Bead bodies lay scattered across the forest floor. Blood soaked the dirt, turning the woods into a nightmarish painting.
Trees wore crimson stains like war paint. Some corpses were missing their heads. Others had lost limbs. A few had their stomachs torn open, spilling what remained of their insides.
The air stank of iron and death. It was the kind of scene that would make even a battle-hardened soldier lose his lunch.
In the center of the chaos lay a boy.
Ran.
Ran was tied.
No—he felt like he was tied.
His limbs wouldn't move, but there were no ropes. No chains. Just an invisible weight pinning him down, like the air itself had turned solid. Cold. Heavy. Suffocating.
And in front of him stood the man.
If he could be called that.
Lanky, pale, stretched like a corpse that forgot to die. Skin so thin it almost peeled, eyes two pits of murky yellow swimming in madness. His mouth curled into something that might have been a smile once, but had long since decayed into something worse.
He stared at Ran. And smiled.
Then spoke—softly, like a lullaby whispered through a sewer grate.
"1... 2... 3..."
Ran's heart nearly stopped. Pain surged through his body before he even moved. His nerves were already raw from the earlier slaughter. His arms hung useless, and the rest of him was trembling in cold sweat. He dropped to his knees. His mind screamed.
'move move MOVE!'
"6... 7... 8..."
He pushed against the ground, trying to twist, yank, tear—anything to separate himself from those frozen limbs. He rolled, convulsed, slammed his shoulder into a rock to numb it, to kill the pain—but pain was all that came.
"14... 15... 16..."
Tears ran down his cheeks. Not from fear. Not anymore. From rage. From the overwhelming, humiliating, crushing knowledge that this thing was playing with him like a god. And he couldn't do anything about it.
No. I will not die here. I won't be trash forever. I won't.
"22... 23... 24..."
Ran bit down on his lower lip so hard it bled. His shoulder popped—he could hear it. One arm dangled at a sickening angle. Still no movement.
He threw himself sideways, rolled on a jagged stump, letting it stab deep into his upper bicep.
"27... 28... 29..."
His scream cracked through the trees. Blood spurted across his face. He was halfway there. His shoulder was broken.
"33... 34... 35..."
"FUCK!"He screamed, voice raw."COME ON!"
He crawled now, dragging his body like a worm through leaves and bone and guts. His mouth was foaming from the pain. But he wouldn't stop.
"41... 42... 43..."
His vision blurred. The world spun. But he felt it—tissue tearing. Ligaments snapping. The end was close.
"50..."
The demon leaned forward with a glimmer in his eyes, delighted.
"56... 57... 58..."
Ran screamed. A final desperate roar.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"59... 60."
Snap.