Chapter 4

Why mother left? William wondered for the hundredth time, his hands pushing around his ears, turning numb from his forceful and tight grip. He remembered her voice and touch. Words echoed like memories told for stories. Hide? Run? Why did she mention it in the middle of a camp?

Of all things, there were situations like this in the past. Few of them were truly as dreadful, but some were scarier because his mother was present, yet so far away at the same time. Now?

She is not here... Did she run? Where? Am I supposed to run back to mother? Why.... Mother?

It was yet another uncomfortable moment in his life. There were screams and terror in those moments, but not like this. Even the closing clutter was stronger, while the darkness in the air was worse, and the blood and screaming were nowhere far.

There were no signs of normalcy, safety, or tests.

This was reality.

It was the middle of the day. Mother never left him before like this.

Father... Where is Father? William wondered next, shifting his hands and feet to appear even smaller.

It was mostly his mother who was always there for him. His father was not always around, and whether he was or not, it wasn't good or bad, for he had his mother always closer. Either fleeing for his safety or comforting him up close, she was there.

Most screams were inaudible to him, while the closest was like this buzzing and tormenting stress that prevailed over his flesh and mind.

Not this time, Mom. You lied to me, haven’t you? He assumed, not accepting the reality. This is a nightmare.

Unwillingly, he reconciled that the buzzing wouldn't decrease, and some of those notes even cracked up a notch, flickering like the wind that was once fast, or duller, making different noises. Something changed. He did a little. Some noise that he heard faded and something else came next.

So he opened his eyes, watching the bloody surroundings like a painting or dream that he seized for a truthful exaggerated lie. His mother described it before. His eyes were unable to grasp everything, but the smell, noise, and dread around was everywhere like a large wall. He was immature even in this world and idea, although he wasn't crying one bit.

Blood, bones, and gore were before him, mixed with mud. Nothing resembled human anymore, so he couldn't correlate it, or he couldn't think of it.

Blood wasn't an unfamiliar concept, as everyone had it. Even him. His mother explained to him how colors represent visions and hopes, and how darkness had no color whatsoever, saying they were deviant and wrong.

Then, there was Carnijaw who spared nobody. Food was food. Prey had to be consumed. Whatever it assumed.

William calmly watched the picture before him, gazing onward and even upwards with a stone-like expression. He froze, realizing that he had seen similar sights once. A monster. Blood. Bones. Gore. Was that truly a dream back then, or had he seen it in shadows? This was... stranger. It felt real. That stress. Buzzing paused, his mind winced, and something else skipped a beat, shuddering his entire body.

He remembered that this crimson was unlike what was within his hand. These were people in front of him, or used to be. Bones were in piles and pieces, and he acknowledged it as he watched, noticing a flesh around a skull on the ground. There was even an eye mixed inside, with a human jaw still hanging on some stubborn tendon. The brain was gnawed clean.

Turning his face around, he knew this mess wasn't supposed to be here. He would know. Probably. He was uncertain about it since these surroundings were hard to memorize for him because of the noise and his head. He was sure his mother didn't leave this behind.

“M-mom?” he asked out loud, expecting some answer, or the face of his mother, but Carnijaw was lingering above.

No answer came, though a tendril declined from the sky, floating down in a wondrous idea. For some reason, Carnijaw didn't notice him and sent one probe into a strange gap in this Reality.

The tendril that arrived was dark in color, with a small tinge of redness and blackness describing its majority. It moved like a snake that William memorized from some books, and the tip of the tendril resembled a tightly shut fist. It was firmer, pointy, and almost like a spearhead, clutched and fixed before him like a curious snake.

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It opened up next, spreading its four parts, revealing flickering light inside as well as a sharp tongue-like spiral. Then, it drove onwards, pushing against some boundary, before grasping his face and forcing him against the wall. It hurt. The pain...

He yelped in surprise, struggling against the tendril. Expecting a five-year-old to defend against this was futile. He was seized and death seemed inevitable.

Struggling? He failed.

Crying? He was surprisingly good at it, for a future Walker.

He muted his yelps thanks to the level of fright that caused him to lose his voice, and those fingers clutched his small head quite well. There was no change in him. There was no clarity either.

William couldn't tell the height or time, or the pain apart from the buzzing sounds that turned sharper, almost resembling some grinding voice. It was a messy laughter, tone, and underlying pain hidden by something else.

He felt weakness, changed gravity, and force. He was grasped and picked up into the sky. Weightless feelings were more frightening than the blood itself, while the inability to fight back was the same.

He could see things. Weird things. His panicky eyes observed a grumbling and chewing creature handful distance between the fingers of this tendril, and Carnijaw before him was so close, he could almost touch it. He was dozens of feet above the ground.

Still processing the meat was important, so Carnijaw waited until the chewing was over, while it observed a strange little rat before it, hidden, yet still there. It felt him like a struggling cocoon of weightless space, resembling no flesh. There was no head or limbs, but it surely held onto something. There was no light.

Yet, surprisingly, it found much more interesting prey than some mere food. It cheered, screeching loudly in its proclamation. Either to others or for itself, it was happy to feel the Fourth Mark.

It shredded past this gab with dozens of strikes that either used its full jaw, pushing hands, or snatching moves. They revealed William's whole appearance after a lot of tearing. Although small, this boy was a prey too. Its instincts told it so, even if one part was correct, and the other was itching for more. Much more.

The freshness aside, the glint of that Emblem was more enticing than any blood or brain.

This prey struggled in futility since it was too little. It was laughable. There was no strength, and any tries were borderline useless, bothersome, or weak. Not even enough to flinch it. Far from being called a try.

Even adults were dead against this monster, much less a Walker child with no independence, System in his head, or Emblem's flow in his bloodstream, imagination, or form.

It was a normal sight in today's age. Even after many years of work and history, there were still some Walkers who were unable to grow to become proper soldiers. Outside was simply too large and some uncharted territories had some survivors, hence some Walkers.

Young, grown-up, or old, the world's vastness remained even after a century lost behind the Dawn. Humanity barely survived, while the world remained as big as before. New kings were at the distant apex, but Walkers weren't that, even if many thought they were.

The birth of Walkers could happen anywhere. There was a sense of chaotic nature to their origin and births, and even with the Federation and other places wanting as many of them as possible, there was no way to gather them all. Darks were against this logic. They wanted the best of the best.

They needed to consume and have fun while doing that, so when some Darks moved, free and without any Walker to kill or hunt them back, they could hunt people like in an open buffet. They did it so much when the Dawn happened and nothing stopped them even when humanity fought with everything they had. That everything turned out to be worth a fart.

Currently, around this camp, there was utter mayhem with thousands of casualties, if not more. However, it was a droplet compared to the past. Still, this number and camp were important, and this sort of loss was significant for the current world.

Carnijaw was already at the stage where bullets became a meaningless struggle against its flesh and powers. Its size was robust, mind restless and not dumb, and its defenses weren't some cheap tricks. Its movements and attacking patterns could shatter buildings not only because of its size. It could do much more than that.

William didn't know much about these monsters, whose ordeal had hunted humanity for a very long time. But he knew they existed. Not doing so would be partly stupid of his parents, so he knew something dark about this world and struggles. Eclipsed to his bloodline, it was closer to his fate than sight, albeit missing a lot of details because of his circumstances, parents, and age.

William was afraid. It wasn't because he was weak. It wasn't his time. He wasn't ready. His ignorance was the bliss of his mother, and a fatal mistake in situations like these.

His mother always said to wait for something, so he always waited, or not at all, since he often forgot it soon after she told him about it and lived on with his young mind. Memories of children were never confident, concrete, or easy to rely on. It was normal.

Carnijaw ended its cheering and fluttering its tendrils around in joy. It was completely unbothered by the struggles of this boy and moved its tendrils towards him. The air tensed, followed by its tendrils. Carnjijaw ended up hugging William, missing a deadly attack on purpose. A tendril spear aimed at the head, but it sensed something wrong.

A danger. From this little prey? That was intriguing.

Its hunter instincts got ahead of its Hunger, making it seem challenged and hesitant, but also watchful and curious.

Some Darks were wrong on so many levels, that it was fitting to expect the unexpected from them, even within the same Family, or in various Ranks. Some might be even docile against unwilling challenges, turns, or become so savage that their Corruption would overturn, mutate, and fight against their Ranks. Then, everything could become dangerous, strange, or nonsensical.

Almost like William.