—Fire!… Fire! Run!—
No one could tell whether it was dusk or nightfall. The sky had vanished, swallowed by a thick mass of black smoke that covered everything.
Not a single ray of light remained. Only ash suspended in the air.
The crackling of embers mixed with hurried footsteps.
The sound bounced chaotically, as if the ground itself were trembling. The girl ran without direction when someone passed in front of her and stepped into the mud.
Splash.
Dirty water splattered her face.
Some of it got into her mouth. She coughed. Her feet slipped and she almost fell.
Everything turned blurry; she could barely make out human shapes running, bodies distorted by smoke and fear.
Then her pupils dilated. Goosebumps warned her of danger. Her ears rang, nearly deafened.
Boots striking the ground.
Firm, steady steps advanced at the same rhythm.
The sound was too perfect.
Even if she didn't consciously perceive it, her mind interpreted it.
Dark silhouettes emerged through the curtain of smoke.
Men dressed in black, covered from head to toe. They were not shouting or running.
In their hands they carried weapons the girl had never seen.
They were a dull metallic gray, like steel pieces assembled without any recognizable form. Along the length of each weapon ran a strip of violet light.
The violet light pulsed from left to right, each pulse accompanied by a deep hum, like the heartbeat of a living machine.
The sound grew in intensity, entering a charging cycle, as if the weapon were restraining itself, about to be released.
The girl did not understand what those things were.
Something inside her screamed that she should not look any longer.
She turned her head and ran frantically through the crowd.
—Mom!— the girl screamed.
A man standing cluelessly in the middle of the road was shot directly in the head. His face exploded into a thousand pieces.
His face was completely disfigured.
—Hiiiy—
The girl was about to burst into loud sobs, but she held back, closed her eyes, and kept running, letting out whimpers as tears flooded her face.
She ran.
As she moved forward, she saw the beams from those weapons strike the faces of the men who had been kind to her—men who gave her food, who smiled at her as they passed.
They fell without even screaming.
Farther ahead, women fled with their children in their arms. The violet flash struck them in the back.
Their bodies collapsed, lifeless, onto the mud.
Young men who had treated her like a little sister tried to shield her, to push her into an alley, or make her run faster.
It wasn't enough.
The shots reached them one by one.
Feelings piled up in her chest until they suffocated her—fear, guilt, confusion.
An unbearable pressure, an agony that a girl her age should never be able to feel.
She wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
—Catch the girl!—
The shout cut through the smoke.
The uniformed men advanced without stopping, firing relentlessly and mercilessly. Their weapons emitted that deep hum, entering and leaving the charging cycle, unleashing bursts of violet light that cut through the air, disfiguring bodies.
The girl felt she had run too far, even though the village was small. She had only reached halfway— the center of the village.
But...
—Stop!—
The uniformed man barked, aiming at the girl. She stopped abruptly, nearly colliding with him.
The man launched a front kick, a clean, direct teep.
The impact struck the girl's jaw, and her body was sent flying through the air before crashing violently into the ground.
Dust rose in a thick cloud.
The girl coughed, gasped, and spat a mouthful of blood that stained the mud in front of her face.
Her arms trembled.
The man only smiled.
—Brat! I told you to stop—
The girl no longer had the strength even to curse.
The men in black uniforms closed in around her… Other girls—some crying silently, others too terrified to react—remained surrounded with her.
—Wow… this girl really made me sweat—commented a gray-haired man, wiping his neck.
—For your age, it's incredible you can still sweat, old man—replied a black-haired youth with slanted eyes, wearing a crooked smile.
—This is village number sixteen—said another, glancing at a device on his wrist—. Are there still many left?
—Seems so. We were instructed not to stop until we find the perfect material.
—That again… a hundred children have already died. Do you really plan to keep going?
—Those are orders. If you don't like it, just quit. You know what that entails, right?
—…Yeah~.
—Good. Take the children to the ship.
The girl was yanked up from the ground.
The ship rested on the platform like a predator at rest—low and sharp, its body stretched forward like a spear about to be released. It occupied the space, imposing itself with elegant dominance.
Its silhouette was flat and aggressive, designed to cut through air and flesh with the same indifference.
The hull was made of overlapping angular plates, a dark gray metal nearly black, treated not to shine.
The hangar lights slid over its surface without fully reflecting, as if the material absorbed them.
Sharp edges, short thick wings, no unnecessary curves.
There was no visible cockpit.
Where glass should have been, there was only a sealed, smooth, opaque section—deeply unsettling. It was impossible to tell if someone was watching from inside…
At the rear, the engines remained active at minimal power, emitting a steady, low hum so deep it was felt in the stomach more than heard, like a contained energy reactor breathing slowly.
A metal ramp descended from the ship's belly, slamming into the ground with a dry crash.
The girl turned her head and, with what little strength she had left, bit the hand of the man who had kicked her earlier.
—Agh… brat!
The man growled and, without hesitation, punched her with his left hand, knocking her unconscious.
—Hahaha… looks like you caught a rabid dog.
—Very funny, isn't it?—the man replied sarcastically—. You take her. This brat is filthy.
—What are you talking about? Rabid dogs are the cutest—replied the young man with a carefree smile—. In fact, I have one at home. His name is Toby. He's very cute.
—Toby? Is he still alive?—his companion asked.
—Yes! In fact, this girl reminds me of him. Even her black hair reminds me of his fur—said the young man, smiling.
—Hey, you're not planning to keep the girl, are you?—
—Impossible. You know aspirants for Nana can't be touched—answered the young man.
The laughter continued, as if they hadn't massacred more than a hundred villages in the past month.
The girl hung unconscious among them, covered in dust, blood, and mud, while the ship's ramp remained open, waiting.