20 Chapter 19: A Butchering of Pups

A horrible racket filled the air when Kail kicked down the door, metal hinges screaming as they shed layers of rust. Sudden, blinding light filled his eyes, the brightness sending piercing pain to the back of his skull. Unable to see, he ducked and rolled to the side out of instinct, hearing a fist fly through the air to slam into the wall behind where he used to stand. Kail was forced to back up quickly, shield raised in defense as he waited for his vision to adjust.

A massive fist struck him in the stomach, making him cough up blood and spit and driving the air out of his lungs. He collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath, eyes managing to make out a blurry figure standing over him. Its hand was pulled back, clenched fist looming as it swung with a speed that belied its apparent bulk. With all of his remaining strength, Kail raised his left arm, bringing his shield to bear. A crunching sound could be heard as the man split skin and broke bone on metal. Yet, the force was still overwhelming; Kail had no more energy left to defend against another strike.

So it seemed that he would die here. Alone.

He felt himself being grabbed the scruff of his neck. He opened his eyes blearily to peer at his attacker. The man had light skin that was stretched over a thick, muscular frame. A shaved head was crisscrossed with faint scars and wounds, complete with the insignia of the Black Wolves. Most disconcerting were his eyes, which were bloodshot and unnaturally wide. He opened his mouth in a smile, revealing teeth that were filed to points, tongue running over each tip slowly and carefully. He had the look of a man who killed for fun, for no reason other than a thirst for blood and wanton violence.

Kail felt hate rising up inside of him, an utter disgust of this man and everything that he stood for. He dropped his hook, letting his shield fall to the floor. The guard smiled wider, thinking that Kail had given up. His hands tightened around Kail's neck, slowly squeezing his airway smaller and smaller. Kail could feel the little strength that he had stirred in the pit of stomach slipping away.

With a sudden ferocity that came without warning, he swung his hands up to clap cupped fingers over the man's ears. A resounding smack echoed off the stone as he felt the grip around his neck loosen, the man momentarily stunned. Clenching his jaw, Kail swung his head forward with as much force as he could muster, being rewarded with a satisfying crunch against his forehead. He fell to the floor, the guard's hands flying to his broken nose. Tears had blurred the man's eyes by reflex, blinding him.

Without hesitation, Kail bent down to grab his hook, adrenaline pumping fire through his arms and legs. Yelling hoarsely, he swung it with the strength of a cornered animal, seeing it bury itself deep in the guard's stomach. Metal ripped through viscera and soft flesh, tearing open a gaping hole that pumped out blood in thick spurts. The man's eyes went wide, blood spilling out of the corners of his mouth as he looked at Kail in shock. His body went limp and he crumbled to the floor, tearing the hole of the metal hook even larger as Kail stood there stiffly staring. He watched as the man lay in a pool of his own blood, coughing weakly. He watched as the man's eyes twitched and his chest jerked in quick spasms. He watched as the man's struggling slowed until it stopped altogether. He watched the man die right in front of him.

Why was it so fast? Why was death so ignoble?

Kail stood there for a few seconds, trying to force himself from thinking about what he had done, about how many lives he had taken in one day. Looking down, he saw his knuckles white where he held the hook in his hand, scarlet blood covering his skin. Not his blood. He tried to relax his hand but found that he could not. His muscles were clenched, nails digging into the stained oak handle. Setting the tip onto the ground, he used his left hand to pry his fingers off one by one, all the while breathing hard as he tried to avoid looking at the dead man's face.

He did not want to know his name, did not want to know who he was. He did not want to know if he had friends or family, did not want to know what dreams he had dreams, what hopes Kail had cut short. He did not want to know what the dead man was thinking when he had buried a foot of steel in his stomach. A hero, he was indeed.

Kail felt sick, the world spinning around him. Hands on his knees, he bent over and heaved, the contents of his last meal spilling onto the stone. Tears filled his eyes as the burning sensation rose up his throat. He coughed and heaved a few more times but came up empty, finally gasping for breath as the urge subsided. Wiping his mouth of a torn bit of cloth, he steadied himself before picking his hook up, fingers tightening as he forced himself to remember that what he had done was necessary. Pushing back another sob, he carefully stepped over the man's corpse and through the iron door that had cost so much blood to open.

Where...am I?

His eyes widened slowly as stared at what lay on the other side. The broken remains of a house of worship, complete with the God's Star shining on the wall, filled a massive once-grand hall. The wooden floorboards were eaten away with rot; holes were torn in the walls and the lamps glowed faintly with the stubs of candles. Stretched out on cots on the floor and any other surface they could find were endless rows of injured, filthy blankets and rags covering bloodied bodies and broken limbs. Kail felt his heart skip a few beats as he realized that most of the wounded were younger than him, only ten or eleven years. Brown bandages and dirty clothes bound head wounds and arms, stained with crimson blood. Wooden splints and cracked gauze covered shattered bone. He realized suddenly that he was staring at a hospital.

This gang war, this conflict...I came too late.

Hundreds of their eyes looked up as he walked into the doorway, filled with fear and confusion. Looking down at himself, he realized that he was a horrifying sight, covered in blood and bile. Before he could react, however, he heard the sound of footsteps, the stained windows shattering into jagged pieces..

"Hungry." rasped a voice from behind him unexpectedly, and the candles along the walls suddenly guttered out.

There was the crack of something striking against the back of his head and suddenly went limp. He heard a man's voice from amidst the wounded, yelling for everyone to run. The acrid stench of smoke burned Kail's nose and eyes. Someone stepped over his crumpled body, their feet sending plumes of dust that filled Kail's lungs. The room tumbled into the blackness, and so did he.

When he woke, it was in a sea of blood and bodies. A great pain shot through the back of his head as he tried to get up, the light sharp and burning to his tired eyes. The taste of iron was in his mouth, crusted blood dried on his head and arms. With an effort, he turned his head, feeling hair and skin tear as he moved. All around him were the scattered remains of the dead and the dying.

The former church and infirmary was now nothing but a pile of wreckage, bodies and limbs strewn amongst broken stone and brick. Shattered glass from broken windows dusted the ground, dim sunlight taking the place of shattered lamps. Timber lay with the dead, some even running through corpses with blood dry on their surface. All around him, there was nothing but death. Even the only reason that he was still alive was likely because he was, at first, taken for dead.

He tried to sit up, feeling everything around him spin as he grabbed onto a nearby pile of rubble to remain steady. His mind was reeling, wondering what had happened when he was passed out. He was wondering why he had collapsed, wincing as he tried to recall what had happened. He remembered being struck and then pain. After that, nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up slowly, staggering as bruised legs struggled to support his weight. As he leaned on the debris, he looked up and felt his heart stop.

On the old wooden wall, next to the God's Star, was a symbol drawn in blood. A bird of prey. A hawk. Next to it, on the God's Star, was meat. and skin—human skin. Kail felt himself swoon as he realized that it was the hide on a man, torn from its then-discarded body. It had been left to hang on the symbol of faith and humanity, a grim mockery that shocked him to his core. He had feared a war between the two gangs, but his worries were unfounded.

There was no fight, only a brutal single handed massacre. He closed his eyes and wept, but no tears came. He tried to cry out in remorse, but no sound escaped his lips. All around him were the dead, but he could not find it in himself to mourn. There were simply too many. He was lost in the sea of bodies.

He grieved silently, hoping that these murdered souls would find peace. Gathering himself, he straightened himself, feeling his abused muscles starting to recover. Bending down slowly, he collected his gear, buried and hidden by some strange twist of fortune underneath a corpse. With all that had happened, he did not know what he should do next. Then he realized that he was the sole living person with weapons surrounded by corpses of wounded Black Wolves. If he was seen, he would even be given time to breathe before he would be killed and burned, not necessarily in that order.

With some hesitation, he carefully took a step, feeling his leg struggle and then collapse out from under him. He reached out and braced himself against a length of timber, taking another step slowly. Then another. With difficulty, he traversed the piles of corpses, making is way to the broken remains of the entrance that he had came through. He stopped in shock.

The metal door had been torn off its hinges, the steel bent and warped. What looked like claw marks covered its dented surface. Kail's mind was instantly filled with a sea of questions, but he would have to wait until he found safety before he could sort them out.

He continued past the entryway, reaching the aged ladder that he had used to climb up. He ignored two familiar corpses that were strewn on the ground, carefully stepping on a rung only to hear the crumbling of stone. The bent broke underneath him, causing him to some ten feet and crack his skull against the stone. He lay there dazed for a few minutes, blood dripping from the newly reopened wound on his head. Looking down, he saw his right arm bent at an awful angle, the bone clearly broken. He tried to move it and was rewarded with a lance of pain that made him scream in agony. Blinking away the tears, he gritted his teeth and grabbed the fractured limb, lifting it clear of the rubble. Tearing a strip of cloth from his shirt, he wrapped the wound, not knowing enough first aid to try and set it. Clenching his mouth, he got up slowly, muscles protesting loudly. He grabbed his hook in his left hand, right arm bandaged tightly, and began to stumble his way forward, breathing hard.

When he reached the grate, he saw that it been torn clear, signs of claws and scuffling on the ripped metal and brick. Bending low, he got out with some difficulty and looked around him, gasping at what he saw.

Ashes surrounded him.

The skeletons of buildings lay before him, charred and burnt. Blackened soot covered the street, stirred by occasional gusts of wind. Among the black, he could see the shine of white. Bones of those who had not run fast enough. He kept walking, forcing the thought to the back of his mind. He could not afford to think about it now. Right now he had to run.

All around him was the corpse of a city. Brick and stone burnt and blackened. Bone and skin charred to soot. A funeral pyre that had burned brighter than the sun. And he was walking through it. He could still see the embers among the ashes, air still hot and blurry where it touched the ground. The wind howled as it blowed, seemingly voicing the calls of the angry dead. And he walked through it. His foot kicked something. A skull, the rest of its former body scattered nearby. It was small, perhaps only a little larger than his fist. Its remains were extraordinarily fragile in light of the destruction that it lay in. And he walked through it still.

Through the carnage and waste, through the corpses and the ashes, he kept walking. He kicked aside rock and rubble, wreckage and ruin as he trudged forward. One more step. Another. Keep moving forward. Don't look back. Never look back.

He knew that nothing lay for him there.