Just like any other day in the past five years, the morning came quietly. The cold air from the night before could still be touched by the tips of the feet, while the newly-emerged sunlight slowly warmed the thatched roofs above; the dew on the grass reflected a thin sheen like thousands of tiny glass flakes, and from afar came the crowing of a rooster heralding the beginning of the day.
Then came the sound of heavy hooves on the damp ground, followed by the clink of clashing metal, about twelve of the total number of soldiers emerging from the north of the village-side forest. They came in a loose formation; tight enough to protect each other, yet loose enough to encircle quickly. There were no elite knights among them, but some wore iron breastplates and other additional parts that indicated that they were regular knights; while the rest were just ordinary soldiers, the difference was obvious from the armor and weapons they carried. Their faces were hard, their eyes staring straight ahead like a predator that had locked onto its prey.
The attack began without warning. The village grain storehouse was the first target; a simple flame thrower slammed into its walls, and within seconds the flames spread to the dry straw spewing thick black smoke that engulfed the blue sky. The licking flames of burning wood could be heard in unison, accompanying the screams of the shocked residents. Buildings were not the goal they wanted to destroy, but rather the hope and resistance to fight back; the message they carried was clear: resistance is futile, surrender is the only option.
The village men who heard the commotion rushed out, some already grasping weapons from their experience. The weapons were nothing more than misused farm tools; hoes, sickles, wooden sticks, and kitchen knives. The village chief, an old man, shouted directions; he ordered the children and women to flee, while the men held out as best they could. But coordination was fragile; any attempt to advance was met with a hard blow or a swift slash that broke the resistance on the spot.
Amidst the chaos savagery began to take its shape, a pregnant woman trying to cover a child was grabbed and stabbed in the stomach by a soldier. The knife pierced the swollen belly of the old pregnant woman which easily tore through her tight skin. The woman's screams of pain filled the air as the cold steel penetrated the helpless fetus inside; the fetus turned into a source of dye, with its delicate organs punctured and torn apart by the cold sharp iron. The woman's womb was flooded with blood as the blade infiltrated her abdomen through the unborn child; her lifeblood flowed from the gaping wound coloring the ground blood red. With a final rattling breath, the woman collapsed, the light extinguished from her eyes as her baby died with her. The little boy who fought the soldier stared in silence for a few seconds before starting to cry, only to be pulled roughly away by the same soldier who stabbed the pregnant woman.
Not far away, a young man in his teens ran to help a grandmother who had fallen; his thin body tried to support the weight of the old woman, but before they could go far a long spear pierced her back. The woman screamed, her knees wobbling as the child's body fell. Before she could embrace him, a soldier pulled her away leaving the child's body lying on the ground with his eyes open blankly.
The houses began to burn one by one as the flames spread quickly across the dry straw, eating through the wooden walls, spewing skin-scorching heat. The baby's anguished cries echoed inside the smoke-filled hut, while the smoldering flames devoured its fragile structure. The baby's delicate skin blistered and ripened golden brown, its tiny fingers curled like claws, its flesh peeled off to reveal gleaming bones; tendons snapped and organs ruptured, the baby's fragile body turned into a twisted, unrecognizable lump of ready-made meat. The baby's face was swollen into a hideous display, its mouth frozen in a final cry of unimaginable agony. Within minutes... Only a ghastly pile of ash and bones remained, with smoke filling the air masking the sound of those cries until it finally vanished leaving a silence more painful than the loudest screams.
In a repetitive cycle that goes on for thousands of years, humans as superior beings at the top of the food chain have the authority to modify a species; they know which animals to kill for being aggressive, and which tame animals only know how to wiggle their butts to produce more food products. From this, the soldiers pick whichever villager is the most rebellious.
In the center of the village, the chief was finally caught with his two legs and two gnarled hands tied firmly to 4 horses. A warrior signaled and the horses moved; at first slowly which made the ropes tighten, then suddenly running in the opposite direction aggressively. The man's body stretched in a cartoonish display of horror as the horses pulled at him, muscles and tendons ripped from the bone with a clang; excruciating pain engulfed the chief's body. Again and again the beast dragged him, each shock ripping joints from their sockets in bloody explosions; skin tore, muscles crumbled, and bones shattered into sharp splinters. The man's screams turned into harsh groans and hisses as his broken body finally succumbed to the unrelenting torture.
The remaining residents stood transfixed with some kneeling while hugging their heads, others just staring blankly as if unable to comprehend the world around them anymore. The surviving children stared with swollen eyes, their tears drying on their dust-coated faces. No one dared to move, as any movement could provoke a sword to swing. The chaos didn't last long in terms of time, but to those who experienced it, it felt like a lifetime.