As Jack steered his carriage toward the burning village, the smell of burnt flesh and wood filled his nostrils. The heat from the flames and the warm summer air caused sweat to trickle down his forehead. He couldn’t help but watch the carnage before him—the very embodiment of death and destruction ravaging the village. Despite it all, he felt no fear; he had become desensitised to it all, having witnessed it many times before. He wasn’t proud of what he had become or what he was doing, and sometimes the guilt felt as though it would drown him... but it had to be done. He had to do this so that he could someday go back home. If that was even what he still wanted. He was constantly told that he had a new family now, and in a sense, he agreed.
He used to be someone who would vomit at the sight of blood, but now he couldn’t even look at his own hands without seeing them covered in it. Had it all been worth it? He was stronger now and part of something greater. He had friends and purpose. Yet deep down he knew what they were doing wasn’t for a good cause. There was no way kidnapping innocent villagers and trapping them in cages could ever be justified. Even so, he still helped. He kept wanting to believe that, in the end, their actions would be vindicated by the results of their work. He wanted to believe her words.
He pulled his dark blue robe over his head as he entered the village, concealing his chestnut brown hair and pale skin. In every direction, he heard screams and the crackling of burning buildings. A year ago, such sounds would have made his skin crawl, yet now he dismissed them without much thought. That very fact terrified him.
In the village square before him, he watched a giant clad in ashen black armour crush a young man underfoot, like he once had done to the cockroaches in his family’s barn. The man’s upper body splattered against the dirt, the crunching of ribs drowned out by the blood curdling screams of nearby villagers. The giant marched forward, unfazed by the arrows bouncing off of its body as if they were toys tossed by children. It picked up one of the guards desperately defending the village and hurled him across the square; glass shattered as the man flew back-first through the window of a small tailor shop more than ten metres away.
To his left, a one-armed giant swung a sword taller than the average man, effortlessly cutting through an elderly woman as if she were made out of butter. Blood sprayed everywhere, covering what Jack assumed was the woman’s family in her viscera. Meanwhile, several of his companions were lighting houses on fire; fiery bolts flew from their hands, consuming wood and flesh alike, unconcerned with who or what was caught in the crossfire. The flames whirled around them in a vicious dance that threatened to devour all who came close.
Amidst the chaos, Jack parked his carriage and tied the horses to an iron lantern post surrounded by piles of burning bodies. Despite the carnage, the horses were eerily calm and silent, their movements stiff and devoid of emotion. It was as if every motion was predetermined, or as though the animals lacked free will entirely. Jack hadn’t noticed their strange behaviour at first, but he now suspected it was the monster’s influence twisting them with its ashen black grip.
Two carriages trailed behind him, quickly coming to a halt beside his. Flurries of marauders poured out to join the chaos. Jack gave a respectful nod to his superiors before hurrying toward an injured, elderly man crawling hopelessly away from the destruction. Several large splinters jutted from the man’s leg, which bled profusely through ruined clothing and onto skin as pale as his own.
“Please, no,” the man groaned as Jack grabbed his bloodstained shirt, his voice trembling with fear. Without responding, Jack dragged him toward the carriage, his hands slick with the man’s blood.
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“No, no, please… don’t do this,” the man pleaded, his voice thick with pain as Jack hoisted him up and threw him into the large, barred cage at the back of the carriage. Reinforced wooden walls on the outside prevented anyone from seeing in or out, leaving the elderly man trapped in darkness as Jack slammed the door shut and locked it.
He hurried next to the burning tavern on his left, where a young girl in her early teens was hiding alongside her younger brother under a large wooden table. The heat from the burning flesh and buildings was oppressive, sweat soaking through his clothes and making them cling to him uncomfortably, like a drenched cat weighed down by wet fur. His heavy robe, alongside the thick smoke, conspired to suffocate him and made him gasp for air.
Once he reached the table, he reached underneath and grabbed the girl’s arm. She let out a scream that pierced his ears like shards of glass. Pushing the table aside, he grabbed the boy with his other hand and dragged them both toward the carriage.
While the boy cried softly, the girl screamed, fought, and sank her teeth into Jack’s arm like a rabid animal. He let go of her arm as the sharp pain of her teeth piercing his flesh overwhelmed him and he forcefully pushed her to the ground. Grabbing her hair near the scalp, he felt his own warm blood trickling down his arm and into her hair, a stinging pain radiating from the deep bite marks which now tarnished his skin.
The girl kept screaming, though it seemed more filled with anger and grief than fear or pain. She stomped on his feet and kicked at his legs, flailing her arms in a desperate attempt to break free. Her strength was no match for Jack, however, and he managed to lock both children into the carriage, despite the minor bruising and bite mark she inflicted.
Looking around the carnage, Jack searched for his next target. At that moment, a young man and his elderly father emerged from the tailor’s shop across the square, their faces frozen in shock and terror as one of the giants marched toward them. The younger man grabbed his father and fled toward a nearby alley, but it was already too late.
Jack heard a woman giggle nearby as a fiery bolt struck the young man’s shoulder. He cried out in agony as the flames scorched his shirt and charred his skin. As the man collapsed, his father’s expression shifted from panic to sheer terror. He stumbled against the wall of the building beside him, trembling. A dark stain spread across his trousers as he stood frozen in place.
Jack watched as the man on the ground reached out to his father, pleading for help. But the older man turned and fled, leaving his son on the dusty, bloodstained ground. For a moment, Jack couldn’t help but see his own father before him—tall, strong, and cruel. He had chased his father’s affection time and time again, despite the man’s sharp words. The last thing his father had said to him still echoed in his mind, a stern reminder of the day he lost all sense of normalcy in his life: “If I ever see your face again, I won’t call the guards. I’ll kill you myself.”
His heart ached, but the rumbling collapse of a nearby burning house wrenched Jack back to the present. The screams of those trapped inside pierced the air. With hurried steps, he approached the wounded young man and grabbed what remained of his shirt, dragging him toward the carriage.
“I’m sorry…” Jack whispered as the man sobbed, his body limp with resignation. The pain of being abandoned by family was something Jack understood all too well. It was a fate he would never wish on anyone.
Yet here he stood, part of the very cause for all these broken homes... and all these deaths. The guilt tore at his heartstrings, and for a moment, he wanted to cry. At his core, he knew this path he walked was not a path of righteousness. The “greater purpose” they served—it was all a lie, wasn’t it?
He wasn’t the innocent, naive farm boy he had once been. He was a murderer, the worst kind of scum to walk this world. And even so, if helping the monster he now served escape its prison would allow him to go home and mend the broken bonds with his family, then he would do it.
The question was: when he could finally go home, would he deserve it? Would it really be okay for him to be with his family after all he had done—and all he would still have to do?