The planetoid's orbit had deteriorated, bringing it ominously closer to a fractured world. The cultists, their minds shrouded in mystery and devotion, couldn't fathom the celestial forces at play. Led by an enigmatic figure, they ventured deeper into the unknown.
Unlike typical cults, theirs harbored a nobler cause. They sought to rectify the world's chaos, to restore order tainted by the mistakes of the Nobilis. Their mission wasn't apocalyptic; it was about securing a better future for all. Sacrificing lives today to safeguard tomorrow—the most defenseless being, vital to the fate of every existence.
This was a cause worth fighting for. The 'good' people of the Old World failed to comprehend, and the Martyr's efforts to enlighten them had ceased with her passing. The cult's secrets lured those who dared to seek them, sealing their fates in obscurity.
A grave decision loomed over the cultists. They were willing to sacrifice all they held dear, even their own lives, in the name of faith and progress. The world's salvation rested in the hands of every soul, yet few knew of this choice.
The cult leaders understood another looming threat—the aliens beyond the darkness. Their mission extended to preparing the world to confront this cosmic menace.
Amidst this turmoil, Salandra emerged from a hut to the cries of pain and the sound of cruel whips. Natives in strange attire knelt, bloodied under barbed lashes. Salandra gazed at the celestial chaos in the sky, longing for the embrace of the void, but she knew their mission was far from over.
At’da’aon, on his knees and battered, witnessed the approaching void that devoured all in its path. He yearned for his family and the world he knew. His sacrifice must hold meaning.
Many worshipped Y’Gackot, the god who held their world together. But fear of chaos, not benevolence, fueled their devotion. Y’Gackot's power maintained their fragile existence.
As a chilling wind swept over At’da, he seized a moment to escape. The bright barbed whip slashed through the air, but At’da was determined.
His face met cold stone, eyes locked on the yawning void. He hoped someone would find a way to stop it.
Slash! The axe fell, and At’da’aon's blood joined a macabre river, a symbol of impending doom that threatened to consume all.
***
The day before the harvest was a time of unity in the hamlet. Max, who had toiled in the wheat fields throughout the season, eagerly anticipated the moment when the wheat would be reaped. The prospect of savoring freshly baked bread made all the labor and exhaustion worthwhile. He leaned against a sturdy tree, gazing across the fields where the crops stood at their peak, a sea of delicious promise. In the distance, the towering forest trees were the only landmarks on the hamlet's horizon.
Max cherished the acceptance he found among the fellow youngsters he had grown up with during the harvest festivities. As he strolled along the outskirts of the homes, memories of events that had sparked the mockery and teasing from the other children resurfaced. It all began when he turned eight.
One day, while chasing a radiant golden butterfly away from where the other kids played, Max found himself in a quiet, secluded spot near an ancient willow tree. There, he watched a beautiful yellow butterfly gracefully land on a fallen branch. His curiosity led him to gently cup the delicate creature in his hand. Max pondered the lessons of life that this tiny insect embodied—its life cycle, its growth, and now its presence in the palm of a young boy's hand. He wondered about the lengths this colorful creature would go to survive. But in a sudden, unexplainable moment, Max's innocence gave way to a disturbing impulse. He closed his hand, feeling the butterfly's fragile body yield to the pressure. He winced as its wings fluttered helplessly, then turned his hand upside down to watch the remnants fall to the ground.
"Freaking weirdo. What is wrong with you?" Max turned to see Belka recoiling from the tree trunk in disgust. Max's world shifted abruptly, and he was overwhelmed with disgust and horror at his own actions. He stared at Belka, trying to find words, but they eluded him. His gaze followed Belka's curly brown locks and freckled skin as she retreated to the other boys and girls, who were engrossed in a local game of Grafter—a game where a sticky ball was kicked onto trees, and everyone rushed to knock it off, in a nearby wheat field.
From that simple moment of boyish curiosity, Max's childhood became tainted by animosity and relentless bullying.
***
Max gathered a handful of pebbles, his fingers trembling as he contemplated his past. "They just didn't understand. Their parents, maybe as loving but not as strict as mine, never approved of anything I did," he mused, tossing the pebbles one by one at a gnarled tree that separated the hamlet from the fields. With each throw, he released a bit more bitterness. "I was just curious, just crushed for wanting to know."
As the sun began to set and the harvest moon claimed its place in the sky, Max leaned against the same gnarled tree. He looked forward to watching the moon glow, a symbol of the goddess's watchful eye over their crops and fields. Their hamlet was blessed, never suffering from failed crops or the pests that plagued others. It was said that choking plants and nests of pests vanished overnight, thanks to the goddess's intervention. Max had witnessed this "legend" come true several times.
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While gazing at the wheat fields, Max heard commotion from the corn fields some distance away, beyond the old wooden amphitheater. A high-pitched scream reached his ears, followed by the sound of many footsteps. Reluctantly leaving his comfortable nook in the tree, he spotted something metallic in the distance. The setting sun cast its light on the object amidst the stalks and dirt.
Just as he was about to investigate, something else caught his eye. The sun's last rays revealed a rustling spot in the middle of the field, heading straight for his tree. Panic gripped him. He watched as the line of movement split, and the wheat bent as if something swift and powerful was passing through. A grunt reached his ears, and he turned to run towards the amphitheater, but he tripped over a root he had often used as a seat for mid-day meals. Falling face-first into the ground, his skin scraped against the earth.
The rustling ceased, replaced by heavy footsteps. Max was stunned, and as he rose to his feet, he was abruptly hoisted into the air by massive arms. He tried to scream for help, but the position he was held in muffled his cries. The kidnapper carried him towards the wheat fields and into the forest.
Max feared they would die in the wilderness, prey to the beast that roamed outside the hamlet at night. "We're going to die out here. The beast will get us. Let's go back! I won't tell anyone about you," he muttered, but his words were stifled by his captor's grip.
As darkness fell, Max expected the kidnapper to turn back, trusting in the goddess's protection within the hamlet. However, the giant of a man showed no intention of returning. Max was swept into the depths of the forest, surrounded by the eerie laughter of his captor.
They reached a campsite, and the man explained they would travel together on foot. Max hesitated, but the threat of the axe strapped to the man's back kept him in check. They settled for the night, and the man offered Max strange, unappetizing food. The meat was tough and dry, while the white substance tasted foul. Max questioned the man about the beast and their journey.
The man laughed heartily, assuring Max that his tales of the beast were mere myths. He mentioned that there were others beyond the hamlet's range, and Max began to realize the extent of his isolation. That night, Max couldn't sleep, testing whether the man was indeed a light sleeper. Every movement was met with the man's watchful eyes.
At daybreak, they resumed their journey, and Max felt fatigue setting in. He knew he would miss the harvest festivities. The thought of what lay ahead filled him with both fear and curiosity.
***
"You are special, boy," the gruff foreign man declared, his tone markedly different from the judgments Max had grown accustomed to. These words, spoken with a surprising sincerity, caught him off guard. Unlike the usual sense of alienation he felt among his peers, Max sensed a hidden well of confidence within him.
Though Max couldn't fully grasp the man's cryptic words, he found them oddly genuine. The man made a peculiar, almost mocking gesture, emphasizing the uniqueness he spoke of. "The word may hold little meaning for you now, but you possess what knowing circles would call empathy," he continued, flashing a smile that revealed the most disconcerting set of teeth Max had ever seen.
What Max had never known throughout his years was that he was an empath. As the man elaborated, Max realized that he had the ability to pick up on the emotions of others and project them onto himself. An adept empath could sense those emotions but also control the projections, a skill Max yearned to master. He hoped to shed the weight of others' negative emotions that had burdened him for so long and forge a happier life.
The next day, after a grueling journey that had left Max's feet aching, a sprawling settlement appeared on the horizon. Max had known only his home, the hamlet, but this new settlement was larger than he could have ever imagined. The man referred to it as a village, and it was surrounded by a sturdy wooden fence, unlike the ramshackle one he had grown up with. Some of the buildings rose more than two stories, though they were constructed from wood and earth, unlike the stone cities of legend.
As they walked through the village, Max couldn't help but overhear whispers from the residents. They were astonished to see the man and perplexed by Max's presence. In hushed tones, Max caught a few people referring to the man as 'The Brigand,' and he wondered if he could adopt the name instead of 'Kidnapper.'
The Brigand acknowledged the villagers with nods and, in some cases, boisterous laughter that sent people scurrying back inside their homes. "I thought I told you never to come back here, Brigand," a voice said, accompanied by the clinking of mail and the unsheathing of weapons. Max followed The Brigand's gaze to three men clad in elaborate metallic armor, each wielding a different blunt weapon.
Max observed The Brigand's reaction. His smile remained, and Max felt an unexpected surge of confidence. The men commented on Max's appearance, referring to him as a "magic virgie," and before Max knew it, a brawl erupted. The Brigand effortlessly dispatched the armored men while Max stood dumbfounded in the midst of the confrontation.
As they left the village behind, Max gathered his thoughts. "You've talked a lot about me, but you haven't really said anything about where we are going or who you are. I still don't even know your name," Max ventured.
The Brigand's grin widened, revealing those unsettling teeth. "There's truth in what you say, boy. My story isn't one you'd want to hear, and as for our destination..." He poked the fire with a stick, sending embers into the air. "It's best I keep that to myself a little while longer."
Their journey continued, and Max marveled at the sight of a vast river, unlike anything he had seen before. It was a source of wonder, with sunlight dancing on its surface and aquatic life in abundance. However, Max's reverie was abruptly interrupted as he was snatched from behind.
A strong arm encircled his neck, and the man's sweaty hand covered his mouth. Panic surged through Max as he struggled to free himself, but the grip only relaxed when he ceased his efforts. He heard The Brigand's voice whisper, urging him to stay quiet as a patrol of six people passed by, led by a striking woman with long, gleaming hair and a scar across her cheek.
Max couldn't shake the feeling that the woman had spotted them, but The Brigand's composure kept him steady. As the patrol moved closer to their hiding spot, Max felt an overwhelming intensity emanating from them, an amalgamation of fear and ferocity. The woman's piercing eyes gave him chills, but it seemed they hadn't been discovered.
However, a sudden explosion drew the patrol's attention, and they hurried toward it, leaving the woman behind. The Brigand and Max were safe for the moment, hidden amidst the brush. Max couldn't help but admire the woman's beauty as she observed their hiding spot, making him feel as though she had indeed seen through their concealment.