Shouts filled the night sky and its calm blue was undisturbed by the bloodshed below. The rallies of resistance were trampled by the galloping of horses, and the cheers for slaughter were complimented by the clash of metal, the crushing of bones, and the culling of blood. Still, it was not the noises of carnage that filled the sky, it was the smell. She could smell the panic of those fleeing on foot only to be cut down, and the fear of those shivering in the shadows only to be discovered by those who would bring them to an even worse fate.

There were many benefits to being a zombie, but the advantages also made the disadvantages more pronounced. She was never one to shy away from the most gruesome of battles, but now she wanted nothing more than to be as far as away from the bloodshed as possible. It took most of her willpower just to stay on her feet, to contain herself so she did not succumb to the sweet temptation that filled the air. The sound of every cut of flesh and every drop of blood spilled was like a torrent of bells and drums, soothing her and asking for her embrace.

Rana was somewhat glad she decided to refrain herself from joining the fight. If she were to run into the fray now, her combat capabilities would no doubt be lower than usual. With a part of her mind preoccupied with resisting the temptation of the sweetness of the red around her, she would either die due to a lack of concentration, or she would give in and become something she was not ready to become.

There was zero reason to risk death.

She wandered the sea of fire of smoke. The village was set aflame and the raiders already breached the gate. The fight was nearing its end, but the nightmare was only about to begin. The futile resistance of the dying and defeated could not be considered a threat, their pitiful attempt at standing back up was knocked down in an instant. It was not a fight anymore. The defeat suffered the consequences and the victors reaped the rewards. The slaughter and plunder was about to begin.

Could she just stand and watch? She had to. This was never a question of what she wanted but what she could and should do. She did not have the ability to change the outcome. She could try to save as many people as possible, but that was unlikely to happen. The enemy had horses and could catch up to anyone fleeing in no time, and if she had joined the fight as one of the defenders, there was no telling if she could survive. If she were to have a few more days to prepare, she might’ve been able to come up with enough preparations to drive off the raiders. However, she didn’t. She could only use it to her advantage. She had to get into the raider camp.

Rana would not raise her hand for the villagers. She had a goal and to save them would be to endanger her purpose. There was only one thing she could do; everyone had something they had to do. Hers was not to save the villagers but to wait and be captured. It was regrettable, but it had to be done.

She waited in a corner with other women and children. Getting caught alone could lead to complications. There was no telling how the raiders would treat her. The raiders might’ve dared to indulge in their debauchery if there was only one person, but towards a group, they would most likely follow orders. One was a mistake, an understandable casualty, but losing a group would be damaging to their harvest, their product. As she expected, the raiders came and tore the screaming children away from their crying mothers, and disciplined those who did not obey their commands. Her hands were bound and tied to others as they marched through the aftermath of the battle.

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She was somewhat glad about the blood-soaked dirt they walked on. It made her nauseous and tired. Her head was heavy and her mind was paralyzed with the overwhelming sweetness of blood. She didn’t need to act like she was in misery or pain, the smell of blood was enough to cause her a headache. She knew that if she acted indifferently while being marched as a prisoner, it would definitely earn her unneeded attention. Yet that was a lie. She was justifying her inaction with the dead and the pain of those who were still alive.

When she walked through collapsed homes and burned down shelters, it did not just represent the effort and resources that had gone to waste, it was the shattering of their dreams of safety and a brighter tomorrow. The burning village was the reminder of the inherent evil humanity was capable of inflicting on itself. It was a reminder of the reality of what she was fighting for. Every body facing the dirt in silence, every scream of anguish, and every fallen tear was a reminder of her choice. It was her choice. Her heart ached and it infuriated her.

Rana walked through slaughters unmoved and without second thoughts when she was an inquisitor. On her path towards her prey, she had seen many fallen and had willingly allowed death to happen as long as the ultimate evil was defeated. The bodies that those evil left in their wake and would’ve left far exceeded the numbers that fell in the process. It was a necessary sacrifice and she would not have batted even an eye. So why did she care? Was it because she knew of death, because she had learned the value of life, or was it because corruption tainted her heart? She would one day know, the truth would not escape her, however, that day was not tonight. Tonight was another night of innocents dying she had to accept.

The wooden gate was before her. It was burned and battered down, and its remains were charred and smoking rubble cleared to the side. There were traces of mana within the burnt pieces of wood, but she could not tell what sort of Spell it was. There were a few that could make busting down walls and gates easy, but her intuition told her that it was not the case. The only thing she could be certain of what that there was a mage-class marked one among the raiders.

Then, there was jeering and taunting in the distance. There was a group of raiders forming a circle and within was the faint humming of mana and the fading light of a mark. Rana recognized the smell. It was a bloodied Jessica. From between the cracks of raiders she saw the girl beaten and bruised. Her armor was full of cuts and blood soaked the fabric. Rana was surprised to see the girl still alive as a marked one at the forefront of a defeated army would not usually survive. They were the greatest threat and the first to go. Jessica lived, but only to delay the inevitable as a means for the raiders to vent their frustrations. The mark made a person much stronger and much more tenacious, and it also made them more difficult to break.

Rana had to save her. Jessica was still alive. She stopped and stared, struggling to come to a decision. It was only one person, there was no reason to risk it. Then, she felt a smack on the back of her skull and her face planted into the ground, dragging some others tied to her with her. It was a force strong enough to split the skull, but her mark made it nothing but a minor nuisance. She heard yelling, a raider scolded her for slowing down the line and telling her to get back up or else.

It was stupid of her to even ponder such an action. She risked exposing herself and had now garnered her unwanted attention from the raiders, making her goal that much more difficult to accomplish. She quickly stood up and helped the others as well. The raider only laughed, commenting on how thick her skull was.

When she was getting back into the line and began to march with the others again, she saw Jessica being picked up and tied to another group. She could not help but feel relieved, but that emotion soon faded away. How could she feel a sense of relief? She did nothing to earn it. It was a result of indecision, a happenstance, a mistake. She grit her teeth. She allowed herself to be tempted by weakness, and in this world, even an instant of weakness could lead to death.

Rana cursed Mara’s hypocrisy. She cursed her sister’s heart. She never asked for it.