed to have been taken at night with a flash, and the worker’s white clothes and the white sand below him made for a sharp contrast to the black vertical slash running from his shoulder all the way down to his belly button.

“Look, there’s more.” Corpse Eater conjured up more photos from the dust. “Whoa… what the hell is this?”

The next photo was unlike the previous one; it didn’t have a man in it. Homewrecker struggled to figure out what the photo was of, but he just couldn’t recognize the shape.

“Is this an animal?” he asked, squinting. He made out what seemed like limbs, but everything else was making him uncertain.

“I’m not sure,” Corpse Eater replied, turning the photo sideways with hope that it would shed more light on the object’s origins. “I think it’s a man in a suit.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Corpse Eater said, as the shapes on the photos were starting to come together into something unified. “I think it’s some sort of creature?”

There was no doubt of that; the unknown photographer, whoever he was, had managed to capture a shot of an unknown gunned down beast. Corpse Eater had never seen anything like it, even during the last few days, but there was no doubt that it was not some sort of hoax. Its wrinkly maw, with wide and round murky eyes above it, had too many details for them to make up, and the multi-jointed numerous hairy legs were not similar to those of any animal that the boy knew. Whether it was accidental or done with the intention of having something for reference, the photographer had also included a leg of one of the men standing near the slain beast, and it provided for a good size comparison. If the boy’s estimates were correct, the otherworldly animal was at least three meters long.

Something like it could only have been spewed up by the mythical Underworld they were heading toward, the boy was sure of that. Nothing that large could exist in the forests around the mine without anyone knowing about it, and it was no coincidence that the photos of it were found right here, above the entrance.

Corpse Eater silently handed him a third photo, and Homewrecker froze. Without a doubt, the photo had been taken underground, as was obvious from the walls of the cave visible in it, and the photographer had done his best to provide as much light as he could for his exhibit. Yet the tunnel seemed to soak it all in.

The boys were staring at a picture of massive gates. Its doors were swung wide open, revealing a seemingly endless corridor behind it. The gates seemed ancient, made of what seemed like stone, yet for some reason, Homewrecker was confident that it was not some man-made artifact. Even though he knew nothing about the culture and history of his country, he could tell that no man could envision something like that. The oval shape of its portal, the bizarre, smooth bas-reliefs and murals that covered the gates, polished with inhuman dedication, and the generally alien and repulsive-to-the-human-eye shapes that were displayed on them, filled him with absolute certainty: no human had ever had any part in constructing this. Even if it was an entrance to some hell or spirit world, the gates would be either more welcoming or more terrifying to the human souls that would be traversing through them, depending on what awaited for them on the other side. The portal on the photo, however? It hadn’t been made with human emotions or perceptions in mind. It was a product of something unearthly, something that had never basked in the sun’s rays or felt the earth’s pull of gravity. Something that was missing its own world, completely incomprehensible and different from theirs.

In a way, the boy felt like the abyss itself had opened up its maw to swallow him whole. Completely entranced by that sight, the boy trembled at the thought that he would have to traverse through those gates.

“Hey, you two!” he suddenly heard someone call from the outside. “You two alive in there? Because if you are, and you’re wasting my time, then I’m going to whoop your asses!”

“We better go,” Corpse Eater told him, and Homewrecker nodded, putting the photos down, back onto the table, where they would be buried in dust for what could be another thirty years.

Chapter 13

Desecrator

Only their numbers were calming his nerves.

Desecrator knew that as long as the brigade was staying together, as long as he was following them, he would be all right. They had already fought back successfully once, back when they were blindly ambushed by those nobodies. Now that they had lost their element of surprise, and the General and his soldiers were aware of their threat and were ready for it at all times, there was no way they would manage to get a jump on them.

There was no reason to be afraid.

That’s what he was telling himself, and yet he was still feeling that anxiety dwelling inside of him. The meeting he’d had with one of those creatures, and its mad ramblings, was already being washed away by new experiences, and yet the scar tissue remained. The boy was carefully hiding it from everyone around him, putting on a brave face. Even more than that, he was hiding it from himself. He was telling himself that everyone around him was scared, even if they wouldn’t admit it. It was expected to be a little scared of something so outlandish.

But he couldn’t forget the humiliation of those three seeing him hiding under the stairs. He couldn’t forgive the ridicule in their eyes, the “holier than thou” look that they had been giving him when he crawled out of blood and piss. They had stuck together, they had abandoned him and run off, laughing like fools when they should’ve been behaving like warriors and at least trying to maintain a serious facade. They couldn’t have known what it was like to be chased by one of those monsters, alone, and yet they had laughed at him. They had been acting like kids and yet they had the guts to tell him that he was the coward. The unfairness of that situation was driving the boy mad. He could not tolerate such an injustice.

None of that would’ve happened if not for him, the boy thought grimly, looking ahead. The outline that he had grown to hate so much over the last couple of days was taunting him with how clean and intact it was. Not a scar on it when he so wanted to see it bashed in. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be in such a situation.

The truck up ahead, the one the General was driving in, came to stop, its engines going quiet. One by one, the soldiers stopped as well.

“We’re here!” he heard the General shout. “End of the line. Unpack these bad boys and let’s go in.”

The soldiers up ahead opened the trunks of the trucks and started pulling out the generators and other equipment. Others started shifting around uneasily, and Desecrator understood why.

So this is it, he thought. This is the place. We’re going in.

One of the soldiers unloading the trucks suddenly bent his spine and grabbed it, hissing from pain. “This shit’s too heavy!” he cried out. “What are you standing around for, help me, you slackers!”

“Come on, kid.” Desecrator felt someone lightly push him forward. “Go help your elders, be of some use.”

Grunting, the boy obeyed. My time will come, you asshole, he thought to himself. In a few years, when I finally grow up, I’ll be the most experienced and strong soldier around. We’ll see who’s who then.

The generator was heavy, and when the boy felt it in its hands he panicked for a second that it was going to crush him under its weight. Luckily, one of the soldiers saw what was about to happen and jumped over to help just in time. The boy only grunted again; he didn’t need any help anyway. He could’ve handled it.

While he was unloading the truck, he got an opportunity to catch a glimpse of the cave they were heading toward. From the very first glimpse, he could tell that it was not an ordinary mine.

The mine portal was quite spacious, no less than ten feet wide and seven feet tall. A pair of old rusty rails was running out if it like an orange tongue, teasing all newcomers. No other mine portal was as big or had any rails for mine carts in it, which meant that it probably had the richest deposits of diamonds around. However, that wasn’t what gave away the fact that the mine was special. The entrance was surrounded by effigies and totems that the villagers had no doubt put up after the mine had been abandoned; looking at them, the boy could tell that they were no more than a year old, which meant that the villagers—or, rather, the old priestess—had been visiting the place quite frequently and doing her best to keep what seemed like defensive wards in good condition. At the same time, the boy felt that the effigies doubled as a warning to anyone curious enough to take a walk inside, their snarling faces looking down on unwanted visitors. In a way, it made sense; if you saw a cage that had bars three inches thick, you wouldn’t want to enter it to figure out what was kept inside.

The old man they had picked up from the village was also there. Even though he tried to remain stoic, the boy could see that he was feeling uneasy. Somehow, Desecrator could tell that it wasn’t because of the General or the brigade; the old man was throwing glances at the wards, and his eyes were full of doubt. Even after twenty-five years, the sounds and howling of the underworld were still loud in his head.

The General noticed that as well and tried to taunt the old man: “Not feeling very brave now, old man?” He smirked, looking around at his soldiers. Some noticed that and smirked as well, only for a second to support their leader, before returning to what they were doing before. They weren’t in the mood to play any games.

“Relax, old timer.” The General continued trying to sound cheerful—a beacon of joy, lonely in its absurdness in the sea of grim faces. “We’ve got the best shots in this whole country, maybe even the whole world. Even your bitch of a witch couldn’t do anything about that. Right, guys?” he asked the soldiers.

“Uh-huh,” one of them unenthusiastically replied, his voice laced with irritation and sarcasm. For a moment there the General looked like he might kill the man on spot, but he overcame his anger and stuck to his easygoing persona: “You’ll see, we can protect you. Just show us the way the best you can and you and your village will be all right. And remember—” His voice got serious again. “If we leave the caves without what we’ve come here for none of them will survive. Even if that’s the last thing I’m going to do, I’ll personally kill each and every one of them, I promise you that.”

The old man frowned and looked at the mine portal: “I have no doubt you’re a bloodthirsty man,” he said. “Killing is as natural to you as breathing and eating. But I wouldn’t count on the fact that it’s going to save you down there. Those lands below are walked by predators of their own, with their own breed of violence. You think that your lights and generators will save you.” He pointed toward Desecrator, who at that moment was pulling a large clew of cables out of the trunk. “But the hunters who dwell below don’t even need to see you to kill you.”

“What matters is that I’ll be able to see them,” the General said, trying to sound confident, although the boy could hear hints of doubt creeping into his voice.

“Yeah, you tell yourself that.” The old man dismissed the General’s words with a flick of a wrist.

The General frowned, and squeezed his teeth. It was obvious that he wasn’t pleased that the old man was taking him for a fool. “I don’t understand what could be so dangerous down there,” he said. “If that girl managed to find her way around those dangers, then how am I and my soldiers going to fare worse than her? We’ve got weapons, and we’ve got numbers.”

“The girl has passed the rite of passage,” the man patiently explained, though it was clear that he was getting worked up as well. “She knows how to navigate the Keep and evade its dangers. There are rules that you follow. She knows them, I don’t.”

“Right.” The General rubbed his chin. “So you’re saying that you’ve lived in that village and yet you know nothing about that place? Do you take me for a fool? I’ve been a shaman of my tribe too, you know, and I have an idea of how much people (who live in a village and have nothing better to do than to spread stories) pick up from the head shaman. Or what, you’re going to tell me that the old witch had a skull of one of those demons above her hut’s door but didn’t explain to you fools what she was praying to? You mean to tell me that she made these herself?” He pointed toward the biggest of the effigies, which was easily five dozen pounds in weight.

“Oh, I know a lot all right,” the old man assured the General. “I was raised on myths and legends about that place, and as I grew older I heard many more things—things you don’t tell your children. Us old folks are less easily impressed, you see.” He wiped sweat from his forehead and continued, “But there’s a reason we weren’t shown the entrance to this place and were forbidden to enter it. I don’t fear your kind.” He looked the General in the eye. “And I don’t fear death, either by your hand or by someone else’s. But I am afraid of fear itself. I want to die a being of sound mind. Those things below… They rest for a reason, and we are grateful that they do not spread their madness throughout the land of the living. The girl made a mistake when she relied on their strength to punish you.”

The General didn’t answer; he chose to ignore the old man instead. Turning to the soldiers who were unloading the truck, he urged them to hurry up.

A few minutes later they were done. The lamps were connected to the generators through cables, and the generator’s tanks themselves were filled to the brink with kerosene. The rest of the canisters that still had some fuel in them were tied with ropes to the backs of a few soldiers the General had chosen himself.

“Hey, you.” He suddenly pointed toward Desecrator. “Get your ass over here, I’m tired of waiting for you all to catch up. Tsetse! Where the hell’s Tsetse? Tell him to round up his soldiers, I have a task for them.”

Desecrator always followed the General’s orders without hesitation, but suddenly a terrible feeling of dread overcame him. The suspicion that the General was going to throw him to the wolves crawled into his mind and didn’t let go, and for the first time he clearly felt that the other boys were right, that they weren’t soldiers to him—they were tools.

“Here.” The General handed him the lamp as well as a bundle of aluminum wire. “Tie it to your chest, so that it points forward. You’ll be our vanguard. What’s with that face? I’m telling you, you’re our eyes. Own it!”

“The eyes?” The boy looked at the cable stretching for what could be fifty feet. His own eyes went wide as he realized what was expected from him.

The tunnels underneath were no doubt dark, and if they wanted to feel safe they needed to have all flanks covered. But with a hundred soldiers, the ones holding the light had to go first, or the rest of the soldiers would obscure it. And they needed light on every flank so that nothing could sneak up on them.

In other words, he was supposed to walk separately from everyone, shining their path. He would be the first to face the horrors that dwelled in the Underworld, and, knowing how trigger-happy and imprecise the majority of the soldiers were, he would probably end up the first to be shot the moment his light conjured something out of the abyss.

Chapter 14

Corpse Eater

“This is some bullshit,” Corpse Eater heard Homewrecker angrily whisper. “Why am I the one to do this? Why me? Why not the others?”

“Hush, man,” Corpse Eater told him, throwing a careful glance at the adults ahead of them. “They’re going to hear you.”

“Then let them hear,” Homewrecker said loud enough that the nearest grunt turned around to cast a curious glance at him. “I’m fed up with this bullshit.”

“Hey, you better, you better watch your mouth, boy,” the grunt told him, drilling Homewrecker with an angry gaze. Last thing they needed was a revolting kid.

Homewrecker met the man’s gaze and endured it, not looking away. Corpse Eater looked at his friend, then at the grunt, and when he saw his bloodshot eyes glance at him, he looked down. When the soldier stopped looking at them and turned around, Homewrecker flipped him off.

Corpse Eater could understand what his friend was going through. The boy was very much displeased with his new role of light carrier. Yet despite feeling the same frustration, he didn’t think it was a good idea to show it. Being used in such a manner was nothing new for him. Making a fuss about it definitely wouldn’t improve the situation and, in fact, could make things worse. Corpse Eater didn’t know if their small numbers would affect the General’s decision to shoot them for insubordination, but he didn’t want to test the man’s temper.

The two of them were assigned the role of guarding their six, so that nothing could sneak up on them from behind. Corpse Eater wasn’t sure yet whether it was a good spot to be in or not. Sure, they had to constantly watch their backs to make sure that no creature was stalking them, and if they lost their focus they could be silently taken out without anyone even noticing. But, on the other hand, would it be better if they were up ahead? Where they would be the first to step into the dark world ahead of them, not knowing what to expect?

Would being the first human to look those demons in their eyes really be better then what they were going through?

As they headed deeper into the mine, Corpse Eater looked behind, at the entrance, where the sun’s rays were still visible. For a moment, he thought that he saw a shadow flicker through the light, but as he squinted, trying to get a better look, he could see nothing.

The roar of the generator coming to life resonated through the cave, echoing from its damp walls and almost making the rusty rails beneath their feet ring. Caught off guard, the boy twitched, as if electrified. Following the generator’s activation, the lights on their shoulders turned on as well, as if awakened by the noise the generator made. Dim at first, but getting brighter with each second. Corpse Eater noticed with annoyance that his eyes weren’t properly shielded by anything, and the very light that was supposed to help him see was blinding him.

It wasn’t his place to see anything, he remembered. He was just an accessory. Same as the usual. It was better to stick to your role and hope that the General knew what he was doing.

“All right, good!” He heard the General’s voice, distorted by echoes, reaching him from far in the front of their formation. “The generator’s on! We have twelve hours’ worth of fuel, so stop wasting time, or we’re going to be stuck there! Move it!”

The soldiers carried out his order, moving in small steps; the enclosed space was not allowing for much maneuverability. If they were to be attacked from either side, the boy suddenly realized, they would be minced with no chance of escape. Of course, that applied to enemies with guns. The creatures would have to charge through the tunnel first, and during that time they’d be as exposed as their troops. Looking back at the entrance, Corpse Eater could not help but shudder at the thought of one of those monsters rushing toward him along the rails, as if pretending to be a train. Unstoppable and probably just as durable. How fast would it cover those one hundred meters from the entrance to the tunnel and to him? And what would be the thing to kill him—the creature’s claws or the bullets of the soldiers behind him opening fire?

He tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about the shadows he thought he had seen outside. Those were probably birds or leaves flying by.

“Hey, can you keep your head straight? I can’t see where I’m going!” the soldier in front of him snapped at him. Mumbling an apology, the boy turned forward, though he was thinking that perhaps it would be for the best to keep his eyes on their six, just as the General had intended.

The tunnel was getting narrower and the ceiling was creeping up on them, getting lower and lower. The soldiers had no choice but to walk closer to each other, their shoulders touching, and the boy thought he could feel the air losing oxygen as fifty pairs of lungs were sucking it out to send it down the arteries to hungering, stressed out brains.

There was a pause up ahead; the soldiers stopped. There were some phrases thrown around, and then the sound of the first generator became less defined as if it went around the corner. Slowly, their procession started moving again.

There was a second pause, and the second generator became quieter as well. This time, Corpse Eater was close enough to see through the crowd that it was carefully carried down into what seemed like a branching tunnel.

When they came closer, he saw that his theory was correct. It wasn’t a branching tunnel though; it seemed more like a cave that went down at an angle of thirty degrees or so. The entrance to the cave was surrounded with effigies and totems, not unlike the ones outside, and it was no more than two meters wide and tall. Judging by the old digging marks, the cave had always been there, but the miners had worked with their tools to make it wider. Cracks and slips between the large boulders that made up the walls of the cave told the boy that, a long time ago the cave might’ve been even more spacious, but it had suffered from a cave-in.

It was not long before the last of the grunts walked into the cave, taking care not to hit his head on one of the rocks sticking out on his way in, and only Homewrecker and Corpse Eater remained in the tunnels. The cables on the floor were crawling after the grunts like snakes, following the generator they were attached to, and it was not long before they would disappear in the shadows. Homewrecker made a move to remove his lamp, no doubt intending to make a run for it while he still had such an opportunity, but Corpse Eater stopped him: “Don’t. The only way to leave this tunnel is with everyone else.”

His friend threw him a bewildered gaze, and Corpse Eater nodded toward the cave entrance: “I think we’re not alone in here.”

At the distance they were from the entrance to the cave, it was no longer possible to tell what was a shadow left by something outside and what was a trick of the mind. It could very well be that what they thought was a particularly big rock sticking out of the wall was in fact one of the demons leaning against the cold stone, trying to avoid being spotted. But Corpse Eater didn’t want to take any risks. He had already seen that the creatures preyed on small groups, and the events of the last few days made him wary of any possibility of attack—even more so than before.

Patting Homewrecker on the shoulder, Corpse Eater headed inside the cave. The cable didn’t leave him much choice anyway, tightening like a leash and bringing him closer to his masters.

The darkness inside the cave was absolute. The light from the outside had too many obstacles in its path to reach the boy’s eyes and, in contrast, his own light instantly became much brighter. Guiding his cone of light around the cave, the boy noticed that some of the rocks stood out of the generally bland grey texture, bringing a bit of jade green into the picture. Taking a closer look confirmed the boy’s suspicions; the rocks seemed to have been a part of some stone structure in the past, its polished rounded parts indicating an artificial design.

The cave didn’t go on for too long; twenty meters down or so, it suddenly expanded, became part of a larger chamber—big enough to house all of the soldiers in it, their lights flooding it completely. Corpse Eater made sure to rush into the light, toward the rest of the soldiers; for a second, he had had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t be able to leave the cave. That the darkness would pull him in, closer to the surface, and no cable would be able to anchor him to the troops.

The chamber they were in seemed to be a section of a tunnel—but one glance at the walls or the floor was enough to know that it hadn’t been made by humans. The walls were made of the same dusty green stone the boy had seen moments earlier, encrusted with bas-reliefs and magnificent columns supporting the ceiling, which was high enough to fit a three-story building under it. Letting its grandness sink in, the boy felt tiny, scared, and helpless, even though he was surrounded by no less than fifty armed people. He couldn’t even imagine the shock that the miners who had unsealed that monumental structure had felt when they first slipped in, not unlike the vermin who try to find something to eat in a kitchen at night while the owner of the house still sleeps.

The tunnel was very spacious—looking around, Corpse Eater noticed that he could see pretty much all of the soldiers, unobstructed. Gazing further, he noticed that one end the tunnel ended rather abruptly, with the cave-in cutting it off. He could only guess how far was that tunnel originally went and where it led.

On the other side, though, the tunnel didn’t end. It stretched into the distance, and their lights weren’t strong enough to light up its other end—if there was any. Looking in that direction, the boy could see only the path forward. The path into darkness and the abyss. At that moment, he was almost glad that he wasn’t the first one to go.

Up ahead, people started moving again. The wheels of the trolleys that carried the generators squealed, the lights fixed above them on long poles shook, throwing numerous shadows on the walls, and the hundred feet shuffled forward.

Corpse Eater could hear the soldiers let out gasps of surprise as they looked around, and he himself, if not for the constant fear of being attacked from behind, would have been mesmerized by the sight that opened to them.

“Keep your eyes peeled!” he heard the General shout from somewhere in the front. It was hard to pinpoint anyone’s location in the darkness, but Corpse Eater thought that he saw the man’s silhouette right near one of the trolleys—at the center of their formation.

“Keeping the safest place to himself as usual,” the boy grunted to himself.

He wasn’t the only one who was displeased with the man’s behavior; a soldier walking in front of him spat onto the ground and grunted: “Keep your lame advices to yourself. Don’t need to tell me to stay alert.” A man walking next to him nodded in silent agreement.

The crowd separated, and out of it stepped Captain Tsetse. It seemed that, out of all the boys, he was the only one who wasn’t delegated to be a torch carrier. Squinting his eyes and raising his hand to protect them from the light, he headed toward the boys.

Corpse Eater tensed up: he expected Tsetse to start barking some commands or to start telling them that they were doing a poor job, but instead, the older boy simply leaned in close to them, so that his mouth was next to their ears. Then, speaking so quietly that even Corpse Eater could barely hear him, he whispered into their ears: “When things go down, run for it. Head for the exit and don’t look back.”

Before the boy could clarify what he meant, Tsetse simply leaned back, raised a finger to his lips, and stepped back into the crowd. Before he blended in, his eyes glinted in the light of the lamps, and Corpse Eater could see that his usual look of indifference was gone; the only thing he saw there was some strange determination.

What was it that made their captain say that? Did he know something? Perhaps he had heard something in the crowd? Corpse Eater wanted to follow him, to tell him that his order—or was it advice?—was irrational and impossible to follow. That at that very moment something was lurking behind them, slowly creeping into the shadows, and probably eyeing him. But at the same time, he didn’t have it in him to object. Partly because it was still Captain Tsetse, one of the most dangerous and cunning fourteen-year-olds on the entire continent, and maybe the world. But also because something about the captain’s order felt odd. It wasn’t an order to charge into the enemy lines. It was an order to retreat when they would be needed by the brigade the most, to save their lives, and the fire in Tsetse’s eyes was a bright warning: “For your own good, you better listen to what I say.”

At the very least, Corpse Eater wanted to hope so.

The crowd slowly shuffled onward, and their steps echoed through the cave, making it seem like there were more of them—something each and every one of them wanted. Corpse Eater realized that those sounds—along with the grunts, the breathing, the revving of two generators and the rattling of trolley’s wheels under them—made it difficult to hear any other sounds outside of their crowd. At that very moment, the enemy could be creeping in, with his head in sight, and their footsteps were drowned in the noise the brigade produced as it crept forward. He wanted to ask them to be quiet, but he knew that his request would be laughed at. Even though he responsible for their safety, when it came to his own safety, he was on his own. The crowd in front of him—while so close that he could reach out and touch the back of the nearest soldier—seemed distant to him at that moment, with only a few of them visible in the spheres of lights provided by the poles, and some of them cast in the shadows when the cones from the shaking lights on the boys’ shoulders shone on them. The rest were obscured by the darkness.

Corpse Eater spun on his heels, intending to shine light on the unseen pursuers, and during that split second his heart dropped at the realization that he was actively looking for a confrontation. Don’t do it, his subconscious whispered to him. Stay ignorant of what dwells there. But to his relief, the light illuminated only footprints in the dust. Normal, human footprints, left by creatures that meant trouble nevertheless but, at the very least, not for him.

“You all right there?” he heard Homewrecker ask him. Somebody behind him smirked. The cable rubbed against his leg, reminding him to keep moving forward. The boy took a deep breath and nodded. He realized that he looked stupid in front of everyone, and although his appearance wasn’t a priority in this situation, it would be in the future.

“Don’t sweat it,” Homewrecker gently said, as if hearing his thoughts. “Better check this out.”

Corpse Eater looked in the direction where the boy was pointing, and squinted his eyes. Up ahead, one of the boys who was walking with his lamp along the wall, was illuminating something on it. He couldn’t see what it was, but it was curious enough that even a few soldiers stopped to take a look.

Upon closer inspection, the boy realized what exactly what he was looking for. It was a familiar shape, and while he initially didn’t recognize it, it was only because he hadn’t seen it in years.

Up on the wall, pressed into the jade monolithic structure, was a bas-relief of the map of the world. There was no mistake about it; even though he hadn’t seen any maps that covered more than their country in a very long time, he instantly recognized the familiar shape of his continent, the sharp teasing tongue of the continent to the west, and the massive, seemingly boundless mass of the continent to the northeast. He didn’t know their names, but never in his life had that ignorance inconvenienced him, so he didn’t see it as an issue.

This map of the world, while unexpected, was not the most surprising thing on their already bizarre and surreal trip. What had attracted everyone’s attention was that the ancient map carved in stone had their location marked on it.

There was no mistake about it; the boy had seen enough battle plans to know exactly where, in relation to the massive ocean, their country and province were located. The place on the map where the Keep of the Giants was located was marked with a seven-pronged star. Though it was not much more surprising than the presence of the map itself, the boy found it weird that demons and spirits of the Underworld were meticulous enough to mark their location on a map.

Further investigation of the map provided more details; the boy noticed other seven-pronged stars on the map, scattered around the world. One was on the massive continent far to the south of Africa, which occupied the entire bottom of the map. One was far to the northeast, on the other side of the colossal landmass the boy had noted before. He also noted that a few of them were scattered around the oceans.

“It spans the entire world,” Corpse Eater whispered, repeating the words he had heard the old man utter back in the village. “And even beyond.”

“This map is all wrong,” one of the soldiers looking at it noted, pointing to it with his finger. “There’s no landmass on top of the world like it shows here.”

“There ain’t no landmass, only ice up there,” the other one corrected him.

“Yeah, but there’s not so much as it is shown here, is what I’m saying. Whoever did this map got it all wrong. Some other continents look off, too.”

“What, you a cartographer now?” -The second soldier smirked.

“Man, screw you. Uneducated smartass.” -The first one grunted and walked away.

Corpse Eater felt a sting of envy that they knew so much about the world around them. Though that knowledge wasn’t useful, having at least some school education before the war must have had its perks.

After a few minutes of walking in the dark, the procession stopped again. The boy heard the gasps of surprise and awe coming from the front, and realized what they probably were looking at. The Portal.

The boy remembered how impressed he had been by mere photos, but he was absolutely sure that the real thing, which was just beyond the veil of darkness, was far beyond that, far beyond anything any of them had ever seen in their petty lives. He could understand what an effect it would have on simple soldiers who, for most of their adult lives, knew only death, dirt, and whoring.

As the procession started to move again, the wave of bewildered and awed gasps was slowly rolling closer to the back of the group, until a beam of light glanced past the portal’s support and the boy saw it again. The memory of his previous impressions was still fresh in his head, but seeing it with his own eyes made him question if any medium could convey the sensation that was experiencing.

It had been built long before their ancestors started walking the earth and would most likely outlive humanity itself. Before its timeless nature, the enigmatic secrets it was bound to contain, and the unthinkable evil it could spew into the world under the sun, their very quest for survival was seemingly insignificant. Their mere desire to exist and live, spawned as a necessity by their mortal coils, was almost vulgar and blatant before this ageless structure—something that one should be ashamed of and never mention.

“Unreal,” the boy heard Homewrecker gasp. Involuntarily, Corpse Eater took his light and guided its beam up at the portal to get a better look at it as he was passing through. Whether he would survive or not didn’t concern him at that moment; for the first time in his life, he was free from that drive to live, and it was refreshing. All that mattered was to suck in that impression that the gate had on him and to make it his own.

“Who could possibly build something like that?” the boy wondered. “Spirits? Demons?”

At that moment, he doubted that the gate had anything to do with humans at all, dead or otherwise.

At that moment, his idyll was interrupted by a sound from behind them. Somebody was whispering in the darkness.

He turned around together with Homewrecker, and his friend cast him a concerned look: “You heard it too, right?”

Their lights weren’t revealing anything to them, which, considering the circumstances, was a good thing. But they were pretty sure that there was something in the darkness worth their attention. They knew that undead eyes, hungry for vengeance, were staring at them at that very moment, biding their time, and the boy was strangely sure that even if their lights went out, those eyes would still be able to see his every move.

“Hey! We think we’ve heard something!” Homewrecker called for a few soldiers who were walking closest to them. A few of them turned around, and one of them lazily asked: “You think or you know?”

“I’m sure I heard something!” Corpse Eater spoke up before his friend had such a chance. Even though it wasn’t entirely true, it would be better to make sure that he had the soldiers’ attention. “They’re somewhere here, following us!”

That had the desired effect; the soldiers tensed up and raised their weapons. The boys did the same, staring into darkness and straining their eyes, trying to find something. As he felt the pull of the cable again, he slowly started walking backward. In his mind, he already had a clear picture of what could happen: the cable pulls him down and he tumbles and falls, just as one of those creatures emerges from the darkness with its claws ready.

Slowly, moving at the slowest pace the tug of their long resin-covered leashes allowed, the boys entered the Underworld.

Chapter 15

Homewrecker

Absolute darkness. Cold, damp air. Shuffling of a hundred feet. Racket of the generator. Heads going in and out of sight as the lights shook and trembled.

As they descended down the tunnel, Homewrecker suddenly noticed that the air which had gotten more and more chilly as they moved downward, was getting warmer all of the sudden. Although it was a welcome change, it didn’t make Homewrecker feel any better; the boy’s scared mind painted him a picture that they were descending right into the throat of an underground leviathan. After all, weren’t they looking for the herb which grew “at the base of the giants’ feet?”

Perhaps at any moment, he could expect a long tongue to emerge from the darkness in front of them and crush the entire brigade under its weight before they would have a chance to react, before proceeding to swipe them all up like breadcrumbs.

The tunnel didn’t go on for too long; after a while, the brigade reached a crossroads. The tunnel continued straight, but had two new ones branching out from it and going down, in different directions. The General must’ve ignored them because the brigade just continued to go straight. Homewrecker, though, couldn’t help but wonder where the tunnels headed.

He, Corpse Eater, and a few other soldiers, were making sure nothing would attack them from behind, so they were trusting everyone behind them to keep their eyes peeled for attacks at the head of the formation. Their eyes weren’t looking ahead like everyone else’s, and they were too tense to look away even for a second when they heard a second wave of awe approach. They heard that the soldiers behind them weren’t scared or intimidated. That was all that mattered to them at that moment.

They only turned around when they realized that the ceiling above them was suddenly gone.

At first, Homewrecker thought that they had entered a hall of some sort, but he was very surprised when he felt soft ground under his feet. Looking up, he didn’t see the ceiling—only tiny yellow lights. He initially thought that they were stars but, after looking at them for a few seconds, he realized that the lights were slightly moving—like fireflies. Curiosity took over and the boy guided his light upward, to see that the ceiling, even if very distant, was still there. It wasn’t an even surface like in the tunnels; the ceiling of the hall was covered in what seemed like roots and even some strange, unseen plants. An entire forest upside down, hanging above them.

“Don’t point the lights up there!” he suddenly heard the old man from the front of the formation shout at them. The boy didn’t follow the old man’s advice immediately, mostly because he was bewildered by it. Do not point your light at the ceiling? Why? Wasn’t it his job to illuminate everything?

But a moment later he got the answer to his question; defying all common sense, he saw shadows charge across the unseen woods above, and heard their many claws and fingers grab onto the branches. Without sunlight, his mind was quickly adapting to the new environment, and he was now relying on his hearing rather than eyesight, which was providing a primitive but very descriptive and apt picture of what was going above.

The monsters that dwelled in the Underworld were rushing toward the spot of light, and if they reached it, the boy suddenly realized, they would start looking for the source of it.

Would they think that the lamp on his shoulder was a particularly fat firefly? Would they dare to come down to him to check?

He grabbed the light and made it point forward, but as the spot of light traversed the ceiling on its way down he—and everyone else—noticed that the lush black woodland above housed more than one type of creature. Some of the hungry things that the boy had carelessly attracted were no bigger than a dog, albeit with at least twice as many legs, which they used to carelessly traverse the environment. But others… others were big enough that they had to move the forest out of their way as they gracefully sloughed across the ceiling’s surface. Their grey skin glistened and glimmered as they crept forward, and their strange appendages, too indistinct to be called limbs, were holding on only to the toughest of trunks.

The soldiers started to worry, and the old man’s voice echoed through the chambers: “Don’t look up, either! They see the glints of life in your eyes. Don’t let them take that!”

Homewrecker doubted that the creatures above could spot anything valuable in the eyes of the men around him, but he was sure his own had something of value for the creature above, so he quickly turned his gaze toward his feet.

“You know,” Corpse Eater said next to him, looking around. “When the General said that we were going to the Underworld, I imagined it a bit… differently.”

Homewrecker understood what his friend meant. He had expected spirits to swirl around in the air above, and demons with faces like those on the effigies and totems at the entrance to the cave system. When he had heard the word “Underworld,” what had come to his mind was not a literal underground world.

Wherever their lights shone, he could see trees, bushes, and even some colorless grass springing from the ground. He had never seen any plant like those before him but, then again, the plants that he knew about relied on sunlight to give them strength, not whatever this local flora was feeding upon.

Beyond the plants spanned a seemingly boundless void. The boy had no way of knowing how far it went; it could go on for a few hundred meters or for thousands of kilometers, spanning under the entire continent and beyond—under the salty oceans. The darkness was making distance an obsolete concept. The sounds they were making were leaving no echo, and thus the boy concluded that the sound had nothing to deflect from. His ears were picking up only a faint buzzing of something that could be an unearthly bug, and, to the boy’s bewilderment, something that sounded like clapping hands and flutes. The devilish music that was playing here was without any rhythm or consistency.

His eyes, starving for light, picked up another curious detail; the shadows in the underworld were much softer, surrounded by the glow of a strange yellow hue. It wasn’t enough to make him confident where he was going if he was walking without any lights, but he would compare that faint light to being in a room at night with a new moon in the sky—not enough to see everything, but just enough to not walk into a table.

Homewrecker soon realized what the source of that strange glow was: the bizarre underground trees—no more than three or four meters at most—with spiral trunks and numerous thin branches that formed an umbrella shape over them, bore long, glowing fruits. On their own, each individual fruit produced little to no light, but together, in the hazy atmosphere of their world, they produced the glow that made the air shimmer with a barely noticeable yellow glow. Perhaps if they were to turn off their lights the glow would become clearer, but the boy doubted anyone would agree to test that hypothesis.

But while he was marveling at that otherworldly glow other soldiers, up ahead, were not as excited. Their eyes were not dreamy when they looked around, and they saw the underworld for what it was—an unknown, and thus hostile territory, where nothing was what it seemed. The memories of dreadful creatures which the underworld had made out of a handful of villagers were still fresh, and the soldiers weren’t burning with desire to see the prototypes of those monstrosities.

Tsetse stepped out of the crowd, his expression once again unreadable. He headed toward Homewrecker and the boy sighed in disappointment; he already knew that the captain was going to scold him for his little light show, and he wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Don’t do that again, okay?” Tsetse got straight to the point, his eyebrows furrowed. Homewrecker just shook his shoulders: “I was just curious. What’s so bad about that? I have to expect the attack from all sides, right?”

“Don’t be coy with me,” Tsetse warned him, raising his finger. “And take this seriously. In the two minutes that we’ve spent here, one soldier had already gone missing.”

Homewrecker felt his guts sink: “Missing? Already? How?”

“When we find his body you may ask him,” Tsetse abruptly said, and threw him and Corpse Eater a concerned glance: “Keep your eyes peeled, okay?”

Homewrecker didn’t want to submit, but he nevertheless nodded in agreement. He suspected that the captain wouldn’t get physical with him if he disobeyed him this time, but he didn’t want to test him. The older boy seemed very tense, and he had plenty of reasons to be so.

“Seems like something out of Jules Verne, right?” he heard Tsetse dreamily wonder. “This Underground world.”

Homewrecker didn’t understand what the captain was talking about. “Who’s Jul’Ver?” he wondered. The captain shook his head and walked off into the crowd.

“All right, people, this is it!” the General informally informed the crowd. “We’re finally inside the Keep! Stay alert and follow me, we’ll find the Blood of the Giants soon enough and then we can get out of here!”

“Follow me,” Homewrecker quietly mocked the man. “As if you’re going to be the one in front.”

The boy wondered who was unlucky enough to be the eyes of the brigade, tasked with carrying the light in front of the crowd. Was it Puppy Slayer? No, there was no way he was the one. The boy was too scared of everything. He simply wouldn’t walk first, and although the adults liked to make fun of him, the stakes were too high to give him such an important mission.

Death Herald? Maybe. The boy was the literal opposite of Puppy Slayer, so he wouldn’t have any problem with blindly marching straight into the jaws of death. But that came with its own problems; the kid in front had to be careful, and that boy was anything but. Putting him at the head of their group could end up attracting only more trouble.

Desecrator? Homewrecker felt some eerie satisfaction spreading through his body at the thought of Desecrator being the one at the head of the line. Ever since they’d found him under that stairwell, trembling in fear, the boy had been especially unbearable, trying to put on a show at every opportunity. Having him actually put his actions where his words were, when Homewrecker knew that he was still the same coward, was a satisfying thought.

Homewrecker stopped that train of thought when he remembered that he was in a similar position. Tsetse had already warned him that there had been casualties, and he did it for a good reason: so that the boy would know that they weren’t in some magical land and that the threat was real. So that he had a solid grasp on the fact that even though they brought a piece of their world with them, lighting the way, there nevertheless were things in the shadows just beyond that light that could snatch you away right in front of fifty pair of eyes and nobody would even notice that—and it would happen so quietly that not a single ear, strained for any unusual noises, would hear your muffled scream, if any sound would even manage to escape your lungs before you were dragged away.

He was one of the twelve eyes of their brigade’s main body. Even though every cell in his own body wanted to scream and rebel against that, it was an inevitable fact that he needed the brigade just as much as they needed him. They were the claws that he would guide toward the enemy. He just had to stay alert.

Making up his mind, the boy continued his march, letting the cable and peripheral vision guide him in the correct direction—the same direction the generators with the General and the old man at the helm were being dragged in.

The scenery around them was slowly changing; they exited the Glowing Tree Grove and were now traversing the sunless fields of transparent grass. It reached up to the boy’s belt and sometimes he saw a lone purple fruit sticking out of the grass. He heard creatures crawling above them through the Upside-Down Forests, and prayed that they didn’t have wings. A couple of times he heard something cricketing right above him but, bearing in mind the old man’s warning, he did not look up.

He almost had a heart attack when he felt something grab his ankle, but when he looked down he found nothing.

Sometimes, the ever-present noise of the engines was drowned out by screams of terror and gunfire. Even though his every instinct was telling him to turn around, he wouldn’t do that—although the thought that something was tearing through the ranks of soldiers toward his exposed back was making him want to close his eyes and run away. One time, the shriek of dread and horror that reached him sounded like it was rising up into the air, and when he involuntarily turned around to check out what was going on, he managed to catch a glimpse of someone’s legs leaving the dome of light around the generator as their owner was pulled up toward the ceiling by some predator that remained unseen. The timely warning of the old man—“Do not look up!”—had saved him, and probably a dozen others, from following the unlucky soul with their eyes to the very end of his final destination and thus repeating his mistake.

Sometimes he’d see the strange inhabitants of that weird world as they’d curiously approach their band of misfits. Some of them were blind, while others had big, unseeing eyes, but all of them were colorless and meek, and whenever Homewrecker shone his light on them they squealed and ran away, their black iris-less eyes burned by the light they hadn’t seen for who knows how many millennia.

Even the flora of that bizarre underworld could not be trusted. A small grove of thin trees that happened to be on their path suddenly separated from the ground and started moving on their own. When the shocked kids illuminated them, it turned out that what they believed to be the tree’s crown was actually a long, massive body, supporting itself on thin legs that they had initially confused as the trunks.

Sometimes, they would happen upon the statues, erected in the middle of nowhere to God knows whom. Made out of jet-black, impossibly smooth stone that seemed to be sweating some unknown emulsion, they were so dark that you could see them before the light even landed on them as their incomprehensible material soaked in even the faint glow of the Underworld. The creatures that they displayed were nothing like humans, some of them wielding tools Homewrecker couldn’t grasp the true meaning of. Their large bulbous heads were connected to strangely-shaped bodies, and the only appendages in which they sometimes held their instruments, and the ritualistic clothes they wore, made it apparent that the statues weren’t meant to portray animals, but sentient creatures, capable of thought. Perhaps even the same creatures that had built that place. And looking into the spots where their eyes could be, the boy almost felt like his very mind was soaked in as well, attracted to the dark secrets those monstrosities were sure to keep.

The worst thing, however, were the rumors. They were spreading through their ranks like ripples through water, acquiring more and more details the further they passed. The General tried to stop them whenever they reached him, but he might as well have been trying to stop the soldiers from breathing. Demoralizing as they were, they were satisfying the morbid curiosity of the crowd. Of course, it didn’t help that Homewrecker and Corpse Eater were the last ones in the formation; by the time the rumors reached them, they were so outrageous that they seemed out of place even in the bizarre place they were in.

One of the soldiers passed a word that the glowing fruits that were growing everywhere on the trees were not to be touched; Defiler had approached the tree at his own risk (to bring himself back to the surface a curious souvenir) and one of the branches with the biggest fruit had turned out to be a lure. They didn’t see what exactly had pulled him away, but they mentioned that his scream ended very abruptly—as if a soundproof door had closed on him.

Another rumor told them to keep their feet away from giant flowers on the ground. One of the soldiers that stepped on one of them had gotten dissolved up to his very lungs before he could say a word. Homewrecker didn’t believe that particular one until he tripped over the soldier’s half-dissolved torso.

The rumors were the warning system of their unit. Just like in the ancient times, whenever someone had heard something, he’d pass it to the others so that they would know about the danger. Maybe sometimes it’d create an unnecessary myth or two, but that was a small cost for a glimpse into the state of things around you. If you were told that there were monsters in all three forests around you and they dwelled only in one of them you were still well-informed.

As they traversed more and more of that sunless landscape, the boy couldn’t stop thinking: did Tsetse really expect them to rush across these fields back to safety? On their own, in almost complete darkness? With no guarantee that they would find the way back or that they wouldn’t become someone’s dinner? And on top of that, he expected them to run away “when things go down”?

Even the thought of simply pulling off his light and walking five meters away from the crowd was making his stomach twist. Sure, they’d still be able to see him and he’d see them, and they would only be separated by one second’s worth of running, but he couldn’t expel the analogy of him being fishing bait out of his mind. Wouldn’t he be the same in the unseeing eyes of local fauna—an easy picking?

His very genes were telling him that it was a bad idea. That his tribe was his fortress and that he shouldn’t ever leave its premises. The night promised nothing but dangers.

As the grassy fields changed to a muddy swamp, the boy noted that he could hear the distinct sound of a running river. If Homewrecker had known Greek mythology, he’d have found it only appropriate that the unseen fields of the Underworld had their own Styx running through them.

“You hear that?” Corpse Eater nudged him with an elbow.

Homewrecker simply nodded, knowing that his friend was looking at him. He preferred to stay focused on that imaginary line that separated light and dark some twenty meters away from them. The ethereal picket fence of their little moving camp.

“I never liked the river,” Corpse Eater shared with his friend. Homewrecker said nothing; he did not support his friend’s chatty mood.

“When I was a kid my mother told me to stay away from it or the river demons would pull me under the surface,” Corpse Eater quietly continued. Throwing a quick glance at him, Homewrecker saw that his friend’s eyes were staring into distance; his mind was far away, in a comforting past at his mother’s side.

“She told me about devils with fourteen black long fingers that grabbed the bad boys who wandered too close to its river, and when the boys were found on the next day their lungs would be filled with water. And you know, when I hear this river, I think… I think that maybe my mother was right. When I see the things that walk around us I think that… maybe she was talking about this river. Maybe it’s the one she was warning me about.”

“Your mother didn’t know shit.” Homewrecker rudely interjected his friend’s train of thought and, to his relief, he saw the features of the boy next to him tense up as he snapped back to reality.

“Don’t you talk shit about my mother,” Corpse Eater snapped at him, annoyed at the rude awakening his friend had provided.

“Don’t go off on such dreamy rants then,” Homewrecker bluntly told him. “Stay focused! Please!” he pleaded with Corpse Eater. “What is wrong with you? Did you forget where we are?”

“What does it matter if we pay attention or not?” Corpse Eater suddenly said, louder than necessary. A few adults hushed at him, annoyed both by his loudness and the sentiments he was spreading. Homewrecker was taken aback as well; his friend had shown defeatist tendencies in the past, and he was quite a nihilist, but never to this extent.

“What are you talking about?” Homewrecker wondered, bewildered.

“I’m just saying that I don’t care what happens to us anymore. I can’t bring myself to care. If no one else does… then why should I?”

“Because it’s your life!” Homewrecker passionately said. The words of his friend were filling him with anger; how could he disregard such a simple fact? “Who else is going to care about it but you?”

“I don’t know,” Corpse Eater calmly replied. “Maybe someone else will. But I doubt it. This…” He raised his gun a bit. “Is all we are and ever will be. We are not the soldiers who carry the weapons—we are the tools themselves. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Bullshit,” Homewrecker snarled. Once again, he felt like he was fighting a losing battle, against his friend and his common sense, but his rebellious will was not allowing him to give in. “All of this will be over one day, and we’ll survive today to see it. I’m sure of it. And I’ll claw at the Earth to fulfill that, because only I decide what I am and what my future will be.”

Corpse Eater didn’t say anything in response, but Homewrecker knew: it wasn’t because he had nothing to say or because his mind was changed. The boy just didn’t want to continue the argument anymore.

To hell with you, Homewrecker angrily thought. You’ll see when I carry your ass through all of this that I am right. You’ll see.

He angrily turned away from his friend and focused on the darkness, trying his best not to notice Corpse Eater from the corner of his eye. The boy was annoying him with his sentiments, and Homewrecker would rather stare into the abyss than talk to him again.

And he made that decision just in time.

The strange music and clapping noises got louder. Whoever the tireless musicians were, they were heading in their direction. The boy cocked his gun and signaled for Corpse Eater to stay on alert—a gesture completely pointless as his friend had caught on himself, but the one that was giving the boy an illusion of control. Behind him, he heard the cloth of gun belts rubbing against skin and clothes as a few soldiers raised their weapons as well, and he prepared to fight whatever his light would reveal.

The creature that entered their sights was… disappointing. Even under the starry sky somewhere above them, it would probably still be the most defenseless thing in the world. Homewrecker was so appalled at that fact that he even lowered his gun.

The thing was not much taller than a boy, and just like him it walked on two legs, hunching forward a bit. Instead of a mouth, it had two pipes which were hanging down to its knees, past its big glossy belly, and just above the pipes were two big, round black eyes.

The creature clapped its hands—so disturbingly similar to human ones—and then let out a few notes from its natural musical instrument. After that it performed a simple silly dance. Its eyes were watering from the light scorching out its retinas, but nevertheless it continued to attract the crowd’s attention with concentrated dedication.

“What the hell is that?” Homewrecker heard someone behind him wonder. Even thought the question was not aimed at him, the boy shook his shoulders, as he had just wondered the same thing. The creature stopped dancing to raise one hand to cover its eyes from the light; it was clear that it didn’t have any eyelids and looking at the light was causing it physical pain, but a few moments later, as if it had gathered enough strength to continue, it started clapping and dancing again, staring at the very thing that was causing it so much anguish.

It was clear that it didn’t want to stop, and that its weird dance was more important to it than its own well-being, as if the very concept of survival and preserving itself was alien to it. It was enough to take a look at it to tell that it was a creature from a different world, but it was its behavior that truly conveyed that impression. The boy didn’t know what it was, but seeing how it neglected its health, how much it craved their attention, and the almost religious vigor that filled it when it danced for them, gave the boy the impression that the otherworldly gods that had molded it put subservience at the top of the list of that poor creature’s priorities. It would try to entertain them even if it cost it its life since, for the first time in thousands of years, its species suddenly found a subject of worship that they had been missing for so long.

Other creatures like it were slowly gathering around it, inspired by the example of their brother. They had to witness it with their own eyes; the angels that had descended from above, radiating their divine light across their abandoned lands. The sounds of their pipes combined into one excited cacophony. Like moths to a flame, their round bodies emerged from the darkness as they yearned to experience the long forgotten sense of sight.

A shot thundered across the dark plains, and the creature standing closest to them fell to the ground, struck down by a soldier’s bullet. The other flute players got the message and started to retreat, though Homewrecker noted that even as they ran away they made stops to make something that looked like apologetic bows, and their music, formless as it was, seemed to convey the same feeling with high-pitched notes.

Looking at the body lying on the soft and wet ground, Homewrecker glanced at Corpse Eater. Still fuming over their earlier conversation, he pointed toward the dead body and said: “You know, they remind me of you a little bit. They also take everything.”

“Fuck off.” Corpse Eater’s reply was simple.

“Everybody stand down! Stand down!” The General’s sudden shout caught them off guard. They were sure that the General didn’t stop them because their quest was over; his voice was laced with concern. And if nothing before that had made him lose his cool, what had happened now?

“Right flank.”—They heard his voice. “Where’s the light on the right flank?”

Looking over to the right flank, Homewrecker noticed that there was indeed a sizable gap in the perimeter. Where there used to be a kid there was now just darkness and a cut down cable—a sizable gap in their imaginary defense that was easily noticed. The soldiers that stood the nearest to it tried to hide inside the crowd, but the others weren’t keen on trading places with them.

Homewrecker felt a sting of concern. Who was that? Who had been taken? He recalled that it was Whitesnake who had stood there, but he wasn’t sure.

“General! A few more men on the right flank are missing!” someone informed him, and the rumors started bouncing back and forth across the crowd, making them unruly.

While the soldiers were panicking over what they were going to do Homewrecker, was firmly staring into darkness; he knew that he couldn’t afford to be distracted. There were enemies on the right flank to him, sure. But that didn’t mean that his side was safe. He was hoping that the other kids understood that as well, or their losses would keep growing.

“Did anyone see what happened?” the General asked loudly. “General. I did!” one of the soldiers shouted. “They had been walking alongside us and then I noticed that the light went out.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything!?” the General exploded in anger, and the soldier pulled his head in like a turtle, trying to stick out of the crowd less: “I thought that it was because of someone who was walking between us. I didn’t know, I swear!”

The soldiers didn’t like that answer, and Homewrecker could hear the commotion behind him. Everyone was getting louder, and he could make out only individual noises and voices.

“What are you, stupid?”

“I should just bash your brains out, you don’t use them anyway!”

“The light! Can somebody bring some light here? Do we have spares?”

“Point your light over here, boy!”

“Quiet!” the General’s voice boomed across the landscape, pushing all other sounds out with both loudness and authority. “Do you hear that?”

The brigade instantly got silent—so silent you could hear someone’s soles scratching against the ground as they were shifting their weight. Homewrecker knew why; the General’s invitation to listen to something could not possibly mean anything good for them, taking into account their surroundings.

And in the absolute silence that had formed, cutting through the almost palpable tension in the air, the whisper of mad ramblings, spoken by a voice no longer human, had blown up louder than a grenade: “Wanton Greed.”

The wave of whispers rolled across the crowd; none of them dared to raise their voice, to be the first one to speak up, but they couldn’t stay silent either. They understood the rules of the game, they knew that no one knew where that whisper had come from, but they also desperately needed to make sure that the man standing next to them didn’t know either. They had to know that they weren’t lonely in their ignorance, and that at the very least they were facing the same problems as their tribesmen.

It was strangely comforting to be scared together with someone.

“Where the hell is it?”

“Swollen Sunrise.”

“They are here…”

“Bramble Tree.”

“We shouldn’t have come here…”

“Thorn of Purple.”

“We should’ve tried to escape with Killmonger, I told you.”

The sea of their noises was being polluted by the whispers from beyond seeping in, their creeping madness blending in with the sprawling insanity of the surrounded soldiers. The voices of those who they had killed were calling out to them from beyond the grave, and although there wasn’t any meaning or system to those messages, the main idea was crystal clear, its two words relaying more than a thousand well-spoken sentences could.

“We’ve come.”

The commotion was undercut by a loud sound of impact as something hit the ground. The soldiers gasped and got noticeably quieter.

Homewrecker wanted to take a look, but looking away could mean death. Regardless, he saw from the corner of his eye that Corpse Eater threw him a curious glance and, not taking his eyes off the ground in front of him, the boy whispered: “Take a look what it is.”

Corpse Eater cast a quick glance back, before returning to a firing position and adjusting the gun in his hands. “There’s corpse in the middle of the crowd now,” he informed Homewrecker.

It wasn’t very informative, but more details followed as the soldiers in the middle were discussing it.

“Where the hell did it come from?”

“It fell from the ceiling! Can we look up here?”

“Someone ask the old man!”

“Hey, I know his face!” Homewrecker heard the surprised whisper of one of the men. “It’s Red Hands! He went missing the moment we went in!”

“He must’ve been dropped back by whatever had carried him off!” the other whisper guessed.

“Don’t look up then! Nobody look up! Keep your eyes to the ground!” the third voice warned the others.

“Hey, what is that on his chest?” the fourth whispering voice wondered. “It doesn’t seem like a wound… It’s words! Written words!”

“What does it say?” somebody wondered. The entire brigade held their collective breath to create the perfect medium for the reader’s voice.

Silence.

“It says… ‘you’re next.’”

There was a pause as the meaning of that phrase and its presence on the body that had dropped from the ceiling sank in. Then, the silence was torn to shreds by someone’s scream.

“They’re on the ceiling!”

Homewrecker didn’t need to turn around to know that, against the old man’s repeated warnings, somebody turned his lamp upward. He knew that it was a bad idea; even if the villagers weren’t up there, the creatures that preyed on those who were the most curious could still be patiently waiting in an ambush.

But no shots or gasps followed. The ceiling was probably covered in its lush upside down groves, but if there was something else up there, the boy knew that he’d go deaf from all the shots.

And then, while everyone was looking up, when everyone was expecting the enemy to drop on their heads, with their scythe-like claws ready, the boy noticed, from the corner of his eye, the light going out to the left of him.

A moment later a crashing sound boomed across the Underworld, and half of the lights, including his own, went out.

Chapter 16

Desecrator

Ironically, being the first in line to die saved his life.

Desecrator had thought that being the first to step into the unknown territory meant he’d be the first to die for sure. That he’d be the one to soak in all the terrors that the Underworld would throw at them. But their enemies—or the priestess in particular—probably expected the same line of thinking and thus had come to the conclusion that the front lines would be the place where the best shooters would be.

Desecrator knew that it wasn’t the case. He knew the faces that had surrounded him and, in their presence, he feared getting shot more than getting eaten. Not that it wasn’t the worst way to go, as he had come to realize over the course of their short journey.

When the villagers attacked, he was one of the few who saw how their assault began. His eyes registered a quick shadow separating from the ground and crossing the distance between its place of ambush to where the oblivious Orphan Maker stood quicker than Desecrator could draw in a breath to shout a warning. Its legs unraveled like springs during its jump. And, before he could finish blinking, the creature had snuffed the kid’s life out, slitting the boy’s throat with a cut so deep the boy’s head rolled back, held only by his vertebrae, and then grabbing him in a monstrous hug to carry him off.

He didn’t know if it was a calculated move or just a happy coincidence for his enemies, but Orphan Maker’s body was still tethered to the generator by a cable. Whether it was intended or not, the attack had missed it. And, as the boy’s body was dragged into the shadows, the cable straightened out and pulled the generator with it.

Desecrator knew firsthand how heavy that thing was, and yet it tumbled and fell from the trolley that had been carrying it with the ease of a carton box. The fall wasn’t that big at all, but as it hit the ground something within it shattered under the machine’s own weight and, without convulsing or producing any other signs of struggle, the generator died—and with it, the other five lamps that had been attached to it.

It was the moment that the villagers needed to start their assault. They didn’t try to pretend to be humans anymore; their unified croaking roar shook the boy’s bones as they let out their true nature, shedding their last traces of humanity.

The soldiers rushed toward the second generator’s saving bowl of light, where the General was already climbing onto it to get a better viewing position. The lights of the lamps flickered as the boys were hastily pulling them off and throwing them down; with them on, they were walking targets. One of the shaking lights suddenly twitched and flew three meters to the side, before its color changed from white to red. Somebody hadn’t made it in time.

“Keep the lights on!” the General hollered, trying to take aim. “Point them at ’em, keep them in the lights!”

Nobody listened. In this situation, it was better to face the General’s fury later than to come face-to-face with an undead monster with feet-long blades. They all realized that they needed lights to see where to shoot, but no one was willing become a hero for the greater good.

The guns thundered as they started spewing lead, but in the darkness it was hard to tell where to shoot. The enemy had seemingly improved their tactics and they weren’t just blindly rushing in. Their attacks resembled the waves rolling onto the shore—they were coming and going, picking off soldiers one by one before sliding back into the shadows. And just like with the waves, their onslaught seemed unstoppable, driven by gravity itself.

Their intent might be to create confusion, to suggest that their numbers were greater than they actually were, and it worked exceedingly well. Without any chance to count them, there was no way to tell whether there were ten of them or ten thousand. All that mattered was that they were where they needed to be, striking down one soldier after another at every opportunity.

Desecrator wasn’t sure whether or not it was a trick of the shadows, fueled further by his vivid imagination, but the creatures seemed to have changed since the last time they had shown themselves. Their bodies were bulkier, bloated with the unearthly growths within them, and where there used to be wounds there were now sprawling formations. The boy could see the beginning of what would become of them; new limbs and some unseen organs were already gestating under their translucent skin, waiting for their time to break free. As time went on, the villagers resembled humans less and less.

It seemed that the herb that the priestess had used to resurrect them was continuing to do its job, working miracles on their bodies. What used to be broken, shattered, was now stronger, and the boy had no doubt that the Giants’ Blood would continue to spread through them, replacing their weak mortal flesh with something tougher, stronger. Fiercer. Until nothing would be left of their former bodies. Until their vengeance would consume them whole.

“Keep your formations!” the General shouted at his soldiers. “Don’t get into herds, for fuck’s sake!”

As if to confirm his words, one of the soldiers shot another one in the back when the poor fool walked into his line of fire.

Their brigade became a chaotic swirl of bodies, a school of fish gathered into one place by a cunning whale who was now taking a dive before rising to swallow them all. It was impossible to stay put; as soon as somebody froze or tried to take a nice shooting position, a demon would leap at them from out of the shadows. They wanted to keep the soldiers in their panicked, disorganized state, since it was their best chance at victory, and they were succeeding. As a result, most of the soldiers were charging around at the very edge of light and darkness, where they could still see where they were going but just barely.

The priestess was nowhere to be seen, but that was to be expected. She had probably learned her lesson from their previous fight and thus was waiting for an opportunity to strike instead of attacking the General head-on.

Desecrator lined a shot against one of the attackers, but as soon as he pulled the trigger the creature started moving again, and the bullets flew past it. Their bodies had muscles strong enough to carry them out of the bullet’s path just before the trigger was pulled.

His knees were shaking, and he feared that at any moment he could wet himself. Although it wasn’t at the top of his priorities at the moment, the boy still feared that he would be seen as coward. If these were his last moments, he wanted to savor that glory that he had been yearning for his entire life. Maybe he wasn’t old enough to be a warrior worthy of the General’s attention, but he was definitely old enough to go out like one.

And yet, despite his resolution to go down in a blaze of glory, his body refused to answer to his honorable call. His arms were shaking, refusing to take aim, and his legs were trembling, calling for him to run away. He got the message that it was sending him: “If you were never brave before, there’s no need to be now.”

Tsetse had warned him to run away when this shit went down. Was it his captain’s final taunt? Was the older boy hoping that he would run away like the coward that they thought he was and get killed? That wasn’t going to happen.

He glanced around and saw that Homewrecker and Corpse Eater were still with them. Sons of bitches, Desecrator thought, gritting his teeth. I bet Tsetse didn’t tell you to run away, or why else would you still be here?

The other boys were also desperately trying to pin down a target and shoot them down. Despite his disdain toward them, Desecrator felt a sting of envy when he saw how organized the two of them were. They stood back to back, seemingly glued to each other, and when one of them took a step the other one followed, feeling his companion’s leg movements. It almost resembled a dance, only they were looking away from each other, to where the enemies were, and they had complete confidence that their six was covered by someone they could trust.

It was no wonder that they were the ones who had taken down the first attacker when their base had been attacked. Their synergy was almost inspiring, and had the General saw them at some other place he would no doubt commend that.

Another soldier fell to the ground, screaming. The monster that had pinned him started tearing into him, shouting unholy incantations that no longer even resembled human speech. Desecrator could easily shoot him down—the creature was in his sights. But when he pulled the trigger, not a single bullet managed to find its target; his trembling hands just couldn’t deal with the gun’s recoil.

The creature looked in his direction and, at that moment, someone else managed to land a shot on it. It roared and retreated to the shadows, but the boy knew: at the rate they were being eradicated, soon there would be no one to save him.

Another soldier got yanked into the darkness. One of the kids ran into the darkness and moments later his screams rolled across the battlefield. Despite the pain they were filled with, it took them a full ten seconds to subdue; the monsters were taking their time to end the boy’s life. Someone was crawling across the ground with his legs missing, and another soldier was trying to land shots while holding the rifle with his single remaining hand, seemingly unaffected by the loss of his other limb, before falling backward like a drunk.

Death Herald was already on his second clip. When his gun spewed its last bullet and started clicking in demand of more ammo the boy threw it away, pulled out his machete, and fearlessly rushed into battle. He even managed to land a blow on one the beasts, but it was more because the creature, drunk on bloodlust as it was, was shocked to see a tiny kid go into close combat against it. A moment later it swayed him away like one would an annoying fly, and the boy fell to the ground with his skull carved open.

Everywhere around him was chaos. The monsters were crawling everywhere, attacking whoever they wanted, and Desecrator realized that the only reason he was still alive was probably due to how unimpressive and harmless he must’ve looked to their attackers. At that moment, his lifespan could be measured in the number of adult soldiers still alive. And that number was rapidly dropping.

Is this how we go out? he desperately thought, looking around. Is nobody going to save me? Please?

He wasn’t expecting to find a savior in that hell, and yet salvation came to him. He saw something that made hope flutter in his chest again.

Amidst all the chaos and pain and panic, the General was impatiently unwrapping something from gray cloth. Something long and heavy that, before until moment, had lain on the trolley next to the generator. Next to him, a soldier with two cartridge belts wrapped around his torso was doing the same to a smaller parcel. What he conjured brought hope to the boy’s mind.

A tall, heavy-duty tripod.

Suddenly, he realized that the belts of the large caliber rounds the soldier had wrapped around his torso weren’t just for show.

Throwing off the last layer, the General revealed an M2 Browning, a belt-fed heavy machine gun—the tool of gods on Liberian battlefields. The boy knew that weapon very well; even though he had seen it used only once, he remembered the carnage it had caused. Back then it had been used against their brigade, and they had suffered heavy losses before someone finally managed to throw a grenade into the gunner’s nest. The boy couldn’t sleep for two nights after he had seen the man standing next to him turn from a living being into minced meat. But now he was so glad that tears welled up in his eyes. They were saved. He asked God for help, but it was the God of War—John Moses Browning—who was going to save him.

And whoever was holding it in his hands would become His priest, a representative of God on their sinful lands who would choose sacrifices to sate his deity’s hunger and spew his curses at heathens and infidels at the rate of one thousand two hundred syllables per minute.

He rushed toward his timely savior, ready to repent, to ask for forgiveness. To tell him that, in his heart of hearts, he never doubted him and he knew that he would solve all of his problems.

But he didn’t make it.

A creature dropped from the top, cutting them off from the light. As soon as it did, it swayed to the right, but unlike the other monsters before it, it didn’t leave their sight, only tried to dodge their shots. With horror, Desecrator realized that they were being cut off from the light and the majority of the troops. The sole lamp was lying on the ground, abandoned by its owner, its rays leaving sharp, disproportional shadows of their legs.

One of the soldiers from their group tried to make a break for it, rushing toward the light, but he didn’t make it far; two of the risen creatures leaped at him and, before the man managed to even stop his stride, they tore his arms off.

Desecrator almost squealed; his salvation was so close, but there was no way to get to it.

How many of them were there, in that small group? Fifteen people tops, counting the kids? How long would they last?

Another creature walked into the light. It used to be a woman; Desecrator could tell that from two skin sacks that were hanging from her chest. Perhaps when she was alive they had been her pride, but after her transformation they were just another grotesque detail of her visage.

She leaped at the soldier closest to her, but before she could land a finishing blow both of them blew up in an explosion of gore and bones. One of the General’s officers had finally managed to throw a grenade. They finally finished their preparation and were ready to show the entire Keep of the Giants what Hell truly was.

The machine gun started chirping, throwing lead at its wielder’s enemies, each bullet exploding from its long restrained fury and anger and bursting out of the barrel toward its target with speed greater than sound. Each one of them—death, whether to the living or the undead. Concrete and final, from which there was no return. The ancient mystical Blood of the Giants had nothing on modern human ingenuity—the result of a millennia-long quest to find the most destructive ways to kill their kin.

Each fifth bullet in the cartridge belt was a tracer, blazing through the air in one short fiery streak to lead its four invisible brothers, and their combined procession illuminated the cave to the very roots of the upside-down forests above. Whenever the General pointed the cannon the ground would rise in small puffs and flesh would burst under the unstoppable onslaught. Durable and hardy as they were, the creatures simply couldn’t resist it, the unnatural binds that ran through their bodies and held them together being torn apart. Each bullet left a hole one could put his hand through, and each second thirty such holes appeared on the battlefield.

It was the General’s one gambit, his literal secret weapon that he had been betting on for the entirety of their quest. And his bet had paid off.

“Yes!!” one of the surrounded soldiers jumped to his feet, throwing his hands up in the air victoriously.

A moment later his silhouette, lit up by the lights above the generator, became porous, and light burst through him. The soldier was dead before he fell to the ground, his bodily functions shutting down before his brain even recorded what had happened.

The semi-visible iron ray of death travelled further without any delay, onto its next target. It quickly found it, making one of the beast’s heads burst like a melon, but not before cutting through another soldier’s body.

With horror, Desecrator realized that the General didn’t care if any of his soldiers were in the line of fire. He had his ten or fifteen soldiers that he needed with him, as well as the might of the machine gun. As long as he could end the fight once and for all, everyone else was just casualties of war.

“No, he can’t” Desecrator gasped as the bullets swirled around him. “He can’t give up on us! He wouldn’t!”

His mind was hysterically racing for answers, refusing to let the reality in, pushing it out, pretending that it wasn’t there. He could not accept things at face value, he could not admit that the other boys were right and the General didn’t need them, didn’t see them as warriors but only as tools. He could not cope with the fact that, for the last six years, he hadn’t been groomed to become one of the General’s battlefield pals as he had thought.

A moment later a grenade burst some twenty feet away from him, its deafening blast rolling over the boy, making him tumble and fall to the ground. His head was ringing – both from the aching pain in his ears and the questions buzzing inside.

And in despair, his mind managed to come up with an interpretation that fit. An interpretation of that monster’s actions that he could live with.

He got up from the floor and started running away from the man. Bullets were wheezing past him, but the boy took the fact that none of them hit him as a confirmation of his and the General’s unspoken pact.

“I got it, General!” the boy cried out as he charged into the darkness. “I won’t get in your way! I’ll lure some of them off! We’ll meet at the surface, right?”

The man didn’t pay his screams any more attention than he did to any other yells for help, but Desecrator, in his newfound confidence in the man, understood why; he was too busy cutting their enemies out. He didn’t have time for pleasantries, especially when, as Desecrator was sure, he knew that he and the boy understood each other without any words.

Locking eyes with one of the beasts that lurked at the threshold of light, he screamed at it: “Hey you! Follow me if you can!”

He could outrun it, he was sure. He had done so in the past once, and he was sure that he could do that again. He didn’t look back to see if any of the monsters had followed him, but as he ran the boy began laughing.

He had finally done something brave. The others wouldn’t be able to deny it.

Chapter 17

Puppy Slayer

The moment things started to go south, Puppy Slayer threw the construction off his shoulder, turned around, and started running away—just as the captain had advised him to do a few hours before in the tunnels. It was easy advice to follow; he didn’t think about what the captain had told him the night before, about being on his own. He didn’t think about any of the dangers that could lurk just beyond his field of sight, or that the others might need him. His only priority at that moment was escaping the most imminent danger, and frankly, he would do the same even without the captain’s advice.

The only thing that, he later realized, he would be wise to consider, was the direction of where he was running.

As the sounds of the battlefield and screams of soldiers became more distant, the boy finally stopped running and turned around. He could still see the flickering yellow light of the lamps in the distance, but from his perspective it was no bigger than a firefly. It didn’t seem like he had been followed, as he didn’t hear any footsteps or the snarling of a hungry maw. The only sounds that surrounded him were the bizarre cackling sounds of local small fauna which he, while still wary of it, had grown to find mostly harmless.

Tsetse’s suggestion turned out to be a sound one. While he was still in the very heart of darkness, at least he was away from the immediate harm. He was far away from the General.

The question, however, remained. Where was he?

After some consideration, the boy headed in the direction from which they seemed to have come from. It was better than standing still, doing nothing.

As he walked, carefully trying to find his way in the glowing darkness of the Underworld, he heard bursts of grenades and the roaring of the machine gun in the distance. The boy knew those sounds too well to mistake them for anything else, and he knew what they meant. He could not help but wonder how the others were faring. Had they heeded the captain’s warning and run away? Or had they already succumbed to their foe?

He hoped that it wasn’t the case. With all of his heart, he hoped that he would meet them very soon, and that all of them would decide not to stay around. That all of them would come to a decision that he himself was too scared to make—to run away.

Solitude wasn’t his forte. He was too used to working in group, and if he was honest with himself he’d admit that throughout his life he had never made a decision of his own.

And as he headed in the direction where he thought the exit was, just as the captain had told him, he started to get more and more anxious. The lack of human voices was a sharp contrast to his usual environment, and the alien noises of the Keep were emphasizing that message further.

He was doing his best to remain calm, but he never had much practice or success with that. So, in the extreme place he had found himself in, it was as good as impossible. His heartbeat was getting faster, and the thought that it would give him away only increased its pace. The boy’s mind painted a picture of local predators, each as big as a house, which relied on their hearing to find their prey in the everlasting night of the Underworld. At that very moment, they probably already had their hearing honed in on him—so precise that they could hear his desperate, aimless thoughts, buzzing in his head like wasps in their nest.

He picked up the pace, but immediately slowed down when he realized that it would only make him easier to find. Unbeknownst to him, he was facing the same dilemma Desecrator had been faced with a few days ago—what would be the best? To hide, take it slow, or to run for the exit—even though he wasn’t entirely sure where it was?

What if, the boy thought desperately, I run in the wrong direction? What if I spend my life roaming these sunless plains without ever finding that damn mine?

A sudden incoming noise stopped his train of thought. Something was running in his direction.

The boy froze; he was too gutless to make a run for it. His habits had made a decision for him. Falling to the ground, the boy hoped that the unseen attacker wouldn’t notice him and charge past him.

His prayers had been heard; the creature stopped not too far away from him. Listening to its raspy breathing, the boy suddenly realized that it was human.

Another man! In the same situation as him! Puppy Slayer almost audibly sighed in relief, but stopped just in time when he realized that it could give away his position.

After all, what if it was one of the soldiers? He tried to hone in on the panting sounds that the unknown newcomer was making; they didn’t seem to be too high off the ground, so there was a very high chance that it wasn’t a soldier but one of the boys.

He decided that it was worth giving it a try.

“Tsetse? Is that you?” -the boy whispered, desperately hoping for that to be the case.

No reaction. For a moment the boy was flooded to the brim with dread that it wasn’t a human after all, but then he decided that he just had to try to be a bit louder.

“Tsetse?” he asked the darkness.

The panting instantly stopped. For a moment, Puppy Slayer was paralyzed with fear; until that moment he hadn’t considered the possibility that it could be the enemy.

He heard the steps approach and, in the faint glow of the mist and the lights above, the boy managed to make out a silhouette. It was one of the child soldiers, he was sure of that now, and relief flooded him.

But then he realized that Tsetse was taller.

“Hello, Puppy,” Desecrator purred, stepping close enough for the boy to see his face. “I’m very glad to meet you here.”

The boy didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure how to react. On the one hand, he wasn’t alone anymore. On the other hand, it was the one person whom he trusted the least among the boys.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” Desecrator said, taking a step closer.

“I’m not scared,” the boy lied on autopilot.

“Good, good,” Desecrator told him. “We’re comrades, right? Comrades shouldn’t be scared of one another.”

Puppy Slayer didn’t know what to say, so Desecrator continued: “What are you doing here? Did you run away?”

“I ran away… Tsetse told me to.” The boy felt how weak his excuse was, but he just didn’t know what else to say. Hiding behind the captain’s authority seemed like a good idea.

“Tsetse, huh?” Puppy slayer heard Desecrator chuckle. “I wonder how the general would feel about that. A captain shouldn’t urge his soldiers to run away! Right?”

Puppy Slayer didn’t reply, so a few seconds later he was hit with a second question, a more aggressive one: “Right?!”

“Right,” he hastily agreed. He decided that asking Desecrator what was he doing there was asking for trouble, so instead he decided to change the conversation: “What happened there?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know?” he heard a teasing answer. After a few seconds, Desecrator kept talking: “The General had some big guns on him this whole time. I was cut off from him, so he told me to retreat and meet him at the surface.”

“You think he’ll survive?” -The words came out before the boy could even think them over.

There was a noticeable pause before Desecrator replied: “Of course! Who do you think he is?”

“I see.” Puppy Slayer felt his heart sink. He had a small hope at the back of his mind—so small that he didn’t even know it was there before it died—that the General would perish in the Underworld together with his goons.

“Hey, do you have your gun on you?” he heard Desecrator ask him.

“Yeah, why?” Puppy Slayer wondered.

“I just had an idea. You said you ran away when the fight had started, so you should have a full clip on you, right? Nod if you do. Why don’t you give me your ammunition? I’m a far better shot than you are.”

Puppy Slayer hesitated; even though he didn’t ever intend to kill anyone, this situation was different than their everyday fighting. After all, he would be shooting demons and not humans.

Sensing his hesitation, Desecrator urged him: “Come on! I’ll be right by your side. It’s for your own good. What are you waiting for?”

“I… all right,” the boy reluctantly agreed, caving in to the pressure. Pulling out his clip he passed it to the older boy.

“There you go,” Desecrator said, taking the ammunition from the boy’s hands. Puppy Slayer heard him reloading.

“All right, we’re good to go. You go first and I’ll cover you,” he heard the boy say.

“Go where?” Puppy Slayer clarified.

“What?” Desecrator asked him.

“Where do we go?” Puppy Slayer repeated, talking louder.

“To the exit, you dummy! The General will be there if he gets out,” Desecrator taunted him. Puppy Slayer got more hopeful when he heard that “if” in Desecrator’s remark.

“Yes, but where is it?” he asked, choosing not to mention Desecrator’s slip of tongue.

There was a pause, and then he felt Desecrator’s hand turn him around and push him: “There. Lead the way. I’m right behind you.”

Reluctantly, Puppy Slayer started walking. His field of vision was limited to some fifteen, maybe twenty feet at best, and his eyesight served him only to warn him about the incoming tree or a rock he risked tripping on. As far as the potential threats were concerned, his ears provided him with a better picture of what was going on around him.

At any moment he was expecting to hear the weird grass rustle as something charged toward him, or to pick up the signs of a distant battle taking place. Most of all, he was hoping to hear the footsteps of other boys—Tsetse, Corpse Eater, or Homewrecker. Seeing how dismissive Desecrator was toward their captain, he didn’t know why Desecrator had run away. But perhaps the boys had listened to the Captain’s advice right away? Perhaps they ran away as soon as the fight had started, and were now waiting for him somewhere? Perhaps Tsetse, who ordered them to retreat, was searching for them around the underworld? He couldn’t just tell them to run away without any further plans, right?

The questions buzzed inside his head as the boy desperately hoped that some of those guesses would come true. That someone would come and take away his heavy burden of having to endure this reality on his own. Even though he wasn’t alone anymore, he had a strong suspicion that Desecrator couldn’t be trusted. That the vile boy who had been taking pleasure in killing and pillaging, who bullied and tortured him for years couldn’t just change, especially in a place like they were in. If anything, this place should’ve taught him that he was on the right track. That violence was indeed a very viable strategy when it came to problem-solving, and the darkness of the Underworld—not the literal, but metaphysical, the rotten underbelly of that plain—had found an easy way into his soul, drawing out his dark desires and fueling them further. Some places had that effect on people. Some places were supposed to never be visited, no matter how sure you were in your own goodwill, or they would bring out the worst in you.

Why did he need him though? What was he planning?

“You know, when we get to the surface I’m gonna tell the General how it is,”—Desecrator mused behind him. “That Tsetse has told us to run away when the enemy would attack us. I’m sure he won’t be the captain’s favorite for long after that.”

“Uh-huh,” Puppy Slayer replied on auto-pilot. His head was spinning from thinking; why would Desecrator risk his life for him? But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered: Did Desecrator really risk anything? He had all the ammunition.

But why, why keep him around? He could’ve just taken all the ammo and left, and he knew that Puppy Slayer wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Why keep him?

“Sure, we might be short on people, but he won’t forgive such a betrayal. He is a wise man, but I always knew that he was a bit too sentimental when it came to looking the truth in the eye. But you know how it goes, right?” He waited a bit for a reply and then nonchalantly continued: “When he’s gone, I’m sure the General will choose me as your captain. He and I—we had a moment there, on the battlefield. I’m sure he felt that as well. As soon as we reach the surface things will change, Puppy. You won’t be able to hide behind Tsetse’s delicate ass. I will make a man out of you.” The last sentence sounded like a declaration, and Puppy Slayer felt uneasy.

Something moved in the bushes nearly, and Puppy Slayer involuntarily kneeled. A moment later Desecrator walked into him.

“What the hell? Why aren’t you walking?” the boy wondered.

“There’s something moving in those bushes,” the boy informed him. “Do you hear it?”

Desecrator didn’t reply. Looking in the direction Puppy Slayer had shown him, he slowly raised his gun and circled around the kneeling boy, so that he would be between him and the threat.

“Good hearing.” He patted Puppy Slayer on the head, and the boy finally got it.

Desecrator was shell-shocked. He didn’t hear the bushes because he couldn’t—the blasts that the boy had heard before must’ve left him dazed. At that moment, Puppy Slayer was his only guide in the world where hearing was paramount for survival. And judging by the maneuver that Desecrator had made, putting the younger boy between him and the threat, the boy also doubled as a living shield.

Was that why Desecrator made him go first? Puppy Slayer was sure of that now. If they walked into some dangerous situation, Puppy Slayer would be the one to face the consequences, while Desecrator would be able to escape unharmed—with an entire ammo clip to boot.

Desecrator was always quick to pick up after the General. It seemed that he was quick to learn how to use others for his own gain, too.

Puppy Slayer could only be resigned to his fate. He knew that there was no other way out for him. He had been a gutless fool when he gave Desecrator all of his ammunition. Now he had to pay the price for it. Not a new concept to him, but it felt frustrating that other boys were already using him as well. Soon he would be the only one who wouldn’t be a grown-up. Him and Death Herald. Quite a pair.

The noise in the bushes subsided, and when it became clear that whatever was there wouldn’t follow them Desecrator, gave Puppy Slayer a slight nudge: “Let’s go. It was nothing.”

Puppy Slayer wasn’t so sure, but nevertheless he obeyed and started walking.

Episodes like that repeated a few times, and each time the boys were lucky; it wasn’t something dangerous. While the hunters above tried to attract their attention with screams and the mad pipers made their heads spin with their incessant music, the boys didn’t meet any serious threats. Puppy Slayer had a strong suspicion that most of them were at the battlefield, to feast on the spoils of war.

They walked and walked, but they didn’t see anything familiar in sight. They didn’t see the familiar statues of the Giants, or the tunnels that led outside, or the footprints of the brigade. And no matter how far they walked they couldn’t even get to the wall.

“Where the hell is it… We should’ve reached something by now!” Desecrator growled in frustration. Puppy Slayer pulled his head in; somehow, he felt that the boy would start venting his frustration on him very soon.

As they kept on walking Puppy Slayer got more and more scared—it was obvious that they were lost. Had they walked in the same direction they would’ve found the brigade’s footprints by now, and then they could navigate them to find the exit. But there were no footprints. The trail, if it hadn’t been erased by some unknown forces altogether by now, continued to elude them.

Which meant that they would have to change their course. But Desecrator, however, didn’t give him such a command. Was he expecting the boy to find their way out on his own?

“I don’t think this is the right way,” Puppy Slayer quietly told Desecrator.

“Oh yeah? Do you know a better one?” Desecrator sarcastically inquired.

“No, but—”

“Shut the hell up!” Desecrator shouted at him before the boy could even explain himself. Puppy Slayer almost fell to his knees from how deafening that sound was. “Your job is not to think or yap your mouth! You lead the way and watch out for anything dangerous! You got that?”

“Don’t raise your voice, you’ll attract… something,” Puppy Slayer started to plead with him. The protective layer of silence that had been shielding them from unwanted attention was stretching at its seams, and the boy was desperately clawing at it, doing what he could to pull it back.

But the older boy—whether it was due to being dazed or simply because he was too angry—was not hearing it.

“You got that!?” Desecrator shouted at him even louder. He took a step closer and raised his fist.

“Yes, yes, just please… Don’t. Shout,” Puppy Slayer whispered, his every word getting quieter and quieter until he himself could barely hear the last one.

“Don’t you tell me what to do,” Desecrator growled at him, and Puppy Slayer noted that his voice was not as loud as before, and it carried hints of doubt.

But it was already too late. Far in the distance, something answered Desecrator’s call. The howl of something unlike they’d ever heard before rolled across the Keep, notifying the boys that their presence had been noted and acknowledged. The creature was far away, but the sound of it gave away the fact that it had big lungs, and strong legs to carry them. It commanded respect and inspired terror. It would not let others disrupt its rest.

The boys locked eyes—as much as it was possible in the faint light of the Underworld. Without any words, they came to an understanding. They abandoned their route and started running in the opposite direction of the howl.

The strange call followed them, and soon they started hearing it around them.

The howling was slowly surrounding them from all sides. Still distant, it was much closer than it had been a few minutes before. Their hunter was drawing closer, and its weird disorienting call was informing them that their time was drawing near.

“This is all because of you,” Puppy Slayer heard Desecrator spitefully whisper. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Even though the situation didn’t call for it, the boy couldn’t stay silent and take the unjust accusation.

“How is this my fault?” Puppy Slayer angrily asked, trying to keep his voice low and not exceed that threshold beyond which the whispers ended. “You were the one who started shouting!”

“If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” Desecrator repeated his earlier statement, only with more ire and contempt. “If you had kept your hands to yourself, if you didn’t try to eat that food, we wouldn’t be here!”

Puppy Slayer felt a sting of guilt; the other boy’s words hurt him with how much they echoed his own sentiments, but he didn’t show it. “Everyone ate that food! We were just hungry!”

“You were the one who started it,” Desecrator growled, stomping the ground. “If it weren’t for you, there would still be a brigade! We wouldn’t be homeless now! We wouldn’t be stuck in this hellhole!”

With each word, he was taking a step toward Puppy Slayer, and with each his step the younger boy involuntarily took a step back. He understood that at that moment the threat was coming not from some outside unseen forces, but from the within their small unit. That Desecrator could kill him just as easily as the monsters that hunted them at that very moment.

“No!” Puppy Slayer shouted back at him. He trembled at how his voice echoed from the ceiling, carrying his words away for everyone to hear, but at the time he felt a weird thrill go through him. He was finally standing up to his bully. “I wasn’t wrong for doing that! I was just hungry! What’s wrong with that?”

Desecrator picked up the pace and then lunged forward, trying to grab the boy by a collar. Puppy Slayer swiftly evaded him, ducking to the side, and the fingers missed him just by a hair’s length.

“Stop it,” he pleaded with the older boy, but Desecrator didn’t listen. It seemed that he was almost in a trance-like state, a shell of anger and bitterness that was impenetrable to reasoning, logic, and even immediate threats. He was focused solely on the boy in front of him—a sorry excuse of a soldier, weak and gutless enough to soak in anything—even the blame for their predicament.

He had been waiting for it for so long, and it seemed to him that Puppy Slayer had outlived his immediate usefulness.

He lunged at the boy again, and the kid evaded the leap once more, and then one more time. Always barely escaping the clutches of grasping fingers.

Snarling, Desecrator made a sharp turn to face the kid and Puppy Slayer saw the barrel of his AK-47 make an arc in the air as Desecrator swung it up, ready to fire.

Puppy Slayer rushed for the nearby bushes, without any consideration for what could be waiting for him there. His most immediate concern was getting out of Desecrator’s line of sight.

A volley of bullets whizzed past him, shredding hollow, bone-like branches of local flora. Each round burst loud like thunder—an unusual phenomenon for the Underworld. The bushes rustled as the boy tore through them, but he hoped that Desecrator, dazed and deafened by his shot, wouldn’t hear him, and that the darkness would cloak him, hiding from those bloodshot eyes.

His bet paid off; there wasn’t a second shot. Desecrator lost him. Falling to the ground, Puppy Slayer hoped that he would simply walk away. Leave him be. He would worry about getting out of this place after that.

“Where are you, Puppy?” he heard Desecrator call him in a teasing manner. “Here-here, boy!”

He heard branches breaking as the boy was moving through them, and realized that he was moving in his direction. Whether he knew that the boy was there, or simply took a guess was not clear, but Puppy Slayer hurried to move away from his spot, trying to make as little sound as possible.

“Come on, I was just joking! Haven’t you got used to our humor by now? Maybe I was a bit harsh, but I wouldn’t actually hurt you,” Desecrator spoke.

Puppy Slayer wanted to believe him. To see Desecrator come over to him, smiling, and teasingly punch him in the shoulder. But he knew that it was too good to be true. He knew that the boy he once knew was consumed by the madness of this place. That he would kill him even if it led to his own death.

“Quit wasting my time!” Desecrator shouted, tearing through the bushes and small trees. “Are you going to come out or not, you little shit? You’re like a small parasite! You haven’t done anything useful for the brigade, you just eat and shit, and that’s how you got us into this trouble in the first place!”

Puppy Slayer expected to lose his pursuer by now, but somehow he always managed to walk just in the right direction. He may have been deaf and blind, but that didn’t impede his tracking abilities one bit.

“I’m reaaaally close, Puppy,” Desecrator chuckled somewhere very close. Puppy Slayer didn’t like that newfound playfulness in his voice; it could only mean that he knew he was catching up. After all, he didn’t waste time and effort to move without a sound like his prey.

The howling continued in the distance, but the boy didn’t pay it any attention. “I’m warning you, when I get my hands on you, I’m gonna make you pay for making me crawl through all of this shit! So you better come out on your own while you still have a chance!”

For a moment Puppy Slayer considered that option, but then he almost slapped himself for being so naive. Desecrator wanted to kill him—period. He wanted to spend his last few minutes on earth doing what he loved the most, and getting the vengeance he believed he deserved so much.

The situation seemed hopeless. If he tried to move faster, he risked getting spotted by either Desecrator or something else, and if he continued to move at his pace he would end up caught and shot.

“You know, I thought I could make a warrior out of you by pushing you to your limit, but it seems that the General was right. Some people are just not cut out for it.” His voice was very close, and the boy thought that it was coming from everywhere. “Some people are just spoiled little brats who can’t make a step without- argh!”

Desecrator’s speech was interrupted by a cry of pain. It seemed that some local creature had had enough of the boy’s ramblings and decided to take matters into whatever functioned as its hands.

There were the sounds of struggle as the boy rolled on the ground, trying to shake off whatever had gotten to him. By the sound of it, he wasn’t very successful. Puppy Slayer felt relieved for a second, but the grunting of the boy as he tried to shake off whatever had gotten to him, and the sounds of his flesh being slowly pulled apart by hungry teeth, were too much for him. He closed his ears and eyes, trying to protect himself from those images, but he could still hear them.

“Puppy! Help me, please!” he heard Desecrator shout to him. “I can’t reach my gun! I won’t—I won’t hurt you, I swear! Help me!”

He sounded sincere, and he sounded like he wanted to live. The spell of bloodlust that was put on him by that place was broken, and he was just another boy in danger.

And yet, the monster was there, too. He would not let the boy chime in. He would tear him apart and continue torturing Desecrator.

Just as he had always been helpless to protect himself, he was helpless to save others.

“Tsetse, please,” the boy whispered to himself, as tears started streaming down his cheeks. “Please come and save him.”

But Tsetse wouldn’t come. Tsetse was far away and the boy was on his own now. Just as his captain had told him before, if he wanted to save himself, or even save others, he had no one to rely on but himself.

That realization hurt him more than any bullet ever could. He didn’t want others to die. Even when he had killed that woman in the village, he hadn’t done it on his own accord. He was forced to by Tsetse who had wanted to save him from the wrath of frustrated adults. The woman would die regardless of whether he took the shot or not, and that thought was helping him sleep at night.

But now he was facing a situation where there were no adults to scold him, no Tsetse to guide his hand and take the blame—no one. Yet he was still not taking any action. Maybe Desecrator wasn’t worthy of saving, but that wasn’t how the boy felt at that moment. He could hear the living being slaughtered, and he felt his pain in his bones.

“We have to be our own heroes”.

The monster was there, sure. But there had always been monsters.

He stood up and rushed toward the sounds of struggle. Desecrator was probably barely alive at that point, but still, Puppy Slayer had to try. Try to save at least one miserable life in his lifetime and not stand aside.

He broke through the bushes to see Desecrator sprawled on the ground, his eyes aimlessly staring nowhere in particular. His left hand was weakly stretching upward, as if he was waving to someone, toward the gun which was far beyond his reach—it seemed that when he was tackled it had fallen out of his hands.

His body was slightly shaking as the creature sitting on top of him dug its fangs into him. One glance at the assailant was enough for Puppy Slayer to realize—it was one of the villagers, and the only reason it didn’t kill Desecrator outright was because it was badly hurt. It right limb was missing, most likely blown off, and its left one was badly wounded, to the point that Puppy Slayer wasn’t sure if the fearsome bone-blade was still intact. Its only weapon was its teeth, and at that moment they were sunken fully into Desecrator’s flesh.

The golden sparks in its eyes glinted as it noted the newly arrived boy, and it released its bite on its prey to raise its head. The boy had less than a second to grab the weapon in front of him and take a shot.

He didn’t waste it. For the first time in his life, his survival instinct told him that fighting was a better alternative to fleeing, and the boy lunged at the gun on the ground, momentarily doing a roll and jumping to his feet as soon as he felt his grip close on the weapon’s hilt.

Only to immediately lower the weapon again.

He couldn’t do it. It had to be some twisted joke of fate.

When the monster raised its half-human head the boy recognized that face. The last time he had seen those eyes, they were pleading him not to take the shot, to spare her life. And now, some last dimming spark of intelligence behind them was calmly wondering whether he was going to take that shot again.

It was the face that he had been seeing in his nightmares for the past few weeks.

It was the face that had been staring at him from beyond the wall of rain.

It was the face of the woman he had been forced to shoot back in the village. The face of the woman he had killed for everyone’s entertainment.

“Shoot…” Desecrator wheezed, looking at Puppy Slayer with pleading eyes from beneath half-closed eyelids.

Both the boy and the monster were staring at him, waiting for his next step. But he already knew that there would be none.

“I can’t do it,” he told both of them, sniffing his nose. “I’m sorry, Desecrator, I just… I can’t.”

He couldn’t be a hero, after all. He couldn’t save others, for he himself was too far gone.

He knew that the creature in front of him was not even technically alive or human, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to shoot someone again.

It was almost ironic. He had been forced to end the woman’s life by people like Desecrator. And now, because of that, he couldn’t save him.

Desecrator’s face became the last scowl of fury: “That’s why… That’s why I’ve always hated you…”

“Spare him…” Puppy Slayer quietly pleaded with the monster.

The boy thought that he saw something akin to understanding in the creature’s eyes. Something from its past life made it relate to the struggle he had been facing and connected it with its killer. The boy was the only one had who wanted it spared when it was still alive, when it was a mother, a sister, a daughter. And now, he was asking it to return the favor.

But then its gaze turned downward, and the Blood of the Giants had made the decision for it. Its jaws snapped onto the Desecrator’s neck and its fangs pierced his jugular vein faster than the boy could blink. Throwing one final look at Puppy Slayer, it pulled the still struggling body into the darkness, leaving Puppy Slayer alone.

Chapter 18

Corpse Eater

He knew he wouldn’t make it to the surface on his own. Tsetse’s plan had some reason, but it was not realistic.

Not with a wounded leg.

He had no doubt that their captain knew about the gun and suspected what the General’s plan was. In that case, running away was indeed the best course of action; the kids, being the ones in the vanguard, would surely die in the confrontation, either by the General’s or the creatures’ hands. Running away would not only save them, it would also free them from the priestess’ quest for vengeance. Corpse Eater doubted that she would count the bodies.

But his leg had gotten hurt in the fight. A stray piece of shrapnel from one of the grenades had gotten him, and what he initially ignored during his adrenaline rush for freedom was quickly turning out to be a serious wound. And the bleeding was stopping very slowly.

Would the eyeless predators that dwelled in the Keep recognize the smell of blood? Was it similar to the fluids that ran through the veins of their usual prey?

Worst of all, he was alone. He had heard Homewrecker shout to him to run when the bullets started cutting down friend and foe alike, but in the chaos they got separated. If his friend was out there, he was in the same situation as him—maybe minus a wound.

Behind him, the sounds of battle were still raging on. He couldn’t tell who was on the winning side, but when he had run far enough, he away he stopped and fell to the ground, observing the flickering lights in the distance.

His heart was beating so fast that he could almost feel it push against the ground through his ribcage. The only reason he stopped was because he knew that if something was following he’d be dead already. Knowing what speeds those devils could reach made him sure that he wouldn’t outrun any of them with a wounded leg.

His fingers reached down and touched the wound. Deep and wide, it ran across his muscle, but the blood running out was not gushing. No arteries were hit. He would lose a lot of blood, but there was hope that it would start clotting before he’d lose consciousness.

In the distance, the machine gun stopped its barrage. He saw a few yellow flickers of smaller guns going off and in a few seconds the distant echoes of sound reached his ears. Were those the last of the soldiers, trying to sell their lives at a high price, or were they just finishing off the last enemies to preserve the ammo of larger caliber?

After a few minutes, the lonely wisp of light above the generator trembled as it started moving. It could only mean one thing: the General had successfully fought off the enemy.

Corpse Eater looked around and considered his chances. As he had been guarding the rear of their formation, when the things started to look bad, he had instinctively started running back toward the exit along their trail, and thus two options were open to him.

He could continue to march toward the exit, taking the only route that had been checked. But with his wounded leg it would take him a day—if he wouldn’t pass out first. Corpse Eater had no illusions about what would happen to him in that case—the creatures of the Underworld would not miss out on such an easy meal.

Or, he could return to the brigade. It was doubtful that they had any medical equipment on them, but at the very least he would be surrounded by armed men. The General may have opened fire without any concern as to whether it would hit him or not, but that wasn’t anything new to the boy. Homewrecker would never accept it, but he? He knew his place in the food chain, and he didn’t see any point resisting it.

They could cauterize his wound. They could lead him out of the Keep. In this situation, the men who had no regard whatsoever for his life were his best hope. As long as he could shoot, they would take him in with open arms. Just as they had six years before.

He got up and started walking toward the fleeing light. In his pocket he found the lighter that he had used so many times to light up a blunt and escape reality, and decided to keep it close—just in case he needed any more light. He tried to use it to burn his wound, but the flame kept on pointing upward, hopelessly seeking its big blazing brother in the sky, and didn’t achieve the desired result, only hurting him. Realizing that he was just pointlessly torturing himself, the boy abandoned that idea and continued walking.

His slow pace was annoying him, and the light seemed to be only getting more and more distant. He felt light-headed, and the gun in his hands felt heavier by the second. Only fear was urging him to go on.

He was afraid that he wouldn’t make it to the remains of the brigade before his blood drained from him. He feared that whatever survivors of the battle lurked in the dark could find him and kill him.

His head spinning, occupied with such thoughts and focused solely on the light ahead of him, he would’ve missed that he had walked into the spot where the battlefield had taken place had he not tripped over someone’s body.

It was one of the adult soldiers, and the gaping wound on his chest left no doubt as to who killed him. The body next to him was riddled with bullets, and a bit further away was a vague silhouette that the boy recognized as one of the villagers.

The boy had no doubt that was their last burial ground; no one would care enough to carry them back to the surface or give them a proper burial. Their bones would be scattered across the Keep—their new massive tomb.

In the shadows, something was already chewing on the corpses, trying to suck blood and bone marrow while they were still warm. The boy pulled out the lighter and lit it up, but the light made it only harder to see in the distance—the glimmers of the Underworld vanished like stars over a city. The unknown desecrator was not distracted from his meal, so the boy decided not to bother him and tempt his fate.

Driven by some morbid curiosity, the boy decided not to turn off the lighter and keep it on. He told himself that he wanted to see where he was going, but he knew that it hadn’t been a problem before. In reality, he wanted to take a closer look at the scope of fatalities.

He recognized some of the faces on the ground. Unseeing eyes, open in eternal terror that seemed to haunt them even beyond the grave, were staring at the ceiling in defiance of the old man’s words. He walked past the small body of Death Herald, who even in death was still squeezing his favorite machete—the boy’s only toy. Corpse Eater pursed his lips in regret.

The grotesque forms of the villagers that had already barely resembled humans lost all semblance of who they used to be in the shadows. It was quite easy to tell them apart even from a distance; their bodies were much larger than those of normal humans. The boy counted quite a lot of them lying around—he was sure that pretty much everyone was there. In his hazy state, he vaguely hoped that they wouldn’t come back to life once more.

His blood froze when he heard a shuffling sound to the left of him. It seemed that somebody was still alive, after all, and it sounded like they were pulling themselves in his direction.

Alarmed and caught off guard, the boy involuntarily took a few steps back and to the right where he tripped over some soldier’s body. His lighter fell out of his weakened grasp and the light instantly went out. His eyes, having already adjusted to the flame’s brightness, went blind, and the boy panicked. Trying to anticipate where could the lighter might have landed, he got on his knees and started searching the ground, trying to find it as soon as possible to restore his sight.

Luckily, it hadn’t flown too far away from him, and a few seconds later he felt it under his fingers. Still concerned with the sounds he had heard, he quickly flicked it on to see what was ahead of him.

It was Homewrecker’s body.

The boy was dead, there was no doubt about it. A massive piece of his cranium was missing, having been blown out of its place by a large bullet. Corpse Eater could see the round shape of the hold on the exposed bone where the projectile went into his skull, and everything on the other side was blown out. One of the boy’s eyes was closed, and the other one was aimlessly looking to the side. His lower jaw hung down and to the side, giving him almost a goofy look.

“No,” Corpse Eater whispered. “You can’t…”

His lighter fell out of his grip once more. He stretched his hands toward his friend’s head but then instantly snapped them away, as if they were burned by mere presence of that gruesome wound.

He couldn’t grasp the fact that his only friend was dead. He had seen far too many deaths in his life—far more deaths than a boy his age should. But had never been moved by those deaths. They had become a part of his life and he had almost taken them for granted. Death was something that happened to other people, and he was always telling himself that when his time came he wouldn’t be able to regret it since he would be dead. He never imagined that death could hurt on such a personal level.

In horror, the boy threw away his gun. It wasn’t a symbol of safety for him anymore; its touch burned him. In that short moment he acknowledged that it was the evil that had been responsible for everything wrong in his life. It was the reason why Homewrecker was lying in the dirt with his head split open. Homewrecker, who had been defiant of the world around him, who to the very end had refused to let the brigade break him and make him fit in.

“All of this will be over one day, and we’ll survive today to see it.” He remembered Homewrecker’s last words. “I’m sure of it and I’ll claw at the Earth to fulfill that. Because only I decide what I am and what my future will be.”

Could he have anticipated what he would become just a few more minutes later?

It should’ve been me, Corpse Eater thought as tears started streaming down his face. He was the one who deserved such an end. He who had admitted defeat long ago and had let despair into his heart.

We were the sacrifice, the boy bitterly realized, choking on tears. We were the sacrifice the General was talking about. That’s all we were ever good for.

The shuffling sound got closer, and the boy could now hear nails scratching on metal—somebody was trying to pull themselves closer to him, gripping onto whatever they could get their hands on.

Reluctantly, the boy rose up to his feet and blinked a few times, trying to make his eyes adjust back to the darkness. In the darkness, he saw the priestess pulling herself closer to him.

Her lower half was completely gone—it seemed that she had been unlucky enough to step on a well-aimed grenade. Her right arm was gone too, and whatever remained was a mangled mass of her own flesh and the Giant’s Blood. From what the boy could see, it was already at work, trying to repair the damage that had been done to her.

The General couldn’t miss her—he must’ve left her as she was to be feasted upon by the predators as a final taunt at her helplessness to oppose him. But even in her sorry state, she was still trying to score one last kill before her body gave out completely. One look into her eyes (which inexplicably glowed in the dark) was all the boy needed to realize: she would never give up. She would crawl after them to the edge of the world as long as she was alive, and she wouldn’t rest until they were all dead.

The unfairness of his predicament was too much for him.

“Why?!” Corpse Eater screamed, choking on tears. “What do you want from us? You think we wanted to do those things? It was either that or death! We didn’t start any wars! We didn’t want any of this!”

“Doesn’t… matter…” the priestess hissed as she continued to crawl toward him. “My people… deserve… retribution,” she eerily echoed the General’s notions. Each word was a monumental struggle for her, but nevertheless she didn’t stop. She wanted her voice to be heard.

“What do you want from us?” Corpse Eater pleaded to know, tears streaming down his face. “Forgive us, please! We’ve paid our toll! What do you want from us?!”

The priestess took a deep breath before breathing out a single word: “Die…” Even though it was only one syllable, it was laced with such hatred, such desire to see her enemies fallen that the boy understood: she would never forgive them. Till her last moment, her every action, every move would be aimed at killing them.

Corpse Eater wasn’t sure if he could blame her after what she’d been through. But he wasn’t going to let it pass, either.

Slowly, moving just a little bit faster than the priestess, he approached Death Herald’s body and pulled the machete out of the boy’s cold, rigid hand. Making a few test swings, he started walking toward the woman’s crawling torso.

For as long as she was alive, she’d try to kill them. Perhaps she wasn’t a threat at the moment, but the boy didn’t know the extent to which the Blood of the Giants which coursed between her cells could restore her body. There could come a day when she would walk the earth under the sun once more, and he could not allow that. Her very existence was not just a risk to all of them, it was pure evil—perhaps even purer than the General himself. A power with no accountability. Beyond vengeance and punishment. A power which couldn’t be taken away—only vanquished along with its bearer.

And for the first time in his life, the boy felt that it was his time to act.

Steering away from her prying hand he circled around her and pressed her to the ground with his left foot. He could feel she didn’t have enough strength to resist him and throw him off, and raised his weapon above his head, ready to bring it down on her neck.

“This… Is not over…” she wheezed, spitting out some black substance.

“It is,” the boy said, adjusting his grip on the machete so that it wouldn’t fly out at the most decisive moment.

“That man… Will take my place…” Her words made his weapon stop mid-swing. Coughing up more blood, the priestess continued: “He will… take their power… for himself… Do not… think that… your friend was the last…”

“He was going to use the herb to lift the curse,” Corpse Eater objected without confidence.

“No… curse…” was all the priestess managed to say before her lungs gave out.

The machete whizzed through the air and separated her head from her torso, which immediately rolled away into the shadows. But as the boy looked down on her, he realized that, just as she had said, it wasn’t over.

It suddenly occurred to him that her words made perfect sense. Why wouldn’t the General take such a power for himself? With the war drawing to a close, this could be his last chance to save himself. To rise above conventional weapons. To rise above accountability. If the man had managed to survive for so long as a mere human, with the Giant’s Blood mystical power he would be nigh-invincible.

He imagined the horrors that the man would become capable of with such power, and he felt nauseous. Greatest warlord in Liberia? That title would become laughable. The man would become the god of war incarnate, capable of single-handedly turning the tide of any conflict. He would cause much more mayhem than the priestess ever could if someone like him would rise to such power. No warlord would refuse to become his banner man, and no prey would be out of his sight. There would be so much blood that the continent would overflow and start spilling it into the oceans.

The boy could practically see the mountain of skeletons, entire mountain ranges of them. All of them made of the bones of thirteen year olds. Like him. Like Homewrecker. Like those kids in the village.

But perhaps there was something to be done.

The boy realized that he had to act quickly, and just as his plan of action formed in his mind his body immediately set to carrying it out. He kneeled, turned over the decapitated torso of the priestess, and, raising the blade high above his head, plunged it into her chest. Then he pulled it out, took aim and did it again. He wasn’t sure how it was done, but he had seen the General do it far too many times in the past, and thus was doing his best to replicate the man’s actions.

There was only one way to claim someone’s power—to eat their heart raw. The General had always said that it had to be done while the victim was still alive, but perhaps a few minutes didn’t make much difference.

The priestess’ ribs wouldn’t give in to him, and the boy spent an immeasurable amount of time trying to pry them open, cutting his fingers on her sharp bones. Her skin under his palms was not delicate as he had expected it to be—changed by the Blood of the Giants, it was harsh and solid. Only the numerous gunshot wounds on her chest that had shattered the ribs underneath were helping him

When he finally managed to pry them open the heart was there. Miraculously intact despite the woman’s severe injuries. Wrapped in the same petals that he had seen when the General carved open one of the beasts at their base, only this time they were still fresh, and a light glow, similar to the one that surrounded him, was emanating from it.

The boy didn’t know what it meant but he took it as a good sign.

Quickly, so as to not lose any more time and fearing to see it whither, the boy leaned in and started eating the heart right out of the priestess’ chest. He hated the familiar taste of human flesh on his tongue, and the petals didn’t taste good either, but he kept forcing himself. He knew that he finally had a goal in his life, and he would go to great lengths to see it through.

Homewrecker was right, after all. It was up to him to decide who he was. And he was choosing to be Corpse Eater.

Perhaps he hadn’t chosen that name. It was chosen for him after the General’s men watched the boy they had been starving tear into the bodies they had brought him, trying to suck some liquids out to moisten his dried-up throat. But even if it had been chosen for him, he would defy his captors by choosing to live up to it, by giving it a new context. By claiming it as his one true name and not a nickname.

He was confident that with his next action, he’d take his first steps toward freedom. Toward closing the door on ever again being someone’s tool. Toward choosing his destiny for himself, as Homewrecker had wanted. He was the Corpse Eater, and for the first time in his life, he felt that he indeed was a warrior.

Chapter 19

Captain Tsetse

He hoped that most of the boys had run away, but he knew that not everyone had been saved. Even though his face didn’t show it, he could still see their bodies torn to shreds by the General’s weapon.

He glanced back to see how his troops were doing—it wasn’t hard to do a quick headcount given that only two had survived. Billy the Man-Eater and Exterminator—two thirteen-year-olds—were the only ones who hadn’t died or run away. The last of those he had been told to look after by the man who had slaughtered the rest.

The adults had suffered heavy losses as well: There were only nine soldiers left. The rest had been caught between a rock and the hard place—some of them were killed by their leader, while most were massacred by the rampaging undead. The survivors were not happy to be such; Tsetse could see the wariness in their eyes when they looked ahead at their leader.

Tsetse had anticipated that something like this would happen, but he had miscalculated, and he was now silently scorning himself for making a mistake. He hadn’t taken into account the lengths to which the General was ready to go in his pursuit of power, and his disregard for the lives of others. Tsetse had feared that the boys could be shot accidentally. He wasn’t ready to see the General wipe them out.

Tsetse had considered taking a preemptive action, but he had hesitated. As much as he cared for the boys, he valued his life too much to put it on the line and try to stop the General. There was only one way to do it—to put a bullet into the back of his head, but the boy hadn’t been ready for such drastic measures. He had been hoping that one of the creatures, or the priestess herself, would manage to get to the man and kill him. He had even planned to create such an opportunity—say, shoot a soldier that was standing between a ravenous villager and the General’s back.

But there weren’t any villagers now to complete that job. Maybe some of them had survived and would grow even more powerful, but by that time the General would already have the Blood of the Giants in his possession. And then, it would be too late.

No, the General had no intention of lifting the curse—if there ever was one. No, he yearned for the same power the priestess had wielded, and Tsetse was smart enough to realize: the man couldn’t be allowed to get his hands on it. He had to be stopped at all costs, even if at the cost of his own life.

At that moment, they were surrounded by soldiers, and the boy knew that they wouldn’t take kindly to Tsetse killing their leader when he was moments away from ending “the priestess’s reign of terror”—Tsetse had no doubt that no one else had picked up on the General’s true intentions. But perhaps an opportunity would present itself when they reached their goal. When the General and everyone else would be distracted, allowing the boy to take a well-aimed shot and send the man to hell for everything he’d done and would do.

Perhaps they all would be distracted enough to allow the boy to get his hands on the grenade box, which at that moment rocked and shook on the trolley, next to the generator and under the General’s watchful gaze.

The old man that was leading them was silent, his head hanging low. Perhaps he too had anticipated that the horde of the priestess’ followers would grow strong enough to overpower the brigade, but that hope had turned out to be in vain. If anything, it led to more pointless bloodshed. Tsetse was guessing what was going on in the man’s head—perhaps he was clueless as to the General’s real intentions? Why else would he continue to lead the General? Even if he was afraid for the remaining people in his village and worried about whether or not the General would keep his word once they got back to the surface, didn’t he realize that if the man would unleash hell upon their country if he got his hands on the herb?

The old man was naive and stupid. And his stupidity would lead to terrible consequences. It was all up to Tsetse now. Maybe the other two boys would die as a result of his actions, but that was a call he was ready to make as their captain. When his time to act would come, he wouldn’t hesitate.

The scenery around them was slowly changing; there were less trees and more statues and monoliths like the ones they had seen before. They would emerge out of the inky darkness in silent greeting—or, perhaps, in silent scorn—and wordlessly observe the trespassers on their way to the heart of the Keep. Whenever they passed the black monoliths—so dark they seemed like the doorways to some abstract void—Tsetse felt his ears ring, and he noted that others were shaking their heads as well, as if trying to put something that went out of tune in their ears in its place.

The yellow glow from the trees subsided, leaving the ceiling without its stars, but the light was still there—provided by the faint blue mist that was getting thicker as they went further. The sounds of wildlife had vanished as well—it seemed that neither plants nor animals wanted to approach the place where they were heading.

“We’re on the right path.” Tsetse heard the old man’s faint voice. “The old priestess had shared stories about this place… A place where life ends. Beyond it lies only the infinity… and the Bedchamber of the Keep. Its very heart.”

“You heard him! Pick up your pace!” the General shouted, and two soldiers who were still carrying the trolley sped up, not even looking ahead.

Tsetse understood the meaning behind the old man’s words: that “the infinity” meant endless life for those who would infuse themselves with the Blood of the Giants. But something at the back of his head gnawed at him, telling him that it could mean something else. Something incomprehensible, which the humans, in their feeble efforts to grasp it, gave up and simply named “infinity,” putting off the quest to truly understand for later, when their minds wouldn’t be bound by helpless three-dimensional bodies.

He wouldn’t be surprised by anything at that point.

The mist was getting thicker and thicker, providing even more light than the glowing groves they had passed, and with it the boy noticed that up ahead the mist was swirling downward. Along the slope he couldn’t yet see, but could already figure out that it was there.

The others had noted it as well, and their procession slowed down. Nobody was ready to go deeper beneath the ground.

“You two, go check it out! Come on!” the General impatiently said, shaking the fuel canister to check how much they had left. By the sound of it—not that much. Most of the fuel had been left at the spot where the second generator was destroyed, and although it was doubtful someone would steal it, they still had to reach it on their way back before the fuel they had with them ran out.

The two soldiers the General had chosen slowly approached the edge of the slope and, holding their breath, looked over the edge. A second later one of them let out a sigh of surprise. He was mesmerized by the sight that revealed itself to his eyes.

One after another, the soldiers carefully lined up along the edge of the slope, letting the sight before them sink in, until Tsetse came close enough to take a look himself.

One glance was enough for a thought to assert itself in his brain: “Yes, this is it. This is the place.”

The slope turned out to be a round valley, or rather an amphitheater carved out of the ground, easily a hundred meters wide. The boy could see separate rows of massive steps leading down to its center—far too long and tall for a normal human to design them.

And on the other side of the amphitheater, located around the intricate ascending staircase leading up to a giant black doorway on the other side of the arena, were four egg-shaped semi-transparent structures, which were illuminated from within with a strange light, the color of which the boy couldn’t recognize. It took him a few seconds to figure out what exactly those bizarre structures were and what was so familiar and off-putting about them.

The structures hadn’t been built—they were cocoons, with a thick, leathery surface, and at the center of each of them curled up the same figure he had seen immortalized in the statues of black stone. Each of them occupied almost the entirety of their respective cocoon and, taking into account that those were around ten meters tall, the boy found it hard to imagine how high they would be were they to wake up and rise to their feet.

Once every few seconds, the cocoons would emit a humming noise that eclipsed and muffled all other sounds. It wasn’t that it was so loud—rather, whenever the boy heard the sound it was all his mind could focus on, ignoring all other noises and even making his vision slightly blurry. The slumbering giants were calling out to them in their sleep, but it wasn’t in a language they could fathom.

The cocoons, despite looking like something from the animal kingdom, had roots that were only identified as such due to how they resembled them. In reality they could just as well be someone’s organs, weaving across the ground. And at the very center of the arena, where they were digging into the ground, breaking through the stone of the small round platform, no more than five meters in radius, sprung the red herb with long thin leaves—the Blood of the Giants.

“Here they are… the Giants. The Guardians of Infinity,” the old man loudly whispered, fearing to desecrate the holy ground with his voice.

His withered finger was pointing to something on the far side of the arena, and the boy glanced in that direction—the point towards which the staircase led.

The furthest slope of the arena lead to the wall—the first edge of the Underworld the boy had seen. The wall was covered in ancient murals, depicting the giants performing some deeds, the meaning of which Tsetse could not understand. They could be some menial tasks, or they could be rituals, but in most of them, the giants were stretching their limbs to the stars, warding off—or greeting—something above, something that the boy couldn’t recognize. In any case, the true meaning of the murals was lost on the boy. Whatever process they were displaying was beyond his comprehension.

And in the middle of the wall, so black that the boy had taken it for one of the inky monoliths, was the giant doorway. Only when he looked at it he was sure—the darkness beyond it wasn’t simply a lightless tunnel. It was a pure void, stretching for billions of miles against all logic and reason.

Tsetse couldn’t even tell how tall the doorway was. It was messing with his perspective, and the boy struggled to grasp its real size. One second it seemed some ten or twenty or thirty meters in height, and the other it appeared to be a thousand miles tall—and a thousand miles away. It lured him in, promising to reveal something that he’d never forget. The mystical secrets from the very foundation of the universe which he’d never find in any book.

“If I somehow survive what’s to come, I’m taking a glimpse of what’s on the other side,” Tsetse promised himself, enchanted by the portal’s mystery.

“All right, stop gawking and start moving! Grab the generator and carry it down there—I can see our target!” The General’s voice boomed across the eerie silence of the place, snapping everyone back to reality. Tsetse didn’t follow the instructions—instead he stood aside, waiting for the others to decide that the order was aimed at them and to start moving.

The soldiers carefully grabbed the puffing and coughing machine and carried it downstairs, watching their steps. Tsetse tensed up: his time to act was near.

It took the adults a good five minutes to bring the generator to the middle of the arena down the giant stairs. All the way down the General was rushing them to move faster, but the boy noticed that the closer he got to the giants the quieter his words became. By the time they were at their destination he was conversing in whispers, which were constantly drowned out by the humming.

Standing closer to the sleeping giants, the boy could see them more clearly—and he understood that even upon close inspection they remained completely alien to him. Their flesh was not the doing of the boy’s creator—he was sure of as much. It seemed almost impossible that something so big could exist on land without collapsing under its own weight—and yet there they were, with solid forms and thoughts so defined Tsetse could almost hear them.

He could see that the villagers, revived by the power of the herb, were nothing but a mere symptom, a twisted and muddy reflection of what the actual masters of the Keep were—both in form and essence. And as the General was carefully approaching the platform where the herb grew, the boy squeezed his weapon: he couldn’t allow something so terrible fall into the man’s hands. Who knew what other properties he’d be able to unlock.

But he didn’t get a chance to raise his gun and take a shot—someone beat him to it.

A shot thundered across the arena, its shape perfectly capturing the sound and reproducing it a hundred times, until it was impossible to tell where it originated from. One of the soldiers fell to the ground, quickly losing blood from the wound on his head. Before anyone realized what had happened, a second one fired, and another soldier grabbed his shoulder.

“Stop shooting!” the General shouted, thinking that it was the work of one of his men. But his soldiers were as confused as he was—taking into account where they were, they expected anything else but shooting.

More shots followed, and although the soldiers had nowhere to hide not all of the bullets found their target. Two more soldiers fell to the ground with fatal wounds, but the next shot only scratched its target, and the shot after it missed completely.

Turning around, Tsetse noticed the short bursts of gunpowder igniting at the top of the slope. He didn’t see the shooter, but he suspected that it was one of the survivors of the General’s onslaught who wanted his revenge. The villagers had never shown a tendency to use firearms.

The boy kept his mouth shut regarding the whereabouts of the attacker; whoever he was, even if he was after Tsetse too, as long as he was trying to kill the General, Tsetse wouldn’t get in his way.

“There!” Billy the Man-Eater screamed, pointing at the top of the slope, and Tsetse almost let out a sigh of disappointment. He had forgotten how loyal and dumb some of the kids could be.

Finding their target, the soldiers instantly turned their weapons in that direction and started shooting. Tsetse didn’t bother to pretend to follow their example, instead circling around the platform in the middle of the arena to assume a position better fit for what he had in mind.

But as soon as he found a spot behind the platform where he would be protected from the incoming fire, the last bullet hit the generator, putting the ancient struggling machine out of its misery and making the arena marginally darker.

The boy silently cursed and kneeled, hiding from the others. He needed time to readjust to the darkness, and he didn’t want the soldiers or the General to suspect him of anything.

“Do you think we got him?” he heard one of the soldiers ask.

“Why don’t you go up there and check?” the General sarcastically replied. After a few seconds, the man must’ve come to a conclusion that it wasn’t such a bad idea, because he added: “Go! We’ll cover you from here!”

“Alright… C’mere,” Tsetse heard the soldier tell someone. Carefully taking a peek, Tsetse saw the soldier grab Exterminator by the hand and push the kid in front of him to lead the way. After that, he hid behind the kid’s back, lowering his head, and started pushing him up the stairs, carefully taking a peek to see if there was any movement up on the slope.

The kid was most likely a goner, and Tsetse realized that the only way to save him would be to abandon his goal of killing the General for now and keep a close eye on the unknown assailant. If he could shoot him down before he had a chance to strike, Exterminator would live.

The soldier and the boy had reached almost the very top of the slope, and Exterminator tried to keep his head low so that it wouldn’t peek out, but the soldier grabbed him by the nape and made him look straight into the darkness.

“I… I think he’s dead!” the boy shouted for everyone to hear. “He has a wound on his neck! It’s… It’s one of the kids!”

If he was shot in the neck, then how did he manage to land a shot on the generator after that? Tsetse thought, and in that short moment of distraction something lunged out of the shadows onto the boy and the soldier—a small figure of a boy, no older than thirteen years old. Tsetse recognized that outline ad those brown breeches—it was Corpse Eater.

He also spotted an orange cloth wrapped around his waistline. Was that Homewrecker’s T-Shirt that the captain hated so much?

Corpse Eater tackled both the soldier and Exterminator, pushing them down the stairs. Tsetse expected them to land on the step below, yet the three of them flew past a few more, carried by the impact of Corpse Eater’s jump, before landing onto hard stone.

Corpse Eater managed to land on his feet and even grabbed Exterminator by the collar before the boy’s head hit the solid surface below. The soldier was less lucky—Tsetse could hear the bone crack as it hit the stone.

Quickly, before the dazed soldier had any chance to recover, Corpse Eater let go of the other boy and grabbed the soldier’s head. In one move, he squashed it as easily as if it was a rotten melon.

Bullets swirled through the air, breaking off small chunks from the stone where they hit it, and Corpse Eater took a step to the side, covering Exterminator. A few bullets hit his torso but, miraculously, the boy wasn’t fazed. Tsetse realized where he had seen that before.

Somehow, Corpse Eater had acquired the powers of the Blood of the Giants. It was the only explanation Tsetse could see. Perhaps when the boy had run away he had reached the Bedchamber before them?

“Damn it,” Tsetse heard the soldier next to him swear as he started reloading. His hands were shaking and his movements weren’t refined. He couldn’t get the clip to go inside the gun.

Tsetse realized that his time had come.

He planned to shoot up the rest of the soldiers, and save the last bullet for the General. He was worse than the disease he was named after, and the boy had the cure. Thirty ampoules of it—he reckoned it would be enough to eradicate the disease and vaccinate the sick.

His eyes could see well enough. He stood up, leaned on the platform to get steady, and opened fire on the soldiers.

He managed to hit three of them before the rest realized what had happened and hid behind the platform. The old man was left on his own, and without instructions he seemed lost, not even caring to take cover.

Tsetse wasn’t worried; their numbers were low enough that he could keep an eye on all of them, and with Corpse Eater’s help he could get them from the flanks.

Only, Corpse Eater wasn’t shooting at them anymore. Whether he was out of bullets or it was the Blood of the Giants calling to him, the boy had decided to take a more straightforward approach. Just like the villagers, he wanted to feel the blood squirt onto him from wounds he inflicted, so he rushed at the cornered soldiers, pulling out a machete from behind his belt.

More shots followed, and Corpse Eater tried his best to avoid them or duck under their path, but just like the villagers he wasn’t faster than a bullet. They tore into him, wounds opening up like red flowers on him, their jagged petals noticeable even in the twilight of the cave, and Tsetse distinctly saw the shadowy flight of a gush of blood when one of the rounds hit the boy in the bone cheek.

But the boy didn’t stop. Too much life was flowing through him to allow that—alien life, life of the giants behind his prey. And all that life force, all that vitality, was coursing toward one single goal—the abrupt and violent end of the lives in front of him.

When another one of the soldiers carelessly stood up while backing away, intimidated by Corpse Eater’s approach, Tsetse quickly capitalized on his mistake and blew his brains out with a single bullet. He reckoned that after his earlier outburst he had at least four or five bullets left. If he used them wisely, they could become four or five lives on his conscience. And the lives in question were a burden light enough for the boy to accept.

Corpse Eater reached the platform and lunged over it in one great leap. The momentum of his rush carried him forward, and in one second he cleaved the head of one of the soldiers off. Another one opened fire at a point-blank range, and for the first time since his arrival Corpse Eater staggered. The boy took a deep breath and Tsetse could hear the whistling sound of air escaping his pierced lungs through new holes.

For a moment, Tsetse thought that Corpse Eater’s durability had reached its limit. Tough as they had been, the villagers had nevertheless all been defeated by firepower. But after a second or two, Corpse Eater regained his senses and grabbed the gun by the barrel, pointing it away from himself, and then shoved his other hand into the man’s mouth.

His tiny arm, thin and frail compared to the adult’s arm, went in till the middle of the forearm. Tsetse could make out individual fingers moving under the man’s skin, protruding out of his neck. Without a doubt, his throat was torn to shreds, and if the man could take a breath he’d be trying to cough out blood that was gushing down into his lungs.

Using the man’s body as a shield, Corpse Eater headed toward the General and the remaining two soldiers. Tsetse couldn’t see them behind the platform, but he heard only one gun firing—the other two were either reloading or too paralyzed with fear to do anything about the boy’s approach.

Tsetse heard the sound of sharpened steel being etched into bone, and one of the voices was forever silenced. Following that, a metal hit the stone—judging by the weight of the dropped object, it was a gun.

“Please, don’t!” the unfamiliar voice pleaded. “I was just following orders, same as you! Why are you like this?”

The pleas were silenced and the soldier started gasping for air. Taking a guess that it was safe to go, Tsetse started circling the platform to see what was going on.

Corpse Eater was strangling the last remaining soldier. Based on what he had seen, Tsetse was sure that the boy had enough strength to snap his neck with his thumbs alone, but Corpse Eater preferred to take his time disposing of the last of the General’s men. Reveling in his dark power. Only, when Tsetse came closer he saw that tears were running down the boy’s cheeks.

The General was nowhere to be seen, and Tsetse was sure: the man wouldn’t try to run away. Rising up the stairs would take a lot of time and leave him exposed. No, the man was somewhere nearby, and the fact that he hadn’t opened fire yet could mean a few things.

It could mean that he was out of the bullets, or that he was plotting something. Possibly both.

He glanced at the other two boys, but Billy the Man-Eater and Exterminator were just the observers at this point. Too many things—that they didn’t understand—had taken place for them to take an initiative and start making their own calls. For now, they were just looking.

The man had to be nearby. Somewhere around that platform. He was alone. There were two of them.

“Let’s go.” Tsetse shook Corpse Eater’s shoulder. “Finish him already.”

Corpse Eater didn’t react. He was entirely focused on the man’s life slipping out of him.

Tsetse felt annoyed but didn’t show that. “We have to find the General,” he pressed on. “If we don’t, then it’s all pointless.”

“Stand where you are!” The General’s voice was higher than usual. “Don’t you dare come closer!”

The voice was coming from the direction where the old man had been standing. During that short moment of distraction, when Tsetse was trying to bring Corpse Eater back to reality, the General must’ve made a dash behind Tsetse’s back. Now he held the old man hostage.

“Did you feel sorry for these people, kid?” General asked, holding a knife to the old man’s neck. The old man didn’t resist. The giants behind them hummed, as if reacting to the new, unpleasant sounds that were disturbing their sleep.

Corpse Eater slowly turned his head toward the General and, not looking away, crushed his victim’s throat. Twitching, the man fell to the ground, clawing at his neck as if hoping to repair it in the few seconds he had left. Barely able to lift his leg, Corpse Eater stepped over the man’s twitching body and started shuffling toward the armed man. His many wounds were getting to him, and it would take a lot of time to heal them. Time he didn’t have.

“I said stand back or he gets it!” the General screamed, pressing the blade further into his hostage’s wrinkly skin. The threat worked: Corpse Eater froze in place.

Tsetse knew what the other boy was contemplating: Was the old man’s life that important to save him? Sure, he was technically innocent. They had a long history of killing the innocent, though. The only difference was that they had been doing that under the man’s orders—the same man who at that very moment was holding the old man captive. The man whom they had the chance to punish—right there, right at that very moment.

What was the right decision? Killing them both and making sure that there would be no more orders to give, or sparing the old man—and risking the General escaping?

“That’s right,” the General said, seeing that Corpse Eater had stopped moving. He glanced at Tsetse and shifted behind the old man, trying to make sure that the boy couldn’t shoot him without hitting the old man as well. “Try anything funny and this old ruin is no more. Is this why you’re doing this? Compassion for the enemy?”

“We’re doing this because your regime has to end sometime,” Tsetse answered. He wasn’t sure what was driving Corpse Eater, but he could inquire about that later.

“So, it’s a revolution then.” Despite the severity of his situation, the General smirked. “I’ve taught you well, Tsetse. But don’t you think that my boots are too big for you to fill?”

“I’m not doing it to take your place,” Tsetse explained, trying to find a weakness in the man’s defense. So far, he had found none. Opening fire would only mean wasting the remaining bullets on the old man.

“Then what for?” the General wondered, his face becoming a grimace of surprise.

“Just for the sake of ending you,” Tsetse abruptly said. He didn’t feel like wasting his time, trying to explain to the General something that he wouldn’t understand anyway.

“This is all.” He suddenly heard Corpse Eater’s wheezing voice, twisted and filled with anger, coming out from both the boy’s mouth and the holes in his chest. It strangely reverberated as it passed through his half-collapsed lungs. “This is all for Homewrecker. For those who tried to oppose you. Who tried to live their own lives.”

“Who the hell is Homewrecker?” the General wondered, and Corpse Eater roared and took a quick step forward, as if trying to leap at him. To punish the fool for his ignorance.

His legs betrayed him as soon as he took a second step, but the momentum carried him forward, making the boy stumble. And the General didn’t miss the opportunity presented to him.

He pushed the old man toward the boy, and Corpse Eater slammed into him. Both of them grabbed onto each other, doing a weird dance as they tried to stay on their feet.

Tsetse quickly lined a shot, but the man quickly ducked out of his sight and jumped to the side, positioning himself behind Corpse Eater and the old man.

“Move!” Tsetse shouted, but a moment later he heard something clanking against the rock. Something small and round and metallic.

A grenade.

“Grenade!” Tsetse shouted a warning, hiding behind the platform. He didn’t see if Corpse Eater had a chance to react, but he knew the General well enough to be sure; he had thrown the grenade right under the boy’s feet. He wouldn’t miss the fact that Corpse Eater could barely move.

Tsetse closed his ears and opened his mouth. The best he could do at that moment was making sure he wouldn’t be dazed.

The explosion made his very bones shake. No matter what he did to prepare for it, the explosion was still mere meters away from him, and his ears were ringing so much it made his head hurt.

Yet even though he was practically deaf, he still heard the second burst. Another grenade blew up somewhere in the distance, followed by a loud humming of the giants—louder than any that had come before. The pulsating sound overcame even the ringing in the boy’s ears; it passed his ears to his brain’s hearing center, straight through the bone of his skull. It demanded all of his attention, with each pulse stealing all the focus from everything else.

Taking a few seconds to come to his senses, Tsetse carefully looked out from behind the platform. The General was nowhere to be seen—without a doubt, he had capitalized on the mayhem he had created and was probably rushing through the shadows somewhere.

Corpse Eater was lying on the ground a few meters away from the blast zone. It seemed that, at the very last moment, he had tried to escape the explosion. But he was not very successful, and his left arm was a scorched mess of exposed, torn muscles.

Miraculously, he was still moving. The Blood of the Giants was keeping him alive even after such severe abuse.

The old man was a bit further from the blast zone—Corpse Eater must’ve pushed him away and taken most of the shrapnel intended for him. In those short moments when the humming wasn’t drowning out all other noises, he could be heard quietly moaning.

Tsetse could see only one blast zone—its scorch marks on the ground couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Where was the other one? He had distinctly heard two blasts.

Another wave of humming—Tsetse wasn’t sure anymore if it was even a sound or something else entirely—rolled across the amphitheater, and the boy involuntarily raised his eyes, looking at the source of it.

One of the giant’s cocoons was damaged, its glowing contents spilling out onto the ladder leading up to the portal, and the giant inside seemed to be slowly waking up.

“The second explosion… That’s where he threw the grenade,” Tsetse realized. In horror, he watched the ancient entity coming to its senses and stretching its limbs.

He hated the General more than anything at that moment, but he couldn’t deny that he had been in charge for all those years for a reason; it was a brilliant distraction on his side.

The giant tore off the piece of cocoon above him and started rising to his feet. His many appendages, curled up into spirals, were slowly unraveling, and Tsetse could practically feel the monster’s thoughts overwhelm him. It was still not fully awakened, but the boy could tell: he wouldn’t be able to endure the madness that would wash over him with the creature’s first defined thought.

It spoke without a mouth, and Tsetse felt nauseous as visions of higher planes of existence that his primate brain couldn’t process swirled through him. He didn’t see them with his eyes: rather, he felt them as a tingling in his fingertips, as the taste of an unseen color, as the memories of distant smells. As a form of thought completely new to him.

“The stars… Aren’t right,” he heard Corpse Eater whisper. “It knows… It knows it’s time hasn’t come.”

It spoke again, louder, its words materializing as a green shine that lit up half of the Underworld like a new sun and, for a moment, Tsetse forgot who he was. Memories of many recent years were instantly washed out of him by a tidal wave of raw psychic power, and new ones didn’t stick around either. Every second he was finding himself in a new location, doing something else, unaware of what he had been doing a moment before or where he was, and only instinct, no more complex than that of an ant, was making his actions accumulate, giving them momentum and a goal.

* * *

When memories of who he was started coming back to him and he started coming back to his senses, the first thing he realized was that he was walking, being supported by someone. Blinking a few times, he looked into the face of the boy who carried him on his shoulder and, after a few moments, the memory of that face rose up from the hazy depths of his mind—it was Exterminator. To the right of him, Billy the Man-Eater was supporting the old man and, up ahead, Corpse Eater was leading them through the darkness, dragging his left foot behind him as he walked.

He must’ve zoned out, the boy realized. The onslaught of the giant’s thoughts was too much for him to handle.

The shining mists were gone, and Tsetse could see the yellow lights of underworld forests in the distance. That meant that the amphitheater with its dark portal was not too far behind them. If he were to take a glance, would he still see the giant’s words glittering in the distance, like a lone lighthouse of madness?

“Don’t look back,” Corpse Eater warned him with a raspy voice, without turning around. Tsetse had no clue how the boy knew that he had come to his senses, but he suspected that after everything he’d seen the boy do the answer would be too difficult to put into words.

“What happened?” Tsetse wondered instead.

“That thing woke up and started… started…”—Exterminator tried to explain to him. “Doing its thing. You two”—he nodded toward the old man—“were caught in its blast radius and—you went all crazy, man. When Corpse Eater brought you closer, the things you were saying… I can’t even repeat something like that.” Exterminator shuddered, making Tsetse cock his eyebrow in surprise. What phrase could make a boy who went through war shudder?

“I see,” Tsetse simply said, and Exterminator took it as a sign to continue.

“If it wasn’t for Corpse Eater you probably would have cracked your skull trying to get up those giant stairs,” the boy continued, and another memory resurfaced in Tsetse’s mind: the dark portal, so close yet so distant.

“I was trying to get in?” Tsetse whispered, bewildered by the revelation.

“Yeah. Do you remember why?” Exterminator wondered.

Tsetse shook his head; his mind had nothing but recollections of mangled thoughts. He had a small suspicion growing at the back of his mind though.

Perhaps, in what he believed to be his final moments, he had wanted to touch something greater, experience something unknown? Something that wasn’t from his world, where people crawled in the mud like vermin, trying to get their piece?

“It doesn’t matter,” Tsetse replied. “What about the giant?”

“It won’t follow us” – Corpse Eater chimed in. “Its time to wake up hasn’t come. It will go back to sleep pretty soon, so… Don’t worry about it yet.”

Corpse Eater led them through the Underworld and back to the surface without any issues. All beasts fell silent whenever they sensed his approach, and the boys weren’t attacked once. Tsetse could appreciate that—he was too tired to fight or struggle. For the first time in a long time, he could just take a walk without keeping guard. He’d let the others do that for him.

The sun was already rising outside—Tsetse could see its faint pink light as the new day was being born. Tsetse had always dreaded the mornings, as they promised nothing for him but responsibilities. But for one day, he felt like he could cut loose and relax. After who knows how long under the ground, the prospect of basking in the first rays of the new day was very pleasing to him.

Only Corpse Eater didn’t walk out into the light. He stopped at the very edge of the light and shadows, looking at the horizon.

“This is where we part ways,” he said, not turning around. “I am not going with you.”

“Why?” Tsetse wondered. It didn’t make sense to him that the boy would not want to leave that dreadful place. What was he even thinking?

“Why?” Corpse Eater repeated his question, turning around. “Tsetse, look at me.”

Involuntarily, Tsetse shuddered at the sight that had been presented to him. He could see that the Blood of the Giants was already at work, patching up what had been broken.

The scar on his face where the bullet had hit him was already unraveling, its edges splitting by the inhuman flesh growing underneath. It wasn’t scar tissue—although it probably functioned like one. Its texture and color was not something Tsetse had ever seen on a living being, and part of Corpse Eater’s cheek had already gone transparent, exposing muscles and jaw bone and teeth underneath.

His mangled arm, where entire bits of meat and skin had been torn out by the grenade’s shrapnel, was already being restored—but it was obvious that the processes going on there had no clue about human anatomy. Whatever limb the Blood of the Giants was trying to bring back was not that of a human. Tsetse could already see by the shape of new ligaments that covered Corpse Eater’s arm like a web and, despite seeing multiple injuries in the past, he did not recognize the puzzle that they were forming.

Buds of new flesh were bursting out of the boy’s already transparent skin where the bullets had hit him, ready to envelop the body whole, make it more durable, more resilient to future attacks, making sure the host would survive future encounters.

Whatever was damaged had to be replaced by a superior flesh—that was how the herb functioned. The boy was quickly turning into one of the monsters that had haunted them for the last two days. Although he would probably retain his identity, even if twisted by his exposure to the secrets of the giants below, he would never be looked upon as a human again. He would never be able to enter human society, even one fractured and perverted by war.

“I’ll have to go down there and look for other survivors,” Corpse Eater explained. There was no sorrow or regret in his voice—only stoic acceptance. “Perhaps some boys are still alive. They’ll need my help to find their way to the surface. And there might be some villagers left too—I can’t let them escape the Underworld and come after you. If any survived, they’ll become too strong for you to deal with.”

“You sure you’ll be able to deal with them?” Tsetse asked, concerned by the difficulty of the task that the boy was preparing to face. He wanted to help him somehow, to lend him his skills—but he knew that the point when they were relevant had long since passed.

“I’ll be fine,” Corpse Eater calmly reassured him. “More importantly, the General might still be down there.”

Tsetse nodded. The boys shared an unspoken agreement that the man needed to go down for good. It was not expressed in common words or even similar thoughts. They didn’t need to exchange them. It was the very nature of their common experience that was pushing them both to the same conclusion.

“If he’s still in there, I’ll track him down. But if he escaped to the surface already…”

Tsetse nodded: “I’ll find him. He’s bound to show up somewhere.”

“…Right,” Corpse Eater hesitantly agreed, looking into distance.

Billy the Man-Eater took his AK-47 off his shoulder and silently handed it to Corpse Eater, but the boy refused: “I won’t hold it in my hands ever again. Keep it. You might still need it. The war is still not over.”

The war. It seemed so feeble, so distant to Tsetse at that moment. Over the past couple of days it had lost its thundering presence. It wasn’t looming over him with all of its dangers and responsibilities. After what he’d been through they seemed almost like a menial task.

“Go east,” Corpse Eater interrupted his train of thought. “Find some commune where you can be safe. And forget any of this ever happened. Forget the war, forget what you’ve done, and, most importantly, forget the Underworld. Never mention it again to any living soul. If anyone—even you—try to access it again… I’ll be guarding it,” the boy ominously finished.

“And Tsetse?” Corpse Eater turned toward the eldest boy. “Forget the General.”

“What?” Tsetse was taken aback. In his surprise he even shattered his mask of indifference and lifted an eyebrow.

“Forget the General” Corpse Eater repeated. “Forget what he’s done. I know you’ll try to find him, but trust me—it’s best to forget him.”

“Aren’t you going to kill him if you find him down there?” Tsetse wondered, slightly annoyed by Corpse Eater’s hypocrisy. “Why do you tell me to—”

“If I find him down there, he’s in my domain. And I’ve got nothing to lose,” Corpse Eater patiently explained. “But I know you’ll never rest if you don’t make sure that he’s dead. Forget it. Don’t let him control you. Don’t let him turn out to be right. Vengeance is not all there is.”

His eyes were radiating with calm authority. He was sure of what he was saying. Tsetse wanted to object, to protest, to tell Corpse Eater his reasons—but he could see how important it was to the boy.

So he said nothing. He simply nodded in agreement.

“Very well,” Corpse Eater said, taking a step back—into the shadows. Step after step, he was walking into the abyss, with his eyes turned toward the sunshine, until only his voice remained.

“Remember,” it said. “Do not tell a soul!”

And just like that, he was gone. Leaving Tsetse with two boys, an old man… and his thoughts.

“Tsetse, what do we do now?” Exterminator asked him.

Tsetse thought for a moment.

“We need to find a place to live,” he answered.

Chapter 20

The priest had finished his service and was wishing his congregation to have a good night. Mothers were carrying their children, bringing them closer to him so that he could cross them and kiss them on the forehead, and men were waiting in a line to shake the man’s hand and pat him on the back.

Twenty years after the end of the civil war, he was trying to make it right. The things that he’d seen in the Underworld made him sure that there were indeed some higher powers—and he needed to make sure that during his life on Earth he’d atone for the many sins he had committed.

He navigated the narrow dirty streets to his house. At night, some of them could be dangerous, but none of the thieves or drug addicts looking for a fresh fix would dare to touch the man of the god—especially him. Though the days when he shed blood were a thing of the past and he did his best to keep them a secret, he carefully made sure that some rumors from that time lingered around. Nothing too precise, of course, but he found that a good rumor was supposed to be like that.

“He killed my ma. He killed my pa. I’ll vote for him,” said the old political billboard above the road. Years had drained almost all colors from it, but the smile of the man on it was still white. The billboard had endured for eighteen years and gone through the second civil war, but it stood on. The priest had suggested many times in the past that it be taken down, but people refused. To them, it was part of their history and they wanted to remember it. So the man who had gone on to become the president of the state continued to tease the priest every evening with its bloodthirsty smile, the smile of a man who had decided that he had nothing to hide. The man who, instead of choosing to hide, decided to own what he’d done.

Even though he had always told his congregation that nothing good would come from hate and revenge, in his heart of hearts the priest was drowning in hatred.

“Good evening to you, Father!” he heard the neighbor greet him. “How was the service?” he wondered.

“Splendid, as always” The man smiled.

“Good to hear!” The man beamed back. One of his front teeth was missing. “If you don’t mind, could you—”

“Come to the church tomorrow and we’ll discuss that,” the priest reassured the man, walking off toward his home.

He opened the door to his house and slipped in, finally letting out a heavy sigh and sliding down the door.

He spent about a minute leaning against it, his head in his hands, before he finally stood up and headed for the kitchen. Suddenly he froze.

He hadn’t been on the battlefield for twenty years, but he could tell that, even in the darkness of his home, he wasn’t alone.

Someone was sitting on the chair near the furthest wall. The dim light of rare streetlights outside wasn’t bright enough to pierce through the old drapes on his window and confirm his suspicion, but he didn’t need to. He was sure of that.

“General?” a soft voice asked him.

The priest remained stoic on the outside, but his heartbeat skyrocketed. He didn’t recognize the stranger’s voice. But more importantly, the man was sure that there was no one left alive who knew his biggest secret. The truth about who he had been in the past.

No doubt the stranger knew what he’d done, then. He probably had come to kill him. The General had feared that moment for twenty years, but when it finally came… he felt tranquility.

It was foolish of him to think that he could bury his past. It was useless to deny it—the mere suspicion was enough to mark him dead. At least he’d have a warrior’s death.

He took a deep breath, and replied: “Yes.”

The person lifted his hand and pointed toward the lamp: “Go ahead. Turn on the light. I’d like to talk face-to-face. No use hiding in the shadows.”

Intrigued, the priest headed for the lamp and turned it on. The stranger turned out to be a black man in his thirties. A nice business suit—not like anything the General or anyone in his neighborhood could afford. Confident posture. At first the priest didn’t recognize him, but when their eyes met the realization struck him—there was only one person whom he had seen wear that somber and indifferent look.

Tsetse.

Back in the day, the General liked the look in the boy’s eyes. He found it fascinating how the kid wouldn’t flinch no matter what. It was why he had made him captain in the first place. Not only because he knew that no one would dare to cross someone with eyes like those, but because he was partly curious: how far could he push the boy before the kid would break? How heinous and outlandish would his orders have to get before the boy would start showing something other than indifference? Was there something alive inside of him, or was he just a machine by then, completely desensitized to everything around him?

And now those were looking at him again. It was as if the General had found an old photo album—those eyes were staring at him from a point in time that came and went twenty years ago.

A point when the boy was trying to shoot him.

“Tsetse,” the General weakly said. “Is that you?”

The man silently nodded, his eyes locked with the General’s.

“Did you come here to kill me?” the General bluntly asked. There was no fear or regret in his voice. Somehow, he felt some fatherly pride in the man before him. After twenty years, he had finally decided to finish what he’d started.

But Tsetse shook his head: “No. I didn’t come here out of vengeance. To do so would prove your stupid ramblings correct. I am here to talk.”

“To talk?” The General’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Yes,” he said. “I attended your service last week. I wanted to see what kind of man you are. You were preaching about forgiveness and change in people. That we change for the best. And as I was listening, I couldn’t help but wonder… were you talking from experience?”

“Ah, I see.” The General gently smiled. “So you wanted to check on your old mentor?”

Tsetse didn’t react to the question. After a few seconds, the General continued: “Yes, people can change. I’ve done many horrible things in the past, but since then, I’ve let God into my life. I’ve realized that I was seduced by the Devil all along. And—”

“What about the children?” Tsetse interrupted him.

“The children?” the General wondered. He didn’t understand the question.

“Do you regret what you did to the children?” Tsetse pressed on, and the man nodded: “Yes, certainly. Many of the kids were left fatherless because of my beliefs, and—”

“I meant your children.”

The General stopped and, for the first time since the beginning of this conversation, he frowned: “I don’t understand what you mean, Tsetse. What have I done to children?”

“Do you regret what you did to the children under your command, General?” Tsetse leaned forward. His eyes remained calm, but his body was betraying the fact that he was restless to hear the answer.

“I don’t like your tone, Tsetse.” The General pursed his lips. “I’ve said that I’ve done many horrible things and I regret them. Do you need the specifics?”

“Yes,” Tsetse immediately answered. “I want the specifics. Do you regret what you did to them or not? I bet you’ve never admitted it to anyone, have you? You probably said that you were a soldier during the First Civil War. Did you tell anyone that you were guiding children into battle?”

“Times were different, Tsetse.” The man snarled. “If it wasn’t for me, they’d be dead.”

“Most of them ARE dead,” Tsetse interrupted, his voice ringing with the steel of his resolve to get the words he needed out of the man. “And those who live now wish they were, too.”

“Well they could’ve left the brigade then!” the General exclaimed. “Walked out into the wilderness. I never held them hostage, they were begging me to let them stay!”

“Children are always hostages of their environment,” Tsetse objected. “Besides, they knew you’d put a bullet in the back of their heads if they ever tried to leave.”

“Bullshit, I—“

“Enough with the lame excuses, General,” Tsetse interrupted him in a tone that showed that he wouldn’t tolerate it all anymore. “Do you admit that you were wrong, General? Yes or no?”

The man went silent and didn’t speak up for a long time, but Tsetse could see that he had hit a nerve—judging by his face, there was a storm brewing inside him.

Finally, he spoke up, and his tone was laced with poison and ire.

“No. I made them tough. I made them warriors, Tsetse. A warrior does not stop being a warrior when he leaves the battlefield. When the war’s over he doesn’t get soft—he is always ready for the next one. They are only alive now because I prepared them for the adult life.”

“You didn’t make them tough,” Tsetse objected. “You left them no choice but to be tough. They have blood on their hands only because of you.”

“Better to go out like a warrior than to lead a meek life, waiting for a bullet to end you!” the General burst out.

“Do you want to see what kind of warriors you were crafting?” Tsetse suddenly asked him. “Do you?”

The General didn’t answer, and Tsetse stood up. For a moment, the General thought that Tsetse was going to show him by killing him, but the man just walked past him.

Carefully, not taking his eyes off of the General, Tsetse walked over to the door, opened it, and waved for someone to come in. The man who walked in was in his early thirties, but the General could only recognize that fact due to the fact that he had seen many people over the years, and he knew what a heavy toll living in their country was putting on them. If not for his experience, he’d think the newcomer was in his fifties. His back was arched, his arms and legs thinned out so much that the skin seemed to be hanging on bones and tendons alone, and judging by the way his clothes hung loosely on his chest, the stranger was all ribs underneath. His eyes were sunken and had bags under them, and when the stranger walked in he threw only a short glance at the General, before directing his stare back at the floor.

“Here, here.” Tsetse patted the man on the shoulder. “It’s all right.”

The captain turned around and faced the General. There was something new in his eyes. Some fire of emotion.

“Look at this man.” Tsetse pointed toward the newcomer. “Do you recognize him?”

The former General squinted at the man, but couldn’t see anything familiar or even unusual about him.

“What, am I supposed to recognize this alcoholic you’ve brought into my house?” he grunted. “Looks the same as all the other losers to me.”

“This is Puppy Slayer,” Tsetse explained. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Puppy Slayer…” The General slowly repeated the name, rolling it on his tongue as if tasting it. “Hold on, is he from the brigade? Is it that boy that was good for nothing?” The General laughed. “Yeah, it’s coming back now. He was with us during the last days of the brigade. I never imagined that he was the one to survive.”

“He almost didn’t,” Tsetse noted. “Corpse Eater found him when he was already on his last breath and led him to the surface.”

“Corpse Eater?” A new intonation entered the General’s voice; he was worried. “Is he…?”

“No.” Tsetse shook his head. “He’s still faithful to his oath. He guards the Keep as he had promised.”

“Huh,” the General simply said. The sound was full of relief, but also something else. Disappointment. “What an idiot.”

“So, why’d you bring him here?” The General pointed at Puppy Slayer. “Do you want me to feel sorry for him? Shed a tear of regret over someone like him?” The man made sure that the last word sounded as demeaning as possible.

Puppy Slayer looked away. Even when the war was over, when the General didn’t hold any strength over him, he still couldn’t face him. It was one of many other traits that he could never lose.

“You don’t think he deserves your tears?” Tsetse calmly inquired.

“Him?” The General repeated his question, laughing at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. “He was good for nothing as a child, everybody knew that. I knew that! Can you tell me that I was wrong? Look at him, he can barely even look people in the eyes! He’s like a shameful dog”

“And you don’t think it’s your fault?” the captain asked.

“My fault? I wasn’t around for twenty years! The war was over twenty years ago! I didn’t make him into what he is today! It’s his own fault that he’s the mess he is!” the General exclaimed, honestly taken aback by Tsetse’s words. He expected to be blamed for pulling them all into the war, but not what came after it.

“You didn’t have to stick around. The damage was done when he was a boy in your brigade.”

“Oh, please!” The General rolled his eyes. “Enough with this bullshit. The kid was good for nothing! He couldn’t stand up for himself! He couldn’t hold his gun steady! Do you want me to feel sorry for him? How about some damn gratitude for not putting him out of his misery?”

Puppy Slayer didn’t object. He was taking the abuse just the like he had twenty years ago. For a moment, the General felt proud that his eye hadn’t betrayed him all that time ago—the kid was indeed destined to be a failure.

“How could you have expected something from him? He was just a kid,” Tsetse noted. “You expected him to do something not every adult was capable of. As a result, he’s broken. He’s haunted by the past. He—”

“You can’t be serious,” the General scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I smell booze from him all the way over here, and I see from here that he wouldn’t be able to get another needle shot even if he tried. What’s he doing for a living nowadays, anyway? Hey, boy!” Due to force of habit, his voice was fresh and full of strength when he called Puppy Slayer; for a moment there, when he called him over, he returned to simpler times. “Tell me, what are you doing for a living?”

Puppy Slayer did not reply. He lowered his gaze even more and hugged himself. It seemed that he wanted to curl up right there, like a leaf in autumn, and if it wasn’t for Tsetse’s presence he would’ve silently left already.

“Speak up!” the General demanded, his voice as loud and sharp as a whip.

“Don’t push him…” Tsetse tried to intervene, but the General stopped him with a gesture: “Don’t interfere, Tsetse! God, you’ve grown soft.” He looked at his former Captain with disgust. “First you bring that into my house and now you’re not letting him even speak for himself when I’m talking to him? Have some respect!”

Tsetse didn’t reply. His face was as unreadable as ever. Then, he gave Puppy Slayer a light pat on the shoulder: “Tell him. Go on.”

“I’m a refuse collector,” Puppy Slayer responded, shaking like a leaf.

“Do you drink?” The General demanded to know if he had been right about him earlier. Puppy Slayer nodded: “Yes. Sometimes.”

“Heh, sometimes.” The General smirked. “There are no people here who drink only ‘sometimes.’ You either drink or you don’t.” He spat on his carpet.

The man sat in silence for a while, observing Puppy Slayer. The younger man did not enjoy it and constantly shifted around, as if hoping to escape the spotlight of the General’s piercing gaze.

“Any wife or kids?” the General wondered. The man shook his head. “Of course.” The older man smirked. “I can see why.”

He was relishing every moment of it. When those two boys showed up at his doorstep, they were probably hoping that their appearance would drain the color from his face. Make him repent and beg on his knees for them to forgive him. But as it turned out they didn’t have it in them. Puppy Slayer forever remained an entertainment for him, and even Tsetse, the boy he had had so much pride in, who had bitten the hand that raised him and decided to play the white knight, couldn’t do anything about it. They were both standing there and taking it, as had countless others before them.

You underestimated me, Tsetse, the General thought. I did not go soft—you did. You thought that since you were one of my close officers you knew how to push my buttons, but you were wrong. I am still a warrior, and you’re still a snot-nosed brat.

Turning to Tsetse, the General pointed with his hand toward Puppy Slayer: “Tsetse, are you still going to protect him? Why, why don’t you just see him for what he is? You’re disappointing me, boy. Maybe if you had disciplined him better in the brigade he wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

Tsetse took a long look at Puppy Slayer, and then spoke: “Sure, he’s a drunkard.” The General felt good when he saw the words lash against Puppy Slayer, making him uncomfortable with that sudden betrayal. “He’s a drug addict. He smells horribly most of the time and he will never father any children. But I find it very cruel to hold him to higher standards. After everything he’s been through… How can PEOPLE expect something from him?”

“Why do we even talk about him, Tsetse?” The General burst into anger. “Who cares about him? He was weak-willed from birth, that’s how he was born! Yes, he failed in life, but so what? Look at you! You didn’t!” He raised his hands, looking at Tsetse as if he was appreciating a piece of fine art. “You were a warrior back then, and you are a warrior now! I see it in your eyes. You weren’t broken, you were tempered!”

“Not everyone is made out of the same cloth, General,” Tsetse calmly objected. “Yes, he could’ve turned out like me. I hoped so, but I was wrong. I’ve made the same mistake of expecting too much from a kid as you did. And, for better or worse, he turned out to be different than me. He wasn’t as cold-blooded. He had kindness in his heart.”

“Who cares about kindness in this world, Tsetse?!” The General spread his arms wide. “It’s a fairy tale for fools! I’ve been feeding that fairy tale to fools whose parents I killed twenty years ago, and they have forgiven me! Me! General Malaria, a slaughterer and a cannibal! Kindness is nothing but weakness that is to be exploited! It’s something the weak tell each other when they gather into packs so that they don’t have to face the truth about themselves! People tell themselves that they don’t kill others, don’t avenge their close ones because they want to be kind, but kindness is an excuse for those who don’t have any claws! The strong don’t need any kindness! Us—you and me—don’t need any of that bullshit! We can take care of ourselves! Who cares about someone like him?” He pointed toward Puppy Slayer, who seemed to shrink under the verbal assault of the General.

Tsetse was silent for a few seconds, and then replied: “I care about him, General. I always did. I was appointed his captain, after all. All of the boys were in my care.”

“So what, you think you can judge me because of that?” The General crossed his hands. “You feel that you’re his caretaker now? Do you wipe his ass, too?” He smirked.

Tsetse showed that he wouldn’t reply to that snide remark. The General suddenly felt disgust for the man in front of him. His pride in him was gone. It would be the best if he remained a distant memory of the kid who had followed orders and never showed any emotions. If he had known that he was so sentimental, the General would never have pushed him to open up.

“Go away, Tsetse. I don’t want to see you anymore. Don’t show your face to me.”

Tsetse, however, didn’t budge. He kept standing where he was, staring at the man. Waiting for something.

“I said go!” the man shouted at the top of his lungs. “Vanish! I don’t know why you came here and what you expected but you won’t get it.”

Tsetse suddenly raised his finger and noted: “Do you hear that?”

The General stopped and listened. And as he listened, his eyes went wide.

He could hear people shouting something. Many voices, all full of disdain and anger, were shouting his name. And not only that.

His title.

General Malaria.

“What’s this?” the General wondered, and when he saw the expression on Tsetse’s face he understood; he asked just the right man.

“Don’t you recognize them? This is your congregation, General. They’re coming to discuss a few things about your past.”

“What did you tell them?” The General frowned. His voice was angry but his eyes were betraying the fact that the man was scared.

“Me? Nothing. But the people from the village jumped at the chance to share one story from twenty years ago when they recognized your photo. I have been searching for you for twenty long years, and as it turns out, I wasn’t the only one.”

“They won’t believe them,” the General said, but his voice wasn’t very confident about its message.

Tsetse cocked his head, listening to the roars of the crowd, and then summed it up: “I think they already did.”

“Then what was this all about? All this… Tsetse, my boy. I know I was harsh to you boys, but you have to understand, it was for your own good. I’m a changed man, I truly—”

“I knew that I wouldn’t get through to you,” Tsetse interrupted him. “But… I never hoped to, anyway. I wanted to be sure that you’re still the monster that I had sworn to kill all those years ago.”

Tsetse leaned into the terrified man, and whispered into his ear: “I don’t remember a day in my life when I didn’t want to shoot you. And I’ll regret the fact that I won’t be the one to kill you till the end of my life. But I made a promise. And I know that you don’t fear death by a bullet. You fear loss of control. I saw it in you when your soldiers were abandoning you.” He leaned back, and the General’s eyes went wide when he realized what he was seeing. After all of those years, he had finally managed to catch a glimpse of emotion on Tsetse’s face.

Captain Tsetse was smiling at the General, for the first time in his life, and that smile didn’t promise the man anything good.

“As much as I regret not killing you, knowing that I gave you the worst death possible will be a nice consolation. The boys didn’t get their happy ending. But I know that they would at least be happy to see you end like this,” the captain said as he turned around and walked toward the door.

The sight of him leaving pushed the man over the edge.

“You think you’re better than me?! What you did today was vengeance! Vengeance, Tsetse! I was right, and you’re not above it! Don’t act so high and mighty!”

“This isn’t vengeance,” Tsetse coldly noted. “This is punishment.”

“Let’s go, Dolo,” Tsetse called Puppy Slayer by his name, but the man shook his head. “I want to stay and see. This… This is the only death I ever wanted to see.”

Tsetse opened the door, and before he could even take a step outside, the ravenous mob—angry, unforgiving, betrayed—rushed in like a current, swarming the man they had adored just an hour before.

“He’s my soldier! He’s one of us!” The General pointed toward Tsetse and shouted, but he wasn’t heard. He tried to explain that Tsetse was just as guilty, but before he had a chance to do that the strike of a sickle severed his voice chords.

When morning came, the biggest piece left from General Malaria, the fearsome warlord who used to be in charge of The Revolutionary Brigade of Liberia, could be fit in the change compartment of an average-sized wallet. If the General had known any better, he might’ve chosen a different war name. Maybe it would have been associated with fewer deaths but, at the very least it, would have been remembered.

As things stood, however, his title failed to eclipse the thing it was meant to borrow the dread from. Very shortly after his death people stopped making the distinction between his crimes and deaths caused by the disease, and his name, instead of becoming history as the man had hoped, became just another line in medical reports.

* * *

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You’ll never learn who or what he is. You’ll never find out where he’s from. The only thing you’ll know is what he’s done. What he’s taken away from you.

Content

Artyom Dereschuk
HATE THE SIN
A BRUTAL LOVECRAFTIAN HORROR NOVEL SET IN LIBERIA

Chapter 1 Corpse Eater

Chapter 2 Desecrator

Chapter 3 Puppy Slayer

Chapter 4 Homewrecker

Chapter 5 Marlboro Man

Chapter 6 Corpse Eater

Chapter 7 Desecrator

Chapter 8 Homewrecker

Chapter 9 Puppy Slayer

Chapter 10 Corpse Eater

Chapter 11 Puppy Slayer

Chapter 12 Homewrecker

Chapter 13 Desecrator

Chapter 14 Corpse Eater

Chapter 15 Homewrecker

Chapter 16 Desecrator

Chapter 17 Puppy Slayer

Chapter 18 Corpse Eater

Chapter 19 Captain Tsetse

Chapter 20

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