“We have a lot in common, we both wanted to get rid of them. However, he asked me to kill him, but you did it out of pure and pleasant disposition. Isn’t it odd? We should be the same, but you're gory, just like she said,” a malicious man whispered, it was also a voice that conveyed a strange sensation, an odd feeling... what he said was true.
Anna's heart raced as the voice slithered through her mind, dripping with cruel familiarity. It was a voice from the past, a voice that whispered secrets she had long buried beneath layers of denial. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as the memories unfolded before her like a haunting picture.
“You remember, right? If not, I’ll remind you. My dear Anna,” the voice stopped as if waiting for an answer.
A vision swept over her, a vivid tapestry woven from fragments of another time, another life. Horses thundered across the vast expanse of the steppes, their hooves raising clouds of dust that hung in the air like veils of uncertainty. Two men, once allies, now betrayers, rode towards a military camp. The fluttering banner marked a power shift, a new allegiance forged in treachery. They entered, carrying on another steed their former master, almost unconscious.
In that camp, the Great Khan awaited, a figure of authority that commanded fear and respect in equal measure. Now, his brother's arrival marked a pivotal moment—an opportunity for redemption or retribution. Anna's senses were transported, and she felt the weight of history bearing down upon her.
The men wanted to surrender their master to the enemy camp. “Who are you to him?” The Great Khan asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer, considering that if these soldiers had betrayed their former leader once, they would also betray him one day. So, he ordered their execution.
As the Great Khan questioned his captured blood brother back in his yurt, Anna's heart pounded in sync with the tense atmosphere. The dialogue crackled with tension. The betrayed brother, Jamukha, spoke with a steadfast resolve, a declaration of loyalty to his own demise.
Anna's gaze flickered towards the silent figure standing beside the brothers—an enigmatic woman in an outfit that seemed out of place amidst the scene's historical backdrop. She was a silent observer, an unspoken presence that existed at the fringes of memory. Anna's curiosity stirred, but the scene pressed on.
The brothers' exchange crackled with the raw energy of defiance and dominance. “Just as there is only one sun in the sky, there can only be one Lord of the earth,” Jamukha paused, determined. “I want a noble bloodless death.”
“So, it will be as you wish,” the Great Khan whispered. His lips pulled downward and his eyelids closed.
The Great Khan’s offer of forgiveness was met with Jamukha's resolute refusal, a declaration of a noble death—a death that transcended mere physicality. And under the moonlight that painted the landscape with an ethereal glow, the Great Khan enacted his brother's final wish.
The mighty Khan remained alone, no one would oppose his rule. So, he went back to his yurt and approached the woman.
“How do you feel? Do you remember now?” He asked, extending his right hand to remove the hair from her face.
Anna's breath caught in her throat as her vision blurred, leaving behind a haunting resonance. The voice returned, a specter of her consciousness, its words dripping with a malevolence that she could no longer ignore.
“Do you know who I am and who you are? Or have you not remembered yet?” He knelt right in front of her and pulled a dagger from a small leather pouch.
Anna's trembling fingers brushed against the fabric of her dress, a tactile reminder of her existence. The room around her seemed to pulse with otherworldly energy, a fusion of past and present that defied easy explanation. The voice's question hung in the air, an invitation to uncover truths that had long remained shrouded.
As the figure of the Great Khan approached closer. His presence cast a long shadow, both real and metaphorical. Anna's eyes met his, and within that gaze, she glimpsed a mirror of recognition—a connection that transcended time and space.
The dagger gleamed with the moonlight. Anna's chest tightened, her heart echoing the rhythm of the past. The room held its breath, and the dagger's blade glinted, its edge a stark reminder of the choices that had been made and the paths that had been traversed.
Anna's lips parted, her voice a whisper. "I remember."
The gleaming knife caught the dim light of its surroundings, its golden handle a testament to its craftsmanship. Anna, stared as the man carefully sharpened the blade on a whetstone, the scraping sound filling the air. Once honed to perfection, he extended the knife toward her, a silent offering that hung heavy with unspoken promises. She took the weapon in her hands, feeling the cool metal against her skin as her fingers traced its edge.
With a mixture of trepidation and resolve, Anna rose to her feet, her pulse quickening as she positioned the knife just millimeters from the man's throat. The room held its breath, the tension palpable as seconds stretched into eternities. But in a heartbeat, the scene dissolved, whisking away every trace of the man, the yurt, and the biting night wind, leaving only an echoing sense of emptiness.
A voice, ethereal and mysterious, punctured the silence. It seemed to emanate from the shadows themselves, accompanied by the watchful gaze of a wolf with fur as gray-blue as the stormy horizon. Anna's eyes locked onto the creature, a mix of curiosity and fear swirling within her.
"Who are you?" Anna's voice trembled, mirroring her uncertainty.
"Answers will come, memories will stir," the voice replied, cryptic and enigmatic as the enshrouding darkness.
The setting transformed once more, shrouding Anna in the misty curtain of a rainy night. She found herself on a desolate street, where the feeble glow of shattered lamps cast distorted shadows on the slick pavement. Kneeling amidst the drizzle, Anna's hands bore the stain of crimson, her heart racing as she stared down at a fallen teenager—a life extinguished prematurely.
A whispered realization escaped her lips. "Impossible…" Drawn as if by an invisible chain, Anna seated herself beside her own dying form, locked in a surreal conversation with herself. She absorbed the visage of the fading teen, a face etched with pain and unfinished dreams. The rain's icy touch became a chilling reminder of her dual existence, a haunting reflection of her fractured reality.
"You've changed," the fading voice croaked, words tinted with accusation. "Violence begets violence, Anna. You've become the embodiment of chaos."
Desperation surged within Anna, her fingers clawing at her ears as if to block out the words. An instinctual flight led her to run away from the tragic scene, her frantic movements causing her to slip and tumble into a pool of stagnant rainwater. The shock of the cold seeped into her bones, jolting her senses awake as she shivered and fought to reclaim her warmth.
The setting shifted yet again, and the wolf's penetrating stare remained her only constant. Its voice cut through the shifting sands of reality, carrying with it an offer laden with temptation and peril.
"Do you crave power?" The wolf's words echoed like a haunting refrain. "I can shoulder your burdens, grant you dominion over fate's weaving threads. Yet, know that such gifts come at a price."
Anna's heart wrestled with uncertainty, the allure of power mingling with the shadows of doubt. The canine's words hung in the air, a testament to the choices she now faced, a crossroads of destiny illuminated by the eerie glow of moonlight.
Anna's heart raced, a symphony of fear and uncertainty coursing through her veins. With trembling limbs, she attempted to go to her feet, but the tendrils of terror gripped her, rendering her off-balance. Her hands instinctively sought refuge covering her face, concealing her features contorted by a maelstrom of emotions. Unsteady legs faltered beneath her as she stood once more, her body drenched and shivering, every fiber of her being soaked. The world around her seemed to shift, like fragments of a shattered mirror reflecting a distorted reality.
Amid this disorienting transformation, Anna's form wavered and transformed. Her mature self gave way to the innocence of a ten-year-old girl, a time capsule that transported her back to her origins. Little Anna's gaze settled upon her older counterpart, tears mingling with a storm of hatred in her eyes. The scene seemed to freeze with the weight of self-loathing, a mirror held up to her soul.
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As the child regarded her older self, a sense of fear and vulnerability washed over her. She took a faltering step back, distancing herself from the heart-wrenching picture of sorrow and resentment that threatened to engulf her. Every stride was a retreat from the reality she could scarcely comprehend—a reality forged from pain and despair.
Rain-laden streets stretched out before the fleeing girl, her footfalls a rhythm of desperation against the damp pavement. Above, clouds of ebony hung heavy, tears of the heavens that mirrored her own turmoil. Her steps faltered, and she found herself sprawled upon an intersection's cold embrace. Muddied water seeped into the fabric of her once-pristine blue and white dress, a baptism of her innocence by the grimy refuse of the world.
Heavy breathing, Anna lay as if surrendering to the merciless elements, her tear-streaked face turned toward the heavens. A moment teetered on the precipice of oblivion. And then, as if orchestrated by fate, a figure materialized from the shadows—an enigma clad in obscurity.
A hand, cruel and anonymous, seized her delicate leg, wrenching her gaze upward. A voice, bitter and disdainful, punctuated the air, words heavy with disdain for a world that had turned cold and callous. Anna's spirit ignited, her survival instinct flaring to life as she wrested herself free, propelled by desperate energy.
But escape proved elusive, a cruel game of predator and prey unfolding in the drenched labyrinth of streets. The unseen assailant's blows rained upon her like shards of a broken bottle. The assault was an opus of agony, her consciousness a fragile flame flickering against a gale of cruelty.
Anna fell to the ground in pain. She tried to stay conscious; the faceless man drew near her, finishing her off with a punch to the head.
And then, a respite—a meadow's embrace, raindrops anointing her skin as she lay sprawled upon nature's altar. She awoke in her adolescent form. The scene in front of her was dominated by the presence of three figures.
A knife glinted in the hand of one of the figures, its cold steel a reflection of their sinister purpose. Anna's wrists were bound. The man's gnarled appearance bore the scars of time's relentless march, a portrait of decay painted upon his features. Leather-clad and dirt-streaked, they were relics of another age, forgotten and forsaken.
Gold coins spilled like drops of forgotten sunlight, their glimmer a stark contrast to the shadows that shrouded their intent. With eyes that held avarice and glee, they counted their ill-gotten gains, a dance of wicked triumph amidst the rain's relentless crescendo.
Amidst the harsh grasp of her captors, Anna's world fractured into pain and violence. A cruel hand seized her by the neck, wrenching her down to meet the cold sting of a fist against her cheek. Blood mingled with rain on her skin, the aftermath of brutality inflicted by a relentless torrent of blows. Agonizing shouts echoed a cacophony of insults and jeers, a chorus of torment that pounded into her very being.
Pain became her only reality, an unyielding concerto of suffering that drowned out the sounds around her. Each strike was a declaration of their cruelty, the impact of their boots on her belly a testament to their power. Anna's cries seemed to dissolve into the rain, muffled by their scornful laughter.
The agony, a relentless assault on her senses, made every breath a gasp of torment. But their language was a foreign land she could not navigate; their anger was a riddle she could not unravel. In this realm of cruelty, words proved powerless, her suffering a language of its own.
In torment, a different fate beckoned. A cruel man seized her hair, hoisting her over his shoulder with careless brutality. She glimpsed a sea of horses and soldiers beyond their camp, a contingent waiting with the patience of predators.
Yet, Anna's presence began to waver, her form fading as if eclipsed by the shadows themselves. The transformation was a silent dance of time's tapestry, pulling her back to a younger incarnation of herself, a girl of ten once again. Her surroundings transformed.
Anna was not there anymore. Instead, the two men placed on one of the horses a little boy. The horseman’s contingent departed, leaving Anna to chase after them.
In the embrace of the downpour, Anna embarked upon a relentless pursuit. Her steps were carved through the wet ground. And then, as her pursuit stretched across hours, she arrived at another encampment, a realm of yurts.
She got into the encampment without raising any suspicion. Then when she got to the stables, an isolated figure caught her gaze—the boy that had taken her place, bound and imprisoned by a cruel contraption known as a cangue. His presence was one of silent suffering.
Rain hurled down like shooting stars, each droplet a bruise against her skin. Anna's determination wavered not, her purpose solidifying with each stride she took. She approached the boy with the dagger of gold clutched in her hands, her touch a balm against his imprisoned anguish.
With determination in her eyes, she severed the ropes that held his head captive. The boy, wearing tattered clothes, looked at her with fatigue. She helped him to his feet but the weight of the cangue was too much, and he faltered, collapsing in a graceless tumble.
Anna grasped a rock and hammered it against the cangue’s lock. Each impact echoed. Yet she refused to accept defeat. After the lock was crooked and twisted, she used her golden dagger to break it.
She stared into the boy's haggard eyes. His filthy garments clung to him like a second skin. But beneath the weariness, a spark of hope and resilience glimmered.
Together, they fled, a desperate ballet through rain-soaked terrain. However, after several minutes of sprinting ahead in the steppes, they heard that someone had rung a horn. They knew the boy had escaped. Anna's legs pounded against the earth, and the boy stumbled after her.
But the horde's relentless pursuit bore down upon them minutes later, Anna's breath a desperate prayer as exhaustion clung to her like a cloak of lead. Defeat loomed, inevitable, and as the soldiers closed their sinister circle, she surrendered to the inevitable.
In the blink of an eye, the soldiers encircled her, their menace tangible as the captain's cruel grip seized her by the hair. She looked around the sea of horses and soldiers looking for the boy, but he was gone.
“What is this? A girl? Where the hell is the slave?” The captain yelled.
No one answered.
“Where is he?”
“I do not know, I’ve lost sight of him,” she replied, sobbing. The man threw her back to the ground.
“Whoever finds that little bastard can have this girl as a wife!” All the soldiers dispersed. However, something blocked their way, a man riding a feral horse blocked their way.
The newcomer was wearing a golden shield on his back. His light armor consisted of a silk shirt, with protective pieces of leather and steel. He carried two swords on each flank and a longbow he aimed at the captain.
“Our laws forbid harming women. Release her!” The newcomer commanded.
“Who are you to give me orders?”
Defiance flashed in the captain's eyes, a challenge to authority that found no response from the newcomer which released his arrow, letting it fly swiftly and unerring, striking the captain in the right shoulder. The entire squad of soldiers dashed after the newcomer, drawing their swords and shouting.
Chaos unfurled, the horde converging upon the newcomer, their swords poised to render death's decree. Each swing of a blade or horse's hooves was a battle cry.
“You all die here,” the newcomer shouted. And before the soldiers could reach him, half of them were dead. A soldier attacked him, harpooning the newcomer’s forearm. Then the captain forced his sword into the newcomer’s back through a gap uncovered by the shield. His blood splattered as he fell off the horse.
Blood splashed over Anna. Frightened, she remained petrified. She screamed in terror, something that made the rain intensify. Each of the drops wounded her delicate skin. Brutality has played out before Anna's innocent eyes, violence that painted the ground crimson.
And amidst the agony, a voice echoed a whispering temptation. "Do you want power?"
"Do you seek vengeance?" The voice persisted.
The world around her blurred, every sensation heightened, her essence a tempest of conflicted emotions.
"I want it!" Anna's cry shattered the veil of darkness around her, her response a declaration that resonated with the rain's unyielding fall.
Anna rose as a young adult, her fingers curling around the hilt of the fallen newcomer's sword. A grin of fierce malice played across her face.
A new clash of steel echoed a dance that brought Anna face-to-face with the captain. Her strikes were fluid, each parry and thrust boomed with fury.
No longer a girl overshadowed by fear, Anna bore the sword with a skill that bordered on the supernatural. She split the captain apart, the sword's edge cleaving through armor and flesh. Her twisted laughter rang out, madness that painted the air with an eerie, discordant melody.
The horsemen who had survived her initial onslaught met the same fate. Anna moved with the grace of a specter, her every motion a whirlwind of death. Her laughter had morphed into a chilling shriek, a haunting refrain that harmonized with each life she extinguished.
Then she sprinted toward the camp where she found the boy. With the stolen horn of the fallen captain, Anna sounded the alarm of her approach. As if summoned by her clarion call, a horde of archers responded with a storm of arrows.
Some arrows found their mark, piercing her flesh and lodging in her body. But the pain was a mere afterthought, a transient distraction. Anna ran as if possessed as if each arrow only fueled her relentless advance. The archers were reduced to mere obstacles once she reached them, their cries of fear and shock swallowed by the violent tempest that she was. Her approach was swift, her actions just a blur. The archers faltered, their ranks whittled down as Anna killed them all.
She reached the center of the camp killing everyone around. Anna’s speed, joy, laughter, and pleasure increased until there was no one alive.
Within the carnage, her attire bore testament to her mad strategy. The silk clothes she wore wrapped around the arrows once they pierced her. She finally stopped in front of a bonfire and noticed a dozen arrows stuck in her body. She only needed to undress to extract them.
She started yanking the arrows out of her body as she undressed. And after a few minutes, she was completely naked but no arrows pierced her body anymore.
A noise caught her attention, and her lips curled into a twisted smile. She reached a yurt nearby and she heard the noise once again. Her approach was measured as she hurled a sword within as a preemptive strike against a potential ambush.
Yet, no ambush sprung forth, and Anna stepped inside, she drew her dagger and started searching every corner for the source of the sound.
She started turning objects over and casting them aside. Until the source of the noise revealed itself—a whimpering child, trembling and terrified.
The boy she'd once helped was now a specter of fear before her, his eyes wide with terror. But in the blink of an eye, Anna's reality warped, her form reverting to that of a ten-year-old. And somehow, she was in the boy’s position, now facing the strange newcomer who had slaughtered the soldiers before she went crazy.
The man extended his hand, his words loaded with a chilling question. "Did you enjoy the power? Did its taste satiate your hunger?" His sword, once a protector, now reflected the intent of a grim reaper.
The man raised his sword and decided to smite her. "You, my dear Anna," he whispered, his voice a bittersweet murmur. " Is this my farewell?"