“What do we have here?” a raspy feminine voice drifted from the stairwell, mingling with the creaking of the stairs. “Maral! We got more Meek down here!”
Melchizedek swallowed the lump in his throat and peeked through the crack of the cabinet door. He covered his mouth, unable to stop sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of the woman. It was the same woman he had seen earlier.
She was a demon, for sure.
Long black hair hung like a curtain around her, while an antlered deer skull was perched atop her head. But it was no ordinary deer skull. Numerous gold chains were strung between the antlers, and a pair of gold-plated wolf fangs were drilled into the skull’s upper jaw. Blood stained her pale tunic, telling of her recent deeds, and her eyes were the same blood-red eyes he had seen during the morning.
“Skull Bound,” Solomon hissed under his breath.
He raised a garden hoe over his head, ready to strike the woman down. The stairs creaked, drawing his attention as another skull-wearing woman descended the stairs.
She possessed similar traits to her deer-skull-wearing companion. However, her skull was the reverse — a wolf skull adorned with deer antlers. Strange, black runes were painted on the skull, and no other ornaments decorated it. She, too, was covered in blood. Her brilliant cyan eyes locked onto Solomon and Rebecca. Little Sariah whimpered in Rebecca’s arms as if sensing the vile things the two women had done.
Solomon stepped closer to his wife, keeping his eyes on the two Skull Bound women. “Stay away from me and my wife, demon!” He brandished the hoe, heart racing as the deer-skulled woman approached him.
“Someone has an attitude.” Her lips pulled back in a malicious smile, revealing a mouth of fangs. In a blink of an eye, she scored Solomon across the chest with her claws. “It isn’t a smart idea to have an attitude with something like me, useless Meek.” She grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. “I and my horde have killed over half of your pathetic village, and they have yet to kill any of us. Nothing stops us from doing the same to you, your wife, and the sniveling infant. Get out of our way, or I’ll slit your throat.” She pushed him, Solomon nearly stumbling into his wife and infant daughter.
“You’re going to let them call us demons, Maral? We are Xikanenoa Savis!” the deer-skulled Xikanenoa quirked an eyebrow at her wolf-skulled companion, a hand on her cocked hip. She turned to Solomon and Rebecca anyway. “I really hate it when stupid Meek like you call us demons. We are a race of people just like you, but different. Better.” She tapped her clawed fingers together, a wicked grin blooming on her face. “What do you call us Savis? Dark Ones? Vile Ones? The Hated?” She threw her head back, a bark of laughter erupting from her throat. “I guess that’s accurate. And Savis have always been greater than Meek scum like you.”
Solomon stood close to Rebecca, unable to hide his trembling as he brandished the garden hoe. “Just-just take what you want and leave us.”
“Oh, but we’re after more than just precious objects.” The deer-skulled Xikanenoa’s smile grew. “Hey! Maral! We could always use more Meek slaves in the horde? I think the infant would make the perfect slave. What’d you say?”
“Go ahead, Burcin. I couldn’t care less about their lives.” Maral dismissively waved her hand at her companion as she scanned the basement.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Burcin purred, licking her lips in anticipation as she prowled forward.
“No!” Rebecca hugged Sariah closer, gawking at Burcin in fear.
Maral ignored the screams as her companion prowled closer to Rebecca and Solomon. With one last look at the basement, she ascended the stairs, leaving Burcin to her pleasures.
The deer-skulled Xikanenoa lunged. Her claws ripped through the fleece Sariah was swaddled in. The infant screamed, Rebecca’s desperate pleas to stop and cries for help mingling with them.
With a roar, Solomon swung the garden hoe. Burcin caught the handle, her red eyes narrowing. “You’ll have to try harder to hit me, Meek. I’m a Xikanenoa who’s gone through years of harsh training. You couldn’t hit a Xikanenoa child, let alone me.” Burcin wrenched the garden hoe from Solomon’s hand and snapped it in half, the pieces clattering to the floor as she stepped closer to him.
“I won’t let you touch my daughter or my wife!” Solomon stood in front of Rebecca, eyes wide with fear and chest heaving. His body shook like a leaf in the wind, but he stood his ground.
“Useless.” Burcin grabbed Solomon, kneeing him in the stomach. When he doubled over, nearly crumpled to the ground, Burcin kicked him in the head, her uncovered clawed toes scoring him across the face. Solomon collapsed onto the wooden floor with a heavy thud. He lay there, gasping for breath, scarlet blood running into his eyes as he pressed a quivering hand to his temple.
Burcin hummed in disappointment. She walked around Solomon’s prone form, pausing in front of him once more, and kicked him in the gut, her talons driving into his stomach. Solomon gasped, choking on his scream. Burcin stepped back to watch the man wither in pain. He pressed a hand to his bleeding stomach and struggled to sit up. He glared at her through the pain and blood dripping into his eyes. Burcin returned it with a malicious grin, her red eyes shifting to where Rebecca stood, hushing her whimpering child as she stared at the Xikanenoa woman.
A terrible shriek escaped Burcin’s lips as she lunged for Rebecca. Rebecca turned away, shielding Sariah as Burcin’s claws dug deep into her back. She cried out when the deer-skulled woman dragged claws down her back. Rebecca’s legs nearly gave out, but she managed to stand through the pain, keeping her daughter clutched to her chest as she drew a dagger that was strapped on her hip. Two runes glowed along the length of the blade in her shaking grasp. Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut, praying to any deity that would listen, then spun around to face Burcin.
The woman plunged the rune-engraved knife into Burcin’s chest. The Xikanenoa howled in pain, grasping the hilt as she stumbled back. Blood gushed from the wound. Burcin pressed her hand to the nearest wall, struggling to breathe through the pain, a low hiss escaping her fanged mouth.
Rebecca knelt beside her injured husband. She brushed a lock of brown hair from his blue eyes. Solomon attempted to smile back at her through the blood running into his eyes and the pain of his entrails nearly spilling onto the floor.
Her husband’s life was slipping away, and she could do nothing about it.
“Solomon…” Rebecca tucked another lock of hair behind his ear. A sniffle followed before a tear fell onto his face. “Why did this have to happen?”
Solomon reached for her, fingers wrapping around her wrist. “I love you, Rebecca.” He smiled at her, tears filling his eyes. “Keep Sariah safe.”
“I love you.” Rebecca kissed Solomon’s forehead as his hand fell from her wrist.
The ginger-haired woman turned to Burcin, who had now collapsed to the ground, withering in pain with a hand loosely wrapped around the small dagger. It was all she could manage through the haze of pain. The Xikanenoa was vulnerable. Rebecca could kill her but…could she? Xikanenoa were not Meek, but they were still human. They were still people with feelings, thoughts, and dreams.
The deer-skulled woman before her was no animal.
“I-I can’t kill you….” Rebecca stumbled back, tears rolling down her cheeks as she hugged Sariah. She had condemned her family to die, not that they would have survived the entire horde in the first place. “Wh-why are you doing this to a poor Meek village?”
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Burcin glared, bearing her bloodied fangs. “For the thrill, you dumb Meek bitch. A village full of Meek is easy to take down in one day. It’s nothing. We steal everything we can and make a game out of it. Who can get the highest body count? Who can find the most valuable item in a dump like this village? We don’t even lose any of the horde to a village like this.”
With a roar, Burcin wrenched the blade from her chest. She collapsed, gasping for air, blood coating her chest. She stared at the blade in her hand but didn’t recognize the runes engraved into it. Still, she was no longer in agonizing pain.
Burcin watched Rebecca momentarily, only for Solomon’s prone form to catch her eyes. He was still breathing even as he continued to bleed on the floor where his wife knelt. A sickly grin bloomed across her face.
Burcin clambered to her feet, and before Rebecca could scream, her claws were in Solomon’s throat. As Burcin’s claws ripped through the man’s windpipe, searing pain exploded down her back. The Xikanenoa gasped, ribbons of flesh coming away with her dark claws, followed by gushing blood from the man’s throat as she crumbled to the floor.
Rebecca stood over Burcin, staring at the rune-engraved knife lodged in the deer-skulled woman’s back. A second later, she was beside Solomon, watching in horror as her husband drowned in his own blood. All she could do was uselessly try to staunch the blood flowing from the gaping wound in his throat. It was no more than a second later that his body stilled, and the life left his eyes.
“What the fuck did you do to me, Meek bitch?” Burcin shrieked. She thrashed her head back and forth while the rest of her body wouldn’t move. Not a twitch of her fingers or a kick of her foot. Rebecca stared at her, flushed cheeks wet with tears as Sariah cried in her arms as if knowing her father had just been murdered.
From within the cabinet, Elisheba whimpered, clinging to Melchizedek, her face buried in his shoulder. The boy stared, dumbstruck, silent tears rolling down his freckled cheeks as he held a hand over his mouth to keep himself from crying aloud.
“Maral! Help me!”
It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room.
Everyone held their breath. A long moment passed before the creaking of the steps filled the basement. Clawed feet appeared first, pausing halfway up the stairs. A disgruntled grunt sounded from the wolf-skulled woman. She continued down the stairs, revealing a beautifully painted vase in her hands. She paused in front of her deer-skulled companion. She placed the vase on the ground and crouched by Burcin’s head. “You were always clumsy.” Her cyan gaze drifted to Rebecca. She lunged for the widow and tore Sariah from her arms. “And too soft. You toy too much with your prey.”
Maral placed the wailing child next to the vase. In a blink of an eye, her dark claws were in Rebecca’s throat. Blood sprayed across Maral’s face as she ripped open the woman’s throat. Rebecca slumped atop her husband, mouth agape as she gasped for air, her lungs filling with blood.
Maral picked Burcin up from the back of her tunic and dragged her to the top of the staircase. “You’re useless.” She tossed the deer-skulled woman aside. Burcin could only lay there, watching in annoyance from the top of the stairs as her partner stalked through the basement.
Maral stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed over her chest. Her gaze swept the cabinets, narrowing when something seemed different about one. She walked toward it. Claws tapped against the wood, and she sniffed the air.
A whimper and a sniffle.
There was no mistake, even through the sound of the wailing infant.
Maral flung the doors open.
Elisheba screamed, squeezing her doll to her chest. Melchizedek stared at the wolf-skulled woman, eyes and mouth wide with terror. Those cyan eyes pierced into him, searching the boy for anything of value. No emotion flickered within their depths, and her face was like stone.
Maral pulled the siblings out of the cabinet by their arms. Melchizedek was the one to scream as his delicate skin gave way underneath his bandages. Blood bloomed beneath the white linen. When Maral noticed the fresh blood on the bandages, her brows furrowed. She dropped the pair in the middle of the basement, besides their dead parents and whimpering infant sister. Maral pulled Melchizedek’s shirt up, revealing his bandaged torso. She scoffed and pushed the boy to the floor. “Infection will take you.”
The wolf-skulled woman then turned to the whimpering Elisheba. The six-year-old stared up at her, brown eyes wide with terror as tears streamed down her tanned face. She still clutched Lily close to her chest.
“You’re no use to us either.” Maral slit Elisheba’s throat, ignoring the girl’s gurgling cries and her brother’s screams as she left her lay.
“You’re ruthless, Maral,” Burcin croaked atop the steps.
Maral ignored the comment, scooping up the now-silent Sariah and carrying her upstairs. She took a quick moment to inspect the infant. “You might be useful, unlike those siblings of yours. Not even a year old, no memories of your worthless parents and siblings. Yes. You will make a good slave.” She cradled the infant in her arms, making her way to the door.
“Hey! Are you just going to leave me here?” Burcin shouted.
“No.”
Burcin watched helplessly as Maral disappeared down an adjacent hallway. When Maral didn’t return, she turned to Melchizedek, who knelt before his sister, trying to stop the blood flowing from her throat. His bandages were soaked with both their blood.
“Elisheba,” Melchizedek whimpered, pressing his bloodied palms to his sister’s throat. “Please…” His shoulders shook with each sob. Her eyes drifted shut, and her breathing slowed to shallow gasps. “Elisheba?” He pressed a bloodied hand to her cheek, tears streaming down his face, mingling with the blood on his fair skin.
“She’s dead, stupid kid,” Burcin grumbled from the stairs. “You’ll be dead too. I just wish I could move. I would love to play with you. Cut off a finger. Break your arms. Slice open your belly. Playing with worthless scum like you is the best. You Meek can’t do anything about it. You can’t defend yourselves against Savis like us.” Her hoarse laugh echoed throughout the house. “You’re lucky. Maral will give you a quick end. She hates playing with prey.”
Melchizedek stared at Elisheba, stroking his sister’s cheek in numb silence.
“Burcin?”
The deer-skulled woman struggled to look over her shoulder at her partner. She grinned up at Maral, who held a handful of gold jewelry. Burcin’s toothy smile faded when she noticed Maral’s emotionless mask did not falter.
“Why do you always get into so much trouble, Burcin?” Maral questioned, the dark claws adorning her toes clacking against the wooden floor. “You knew your love to see others in pain would come with a price someday. You gave the woman too much time. You should have killed her before she stabbed you. Now, look at you. Unable to move because a poor little Meek stabbed you in the back.” Maral crouched, tracing a clawed finger down Burcin’s back, drawing a trail of blood. “A wound that can never be healed by normal means. You know the horde would never freely welcome in a non-Xikanenoa.”
Burcin’s eyes grew wide. “No! I-I can be useful. You can try something to heal me. Why can’t you let an Akokocai into the horde? Maybe you can find a half-breed. That shouldn’t be an issue if they are part Xikanenoa, part Akokocai. The horde would welcome them, wouldn’t they? Or you could just find someone and not let the horde know. We have Meek slaves. Why can’t we bring in a magical healer? One meager non-Xikanenoa wouldn’t hurt the horde, just if they were there to heal me. Then we can kill them afterward. Please, Maral. Please. I don’t want to—”
Burcin’s plea was cut off when Maral tipped her antlered wolf skull over her face. An insidious aura filled the air. The snapping of bones, creaking of joints, and stretching of muscle sounded as Maral’s body contorted. A low growl rumbled from her throat as a pair of glowing cyan points illuminated the dark sockets of the wolf's skull.
Body half-crouched over Burcin’s horrified form, the wolf skull drove into the other woman’s chest. Fangs dug deep, tearing flesh and spilling blood. Screams filled the air for a moment until Burcin’s heart was torn from her chest. The demon — the Skull Bound, the Xikanenoa — threw back her head and swallowed the still-quivering heart whole.
Burcin gurgled on her blood, her red eyes staring up at her companion, unable to believe what she had done. She struggled to breathe until her life slipped away.
Maral rose, gold jewelry still clutched in one hand while her wolf-skulled jaws dripped with blood. She turned to Melchizedek, the only living soul in the house, save herself and Sariah. He was bent over his sister’s body. Maral sauntered down the stairs on all fours, ignoring the boy as she picked up the beautifully painted vase. She dropped the gold into the vase and picked up Sariah from the dining room table. The sound of the door clicking shut signaled her departure.
Melchizedek did not move, even when the screams of his fellow villagers faded. He clung to Elisheba’s body, even as it grew stiff with death.
Why was fate so cruel? Why did the deities allow those demons to kill his parents and sister? Why did they let them take his youngest sister? Sariah would die without his mother’s care. Surely the demons would kill her, or she would die in their care. He couldn’t imagine those skull-wearing people caring for such a fragile thing.
Melchizedek whimpered, crawling over to his mother and father. He sobbed into his mother’s chest, body shaking with each gasp. He could no longer feel the pain coursing through his arm. All he could think about was that his parents were dead.
His sister was dead.
His entire village was dead.
Everyone but he was dead because some demons believed his race should not be alive. Because they were weak, feeble creatures that were fun to play with before they killed them. Because they were easy to kill and easy to steal their possessions. Easy to burn down their village because their weapons of wood and metal couldn’t do anything to them.
Meek — simple humans with no magical abilities. No claws or fangs to defend themselves. No wings to fly. No birthmark to tell of their special bloodline.
They were the weakest of the weak.
Simple little humans.