The air in the small house was thick with fear. The rickety wooden door was bolted, but it could not stop the hostility boiling outside. Through the cracks in the walls, the flickering torchlight cast dancing phantoms on the walls. From outside came the growls of dozens of people, a mob that had been stripped of its reason.
His father, Orpheus, stood in the middle of the room, his hands gripping a wood-splitting axe. His back was straight, his eyes no longer held submission, only the resolve of a cornered beast. Mother Theona held Lyra tightly in her arms; the little girl was trembling, burying her face in her mother's chest to hide from the terrifying sounds.
Just then, Priest Lycomedes stepped out from the crowd, his face a mask of false sorrow. He raised his holy symbol high, his voice ringing out in judgment: "Behold! This is the proof of witchcraft! This violence does not belong to the flock of the Goddess! This filth must be cleansed!"
His words were like a command. The crowd roared in response: "PURIFY! PURIFY!"
Kretos, his face gloating, stepped forward. He looked directly at Orpheus, who was trying to shield his wife and children, and then he laughed, a savage sound.
"Orpheus! Do you hear that?" he shouted, his voice rising above the murmur of the crowd. "That is the song the gods have for the likes of you!"
CRASH!
The rickety wooden door shook violently under the first blow. Dust and debris rained down from the thatched roof. Lyra screamed in fear, burying her face deeper into her mother's embrace.
Orpheus stood as a barricade in the middle of the room, his hands tightening on the axe. He didn't look at the door, but at his wife and children one last time, his eyes filled with a bottomless pain and a steely determination.
CRASH! CRASH!
The wooden door could not hold. With a splintering crack, it shattered into pieces.
The crowd did not rush in immediately. They parted like a flock of sheep, making way for their shepherd. Priest Lycomedes, followed by two Church guards, slowly stepped inside. The torchlight from outside cast their long, grotesque shadows on the mud walls.
"Orpheus," Lycomedes said, his voice disturbingly calm. "Do not resist in vain. Hand over the child. It is the will of the Goddess."
"Stay away from my daughter!" Orpheus roared, his voice no longer that of a farmer, but of a wild beast protecting its young. He lunged forward, not at the priest, but at the two guards.
But the two guards were trained warriors. They easily dodged the first axe swing. One used the shaft of his spear to strike Orpheus's wrist hard, making him drop the axe. The other kicked the back of his knee, forcing him to his knees.
They immediately pinned him to the earth floor.
Lycomedes didn't even glance at Orpheus. He calmly stepped over the man being held down, walking straight toward Theona and Lyra.
"No! Don't come near!" Theona screamed, trying to shield her daughter with her own thin body.
Lycomedes gave a signal. One of the guards grabbed Lyra.
"NO!!!" Theona lunged forward frantically, using both her fingernails and teeth to claw and bite.
"Mama! Papa! Big brother, save me!" Lyra shrieked, her cries tearing through the night.
The guard whose hand was bitten by Theona roared in anger and slammed the hilt of his sword against her head. Theona collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Lyra was torn from her mother's arms, held tightly by the other guard, and began to be dragged outside.
"Mother! Lyra!" Lycaon screamed, hatred and despair finally breaking his silence. He drew his iron knife and charged toward Lycomedes.
At the same time, Orpheus, witnessing his wife struck down and his daughter taken, let out one final roar. He surged up with unimaginable strength, tackling the leg of one of the guards.
"Kill them," Lycomedes ordered coldly. "Then burn everything. Leave no trace."
A cold blade pierced through Orpheus's back. He froze, then slowly collapsed.
Lycaon had reached Lycomedes. But a guard had managed to use a large piece of wood from the broken doorframe to strike the central support pillar of the house.
The pillar cracked. A large, burning roof beam fell.
CRACK!
Lycaon felt only an unimaginable pain shoot up from his left leg, and the world went dark. When he came to, he found himself pinned under the beam. A shard of white bone had pierced through his flesh, and he couldn't move.
The fire had begun to lick at everything in the house. He saw his parents lying motionless in pools of blood.
And then, he saw Lycomedes. The priest, after seeing that Lycaon had been neutralized, calmly walked over. He stood over him, and in his eyes, there was no pity, only the disgust one has for a "flawed product."
"You are a mistake," Lycomedes said softly. "And mistakes must be erased."
He drew a gleaming ceremonial dagger. He bent down and stabbed it straight into Lycaon's chest, near his heart. Once, then twice. He intentionally missed the heart, so that Lycaon would die slowly in agony and flames.
"Ah..." Lycaon no longer had the strength to scream, blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth.
Satisfied with his work, Lycomedes stood up. He gave a signal, and the remaining torches were thrown into the house. The fire roared to life. He calmly stepped outside, taking the weeping Lyra from the guard's arms.
Lycaon lay there, trapped, his leg shattered, his chest pierced, being slowly licked by the flames. From outside, he could still hear Lyra's screams calling his name, the cries growing more distant.
More distant.
And then they stopped.