“Hah… Hah…!”

Unsteady panting came from the crackled lips of a Fox-eared Demi-human. Twigs tangled into his golden locks as he clawed at the desiccated shrubs of the forests of central Grandis.

“Survive…”

There was nothing else on his mind. The dozens of galloping hooves that gave chase did not incite fear in the heart of Deiman. His rapidly beating heart was no more than the result of a physiological reaction.

He tumbled through thorny brambles, pieces of his apparel shredded with his skin beneath. A long trail of blood leading to a wounded animal was among the plethora of clues he left behind for his pursuers.

“Do not let that thing escape! Raise your catchpoles! If it escapes then it is your heads! That’s a golden-haired Demi-Human!”

“Consider it done!”

A deafening horn caused blood to trickle from his ears. The debilitating horn was something that Demi-Humans were only able to hear. It was a disorientating weapon made to disturb the focus of even formidable Demi-Humans, and completely disable most.

Additionally, that horn – the Horn of Lesser Subjugation – was made from the horns of Demi-Human rams and sheep, a process that no doubt would have either killed them or made them more ‘human’ in their eyes.

Also held by the one dozen armed men were wielded spiked catchpoles. They were tools that once served farmers to capture and move livestock but were refitted to be used on the Demi-Humans.

These men carried no insignia nor any affiliation aside from rope and various restraining instruments, for they were slave drivers. Their rags stank of alcohol and unwashed grime. They were unsatisfied men who sat at the bottom of the food chain in Grandis, who hunted Demi-Humans in hopes of selling them off to merchants and other more established slave traders.

So the sight of one as valuable as Deiman had caused their mouths to water, and their hands to rub greedily as thoughts of his inherent value dribbled from their putrid lips.

Deiman stumbled through ruins and remains of ancient villages. Nature had long reclaimed its hold as hostile vegetation ensnared all burnt shacks and tombstones. He jumped through broken windows, rolled on glass, and trampled on vines with blade-like needles.

But no matter how much he bled, Deiman did not react. All he could care about as a Shell was his survival. Nothing else mattered to him. He began limping, his knees buckling from various leaps as he navigated the cobblestone foundations of these homes.

“Follow the trail my friends! Our ball of gold awaits!” The one that was presumably their leader proclaimed, the horns playing nonstop.

The gallop of hooves approached ever closer. Deiman needed to find a way to avoid them. His best course of action was to take refuge within one of the homes, but this came with its own risks. Overgrown homes in Grandis tended to be the ideal nesting grounds for various insect monsters or living plants that awaited their next meal.

But between monsters or humans; the choice was obvious to him.

“How many thousand of gold do you reckon he’ll fetch!?”

“Not as much as a woman would I imagine.”

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“Fool. They’ll take anyone with golden hair for the same price. But we’d be fools ourselves to sell him to them. We’ll get a measly cut compared to what they will be profiting.”

If Deiman could feel emotions, then he would have retched at the thought. He slipped away into the darkness of an abandoned hut, crawling through the half-broken door. He ripped off his shirt and wiped away the blood, desperate to cover his tracks.

He sat in the darkest corner of the hut, awaiting his fate.

“There are clients like that? How in the hell do we find someone like that?”

“Luck. If you can find the lads with the roses, so I’ve heard.”

“That’s the same bullshit story that people use to peddle the red-eyed ones.”

“Yet they fetch the highest prices when left in the most perfect condition.” The boss said as the hooves of the horses stopped right outside of Deiman’s hut.

Shadows of their feet stretched from underneath the door, as haggard silhouettes passed fogy windows.

A sudden mist had enveloped the land, obscuring their vision. But as experienced hunters, they knew that Deiman could not have gone far off. A sudden bang caused Deiman’s ears to wince, though his face remained unflinching.

One by one, the doors of the huts were kicked in. Flaming torches were shoved into the undisturbed cavity of these ancient homes, revealing interiors far too extravagant for mere Demi-Humans.

“Closed paradises like these were made to nurture some of them. Take a look inside. They enjoyed luxury and were protected by Puritas.”

Beautiful carpets, furnishings made by skilled artisans, and even letters and paper could be found within. Luxury was not the only thing they enjoyed, but also education.

For what purpose was unknown even to surviving members of Puritas.

“All because of red eyes… Should we paint over that thing’s eyes? He’d fetch for double.”

“Not a bad idea. We could remove his eyes so they’d require a Healer. We can sell him before they get their hands on one. That is if they can at all. Healers are impossible to find nowadays.”

Multiple doors fell. A sudden, wretched scream came from one of the men. Blood splattered across the window of Deiman’s hut.

“A-Ambushing… Mantis –!”

Two barbed stakes impaled his chest. Not even the metal plating that lined his tunic could defend him from it. A giant, human-sized preying mantis sat at the top of the door within the hut.

Those arms quickly became engorged, breaking his bones as it tried to drag him in.

“H-Hack it off! Chop its arms!” He screamed, spreading his legs and hands against the doorframe to prevent himself from being dragged in.

However, the cleaves of their blades bounced off the insect’s carapace armor. No matter how hard they hacked, or where they struck, it was never going to let go of its prized prey. Ambushing Mantis only consisted of an upper body that was anchored in one place. Hidden away, usually in the basement, another room, or the attic, was its much larger lower half.

Depending on its needs, it may not kill its victim, but use them as broods much in the same vein as the Anids. Except they would not die after birthing its kin, which the Ambushing Mantis would devour when there was no food. In a way, it was a far more horrifying fate than being captured by the Anids.

“KILL IT! KILL IIIIIIIT –!”

Rather than to waste energy or to prolong his suffering, his head was lobbed off with only a single strike. Silence immediately took its course. Many hands swiftly robbed his corpse as his limbs slumped beside him.

“Pity. But that works better for us. His pay will be split equally amongst you all.”

He was dragged into the darkness of the hut where tentacles dropped from the ceiling to retrieve him.

As quickly as he disappeared, the bones of a previous victim were spat out.

“Now…” No one mourned him. The boss of the group turned to Deiman’s door. He had seen enough of these sights to become numb to it.

Most humans were like this in Grandis. They were conditioned to such violence that it had become normal to them. Although, few other slave drivers exhibited fear, regret, and disgust.

He raised his foot, ready to kick the door open. Deiman’s ears laid flat against his head, preparing for the worst.

However, that slam never came. The light from outside never poured in. A seismic thud caused them to turn their attention to the forest. Something massive lurked within, causing the leaves to violently tremble.

Elsewhere, the sound of panting could be heard. It sounded just like Deiman’s voice.

“He’s on the run!”

“Go, return to your horses! Quickly! Do not let him escape!”

The hooves of the horses disappeared soon after as they chased after a ghost. Deiman did not know what had just happened. As soon as they were nowhere to be seen, the quakes ceased entirely, and were replaced by soft steps that approached the door of his hut.

After hearing how valuable he was, he could not help but brace himself.