This isn't a dream…I need to act…
I don't know what's happening…But I need to help him…Ernst trembled in front of his friend, who seemed to be in a wild craze.
His mouth shook into a curve as he forced himself to face the unpredictable Christopher.
"Wh-Who are you looking for, old man?" Ernst continued to hold tightly onto the knife in his pocket.
"You don't seem to be doing too well."
Sweat dripped down Ernst's forehead. As he tried not to choke on his question, he could feel his throat slowly growing dry. At any moment, he would need to raise the weapon and hold it against his friend.
"Give her back!
"Give her back!"
The monstrous Christopher screeched while cradling its head.
…Can I even do anything in this position…?
What can I even do for him?
He looks sick, but what happened to him?
With the few seconds of recovery Ernst was given, he thought of many possibilities that may have led to his current circumstances. Feeling his legs tremble, he could not help but feel the urge to sprint away.
With no sign of warning, the rotting man charged at him with inhuman speed.
While not as fast as a bullet being fired from a standard Gaudnarian rifle, it was as if a 175 cm ball was racing toward him.
Ngh..
Whether it was pure luck or not, Ernst instinctively turned his body, watching as danger sped past him, crashing into more stands. A shiver ran down his spine, then back up to his head.
Fast…All he could think of was how unpredictable Christopher's actions were.
To his luck, the danger lay unconscious, displaying a lack of life.
Unwilling to approach his attacker, Ernst maintained some distance from him.
Pant…Pant….
I nearly died…. I need to get away.
Realizing his initial foolishness, he immediately sought to back out.
Suddenly, the voice of a man could be heard across the other side of the fountain.
"Young man! What are you doing! Get out of the-"
The hairs on his skin raised at the surprise of another person in the vicinity. Regardless, he immediately felt a faint sense of hope that he would be safe while with whoever was there to provide aid.
Ernst turned to see who had been shouting at him, but all that was left was a similarly rotting beast, ravaging the body of the former militant. Blood splashed into the air as the man's neck was ripped apart.
Huh…
Immediately, Ernst drew his knife out of his pocket, flipping out its blade. His eyes widened as he witnessed the graphic image in front of him. His mind observed each part of what was in front of him. Although briefly standing, the man was now headless. Pieces of his spine were sticking out of his top with blood spewing about.
Buckling his legs, he readied to defend himself. His knife was promptly raised in front of him, pointed at the other crazed man.
Then, he heard the sound of another voice.
"Fire!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sound of gunfire was not too far from him.
Piercing the beast's skin, it lifelessly flew back a few meters as it pathetically tried to escape. A small squadron stood next to Ernst while maintaining a defensive formation.
"Move! Move!"
The sound of boots stomped on the ground.
About 10 soldiers surrounded the petrified Ernst. One soldier directly confronted him, asking if he was okay. He had a well-trimmed beard and looked like an experienced member of the national army. Looking to be in his thirties, he seemed to be the leader of the small squadron.
"Sir? Are you okay?"
"..."
No response came from Ernst. His mind had been overloaded with an abundance of chaotic thoughts and feelings. As much as he wanted to respond to the soldier, he could not help but be preoccupied with thoughts of the past few minutes.
A mere 7 minutes had passed since he entered the center of the plaza. And within those few minutes, he had witnessed a scene he had longed to forget since his days as an orphan---the ending of a life.
"There's another one over here!"
"I need a few people to check its condition!"
Ernst, subtly snapping out of his daze, slowly drew his eyes to the demolished stall where his friend now lay. His face, lifeless, seemed near-unrecognizable due to the change he had undergone.
"Chris-"
Before he could say anything aloud, a shriek filled the air around the small group.
"Aghhh!" One man's arm had been tightly gripped by a black hand. Everyone within the vicinity turned to the tent, readying themselves for another bout of danger."
Crack crack crack
"Fuck! Die! Get this thing off me!"
The bones of the poor soldier could be heard cracking. He wriggled erratically, trying every attempt to break free from Christopher's grasp.
In response to the sudden attack, the supposed leader of the squadron swiftly announced his commands.
"Aim!"
"Fire!"
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The soldiers shot bullets at their own pace, hoping they could recover their comrade.
Blood flew throughout the air as each shot passed through Christopher's blackened flesh.
All Ernst could do was watch as his friend had holes brutally imprinted onto his body.
However, despite their efforts, Christopher continued to stand and limp toward the party.
"He's getting up!" A soldier shouted in fear, finding the event a horrifying spectacle.
"Fall back!" Another member of the party shouted while moving away from the beast.
Ernst's feet moved on their own as he was tugged away by one of the soldiers. Moving around the fountain, they sought to leave the area, hoping to find reinforcements.
However, as if fate were against them, the individual they had shot earlier was standing once more, blocking their path.
The leader of the squadron gritted his teeth as he cursed their misfortune.
"Fuck!"
The fallen Christopher was closing in from another direction. No longer did he have the fresh wounds inflicted upon him by the soldiers' rifles.
"I want two lines facing each direction, now!"
With four soldiers facing Christopher and five facing the other deranged individual, Christopher watched from between the two lines as they prepared for the incoming assault.
The leader shouted while facing the downed enemy,
"Boy! Leave while you can!"
Aiming down, he issued his command.
"Aim!"
"Fire!"
The commander's voice had seemingly lost the vigour he carried before, perhaps due to his dying confidence in their odds of survival.
What can I do here… Ernst remained shocked as he continued to act as a witness to the battle in front of him. He pursed his lips as he watched the conflict around him. Scenes from his past seemed to resurface, stunning him in place. Vividly, the sounds of childish screams could be heard in his head.
They told me to run, but I can't just leave them here…
What can I even do though?!
Once more, bullets flew through the air, directly hitting their intended targets without fail.
Despite the group's efforts, the two deranged men continued to advance toward them.
The commander's face broke into a panic, his eyes shook while watching their enemy get closer. As if death itself was toying with them, his voice cracked out another order.
"Advance!"
"Ahhhh!" Each soldier roared while running toward the two figures.
Ernst himself faced toward Christopher, watching four of the soldiers point the barrels of their rifles toward him.
One soldier approached the dangerous target, attempting to slash downward in hopes of slicing his head. However, with great speed, the deranged Christopher dodged the blade with disorienting flexibility. Then, he struck his hand down, slamming the soldier's head into the ground.
Splat
The soldier's skull shattered, with his head mushed with blood and an assortment of liquids one could only find in the human brain.
Two more soldiers let out their cries as they fought through their weakened will, attempting to stab the person who had just killed their comrade.
Vomit…Ernst could only think of his reaction to this scene. Even in the orphanage, did he not witness such a scene? Rather than a fight, this was a one-sided slaughter.
With Christopher's hand still imprinted on the now dead soldier's head, the other two had successfully impaled their target in the chest.
Crimson and black liquids flowed down each blade.
His blood isn't normal….Ernst could not help but recall what he had dreamt of last night. The stark similarities sent more fear down his being. The young man thought ithatwhat he had seen the night prior was nothing short of a premonition of what was to come.
Then, Christopher raised his head with ease.
Speaking with the same ear-shattering tone, he grumbled with the blood mushed through his teeth, "Where is she?!"
"Why won't you die?!" One of the soldiers yelped while trying to wriggle his gun's blade out of the undying Christopher.
With great ease, he grabbed each soldier and threw both of them against the fountain.
Like rag dolls, their bodies bent in ways they should not have.
Ernst's eyes shook as scenes from his early childhood flashed before him. Children defending themselves against an adult much larger and stronger than they were. Each was easily tossed, flung, and beaten as if they were nothing.
At this moment, Ernst could not help but feel small. The terrified man felt as if he had regressed to his youth, a time when he was defending himself from the heads of the orphanage where he had lived.
He recalled the brutality he had inflicted on other children, as well as how the things he had reluctantly done to survive throughout his early childhood. However, now facing such extreme violence once more, he realized how years of his adopted family's kindness had waned his initial instincts.
The last of the four soldiers stood in front of him.
Christopher looked at him lifelessly.
Then, slowly, a slight curve twitched, revealing a scene that Ernst had seen not too long ago.
Ernst's heart stopped as he recalled the sinister expression the night prior.
Move! Move! You need to move! While one would think the traumatized young man was concerned for the soldier, he was solely encouraging himself to do something, if not anything,g during the hell that was taking place in the plaza.
The soldier looked as if at any moment he would soil himself. His rifle trembling in his hands, he attempted to point his blade toward the smiling Christopher.
An arm slowly raised from the taunting man's body, trying to grab hold of the weapon in front of him. The gun shook as the soldier put all of his strength into standing his ground against the violent murderer.
Suddenly, something flew toward him.
Shining in the bright sun's rays was a small piece of metal, flickering in the air.
Splat
A pocket knife had struck Christopher's right eye.
Ernst grabbed the soldier's arm and pulled him away from Christopher. The militant fell to the ground behind the young man as he watched him charge toward the danger he could not confront.
"Old man! Time to wake up!"
Ernst shouted as he tried to mask the swirl of emotions he was feeling. He could feel his stomach churn. At any moment, he could feel that he was about to gag, vomiting in place.
Each step felt heavy as he moved toward an unknown outcome.
Christopher screeched in pain as he contorted his body whilst trying to pull the knife from his eye.
Dodging the swinging of his arms and elbows, Ernst jumped and tackled the bloody man to the ground.
Restraining him, Christopher's arms flailed in a frenzy as Ernst grabbed hold of the pocket knife's handle and shoved it deeper into his membrane.
No more death! No more!
Something had awakened in the young man. His head felt light while he screamed internally. Tears felt like they were about to pour out of his own eyes as he violently tried to put a stop to the violence.
Christopher continued to flail while trying to grab hold of Ernst.
"Where is she?! Give her back! Give her back now!"
He continued to roar a question that could not be answered by any of his victims.
"Old man! You've done enough!"
Ernst continued to force all of his body weight into the small knife that was implanted into Christopher's face. With each thrust, blood burst and splashed into his face.
A black hand crept behind Ernst; however, just before it could grab hold of his back, a blade pierced it, sticking it straight into the ground.
The person who had saved the young man was none other than the militant he had pulled away earlier.
"Keep going!" he yelled in exhaustion and fear.
Although the shout of the man was most prominent, Ernst was completely distracted by his own thoughts.
…I don't know what happened or if you can ever return to normal…but, I'm sorry…A tear ran down Ernst's face while maintaining his position.
Four. Seven. Twelve more times did he push down the small blade that was given to him by the very same person who had caused so much destruction.
I'm sorry… Ernst cursed himself inwardly. With his face covered in blood and sweat, his hands grew in blisters while clenching hard onto the leather handle. Each ounce of pressure he mustered was followed by a sting in his heart.
"It's time to stop…" he spoke with a plea.
Huff huff huff…
Somewhere nearby, a Church's bells rang, signalling that it had hit noon.
At some point, movement ceased from the body he and the soldier had straddled to the ground. The knife still in the deformed Christopher's eye remained still while Ernst slowly crawled away from his friend's corpse.
The breath of life failed to escape from the body in front of him.
The scent of rusted copper emanated throughout the small distance between the young man and his former friend.
Then, he began to cradle his head in his blistered and bloodied hands, beginning to sob. One tear after another, a full stream began to leak out of his eyes.
I killed him….I killed my friend…why did this happen?! Gritting his teeth, he became overwhelmed with so many emotions. Although he had fought against his will to run away from the scene and help the militant, he felt he had done something unforgivable.
He slammed his fist into the ground, over and over again.
Old man….Old man…
On the other hand, one other person had also shared in this sorrowful victory.
Cursing at his own weakness, the soldier stared lifelessly at the environment. His comrades scattered and mutilated, each with their own lives. Some of them have families.
Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he forced himself to maintain his image of a reliable soldier.
He began to limp toward Ernst to console and guide him away to reinforcements.
I need to get him away while the others are holding off the other one… He prioritized the safety of the civilian who had gotten caught in the crossfire.
However, glancing toward the other side of the fountain, he no longer saw the other five of his comrades who had been engaged in a battle of their own. With his jaw dropping ever so slightly, an inaudible breath escaped from his mouth.
"Captain…?"
All he saw was a dark figure with multiple hands covering its entire face and head. Its arm and hip leaked an endless black smoke, infecting the air around it. The sight alone froze up the soldier, who was one of the two remaining survivors of this fight.
"Oh my gods…"