Dust hovered over the area. The smell of blood from the decapitated players before Ris appeared still lingered in the air. Bodies were scattered on the ground, which bore crack marks. Everything was silent.
Nemor was biting his lips so hard that blood was dripping. His body was covered in blood, and a grotesque smile emerged. In his mind, only one phrase repeated itself:
— That power… that power… — He repeated the words in a terrifying tone, as he dug his feet into the ground with excitement. — I want to be able to face him!
Barzar just watched. He saw how Nemor bit his lips in a deranged way, completely insane. Then, the wind blew, carrying with it the smell of blood. The dust rose at a specific point, not too intensely. Their hair moved with the breeze. Barzar's white hair covered his eyes, but he threw it back with a movement. And then, he saw.
The red hair waved in the wind. Nemor's smile had disappeared. His eyes didn't see the buildings around the city, nor the sky. They were fixed… on something beyond. An old memory. Where it all began.
The light from the TV illuminated a room that sometimes seemed dark. The floor was cold beneath the boy's body, which lay there. Barefoot, skinny — so skinny — with dirty red hair. A 5-year-old boy, with the eyes of someone who had never lived under a real roof. The smell in the room was stifling, heavy with cigarettes. His mother sat on a sofa beside a man who looked like a delinquent. Turning his head back, the man muttered to the boy's mother:
— This brat is yours? — His voice was full of contempt, blowing cigarette smoke toward the boy with dirty clothes and an empty expression.
The woman just clenched her teeth, annoyed by Nemor's presence while receiving her visitor.
— You really think I'd have a kid like that? — she said, her face full of disgust and scorn, smiling at the man beside her.
The man also smiled, looking at the boy as if he were a starving animal.
— You think I don't know? — he said, with a sarcastic smile and smoke coming from his nostrils. — A woman like you would never have a kid like that.
The boy lowered his head, nervous, scratching his face and biting his lips hard.
The man laughed louder and louder, then suddenly stopped. He looked at the woman and said, in a serious tone:
— He's annoying. Don't you think?
The woman then fixed her eyes on the boy.
— Why are you still here? Get out.
Her voice was cold, without the slightest trace of regret or emotion. A grotesque look.
— But… but… — Nemor's voice was trembling and weak. He clenched his fists tightly.
— But what? Get out of here, you piece of shit! — she screamed, with a harsh and merciless voice. She looked at her own son with a cruel urge to hurt him.
— But mom… I'm hungry… — The boy spoke so weakly it sounded like a plea for food.
The man stood up from the sofa, scratching his head.
— What an annoying brat… — he said impatiently. In a quick move, he slapped Nemor's face. Silence filled the room. Only the sound of the TV could be heard.
— Nice one. Now throw him out. — The woman's smile was full of pleasure.
The man grabbed the boy by the arms. Nemor was so thin he offered no resistance. His head was down. He only whispered:
— Hungry… food… I'm hungry…
Thud!
They threw him against a trash bin. The contents fell on him. The smell was unbearable. The streets were calm. The lamps lit the street's end.
He stood up, walking aimlessly. He found children playing on a nearby street. They stopped when they saw him and began whispering.
— Guys, look at how awful he smells! — said one of the kids, covering their nose in disgust. The others looked at him like he was an animal.
Nemor kept walking, biting his lips, scratching his face, murmuring in anger:
— Shut… shut… shut up… — he said, irritated, helpless, while being hit by rocks and cans.
— Bet he'll die in a ditch — mocked another child, throwing more stones.
He kept walking, ignoring the pain. His breath was fading.
Walking, his feet had no more strength. He fell into a puddle of dirty water left by the rain. He felt the cold of the water on his body. He looked and saw a rusty, yet sharp blade.
With trembling eyebrows and a distorted mind, he thought something no 5-year-old should think.
Silence reigned. The barking of dogs echoed in the distance.
— I want to die… what is dying? — he asked, between tears, uncertainty, and inner conflict.
With trembling arms, he held the blade. His gaze was empty.
Shluk!
He stabbed the blade into his belly. The pain was so intense his teeth cracked. His vision began to darken.
But…
The blood didn't drip to the ground. It floated. As if gravity had reversed. The blood formed a sharp blade in the air.
— I don't want to die. I want to eat. — He held the embedded knife, unable to pull it out.
His own blood pushed the blade out of his body, stitching the wound back together. But he fainted, groaning from the cold. An intense cold.
---
The next morning, the air was still fresh. His body, swollen from the water, reeked. His stomach growled loudly.
Walking through the streets lit by the morning sun, he took short, slow steps.
At a stall, an old man sold bread. He ate peacefully, crumbs falling onto his lap. Nemor stared at him with a desperate look for food.
The man, with a sigh, threw on the ground half of the bread he couldn't finish. He was full.
The boy quickly approached and grabbed the bread. But before he could bring it to his mouth, the man grabbed him by the torn shirt.
The boy was so weak he barely reacted. Still, he held the piece of bread tightly.
The man looked at him angrily, and then...
SLAP!
The crack of the slap broke the silence. Nemor's cheeks burned. The bread fell to the ground. The vendor stomped on it, crushing it.
Nemor, in silence, watched his last chance to ease the hunger vanish. His tears fell slowly to the ground.
— Curse you! You're scaring away my customers! — the man said arrogantly. — Get lost!
The boy stood up with difficulty and walked forward, in silence, immersed in emptiness.
On the way back home, everyone looked at him with disdain. Adults and children avoided his presence.
— Why do you all hate me? — he asked, tears in his eyes.
But no one answered. They only whispered:
— He looks like he spreads disease...
— Why won't you stop? — he screamed, scratching his hair hard. — I want to die! I don't want to die… I just want you all to die!
His smile was distorted, sick.
Upon arriving home, everything seemed calm. The TV was off, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes dominated.
Before he could climb the stairs to the kitchen, the man came out of the room, almost naked, looking at the boy with sarcasm.
— Look who's back! — he shouted.
The mother came out right after, already impatient.
— Make sure you break that kid for good! — said the man, grinning.
Slash!
The woman grabbed the boy's neck, squeezing hard, a sadistic smile on her face.
— That'll teach him! — said the man, aroused by the scene.
Nemor was losing air. Red eyes, blood dripping from his nose.
— Yeah, squeeze harder! — the man encouraged.
But suddenly...
Slash!
Nemor's blood turned into blades that sliced the woman's throat. Silence returned.
— Hey… you okay? Why'd you stop? — the man asked, confused.
Drip. Drip.
Blood gushed. The woman fell, dead.
— Shit! What the fuck is this?! — screamed the man, terrified.
He tried to run, but the boy stared at him with an even more macabre smile.
BANG!
The woman's blood floated and formed blades, piercing the man's body. He too fell, lifeless.
Nemor, now covered in blood, smiled.
— I want all of them to die… all of them… — he said with a sadistic grin.
Back in the present, the wind still blew. His hair swayed. Barzar just watched him.
— Every player will die. — Nemor's words were loaded with adrenaline. — I'll kill all of them. And those demons… I'll kill them all!
His eyes glowed a deep red. He bit his lips in fury.
---
To be continued in Chapter 13: The Demon King