Chapter 34: Innocent? What Makes Humans Better Than a Common Sheep?

I stood there, my gaze cold and indifferent as Fendrel's wife and son huddled together. The soldiers had them by the arms, their faces pale with terror. The boy looked up at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn't understand what was about to happen. His mother's sobs were broken, each one weaker than the last, her will already shattered.

"Kill them," I commanded, my voice devoid of emotion, cutting through the air like the finality of a death sentence.

The soldiers moved without hesitation, two of them grabbing Fendrel by his hair, forcing his face up. They made sure his eyes were wide open, so he could see everything, so he could watch every last moment of his family's demise.

I watched him, the way his eyes widened in horror, the way he tried to struggle—feebly, uselessly—but he was broken. His wounds had bled him dry, his strength gone. All he had left was the anguish in his eyes, and it was delicious in its purity.

The soldier closest to the wife moved first. He didn't rush; no, there was no need for haste. He wanted her to feel it. His blade met her flesh slowly, agonizingly, pressing against her throat with such precision that the blood didn't spurt—it flowed, sluggish, thick, trickling down like a crimson waterfall. She gasped, her hands clutching at the wound, but it was pointless. The life drained from her, inch by inch, as her eyes fixed on her son, horror and helplessness mingling in them.

Her son screamed—a shriek that ripped through the air and sent shivers down even the coldest of spines—but there was nothing left for him either. The second soldier grabbed the boy, raising him up by the scruff of his neck like a lamb to slaughter. His small frame convulsed in terror, his cries falling on deaf ears as the soldier slowly inserted the blade into his gut. The boy's scream died, replaced by a gurgling sound as blood bubbled up from his mouth, staining his lips. His small body spasmed once, twice, then went limp. The soldier let him drop to the ground beside his mother's lifeless form.

I didn't flinch. I didn't look away. This was what had to be done.

Fendrel, however, was a different story. His face twisted in agony, in a torment so complete I could almost taste it. He strained against the soldiers holding him, his voice raw and guttural as he screamed for them to stop. "No! NO! You can't! My family! You said—"

I smiled. A soft, mocking smile. "I said nothing."

He thrashed again, but the soldiers held him firm. His body was weak, beaten down. All he had left was that impotent rage.

Mayer, standing to the side, finally averted his eyes. I noticed him shaking his head slightly, his face pale, his lips set in a thin line. "Is this necessary, Eliot?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His tone wasn't defiant, more… desperate. "This… this is too much. They were innocent."

I turned my head to him, my expression unreadable. "Innocent?" I echoed. "There is no innocence in this world, Mayer." I stepped closer to him, watching the conflicted emotions flit across his face. He was still young—young enough to cling to some sense of morality. But that would fade. He would learn. "You pledged your loyalty to me. That means you follow me down whatever path I take. Innocent or not, this is the reality of the world we live in. And if you can't stomach it, then perhaps you aren't cut out to follow me."

Mayer swallowed hard, his hands trembling at his sides. But he nodded, accepting it. What choice did he have?

Afterall, what made us humans better than a common sheep being devoured by a pack of wolves? We are all the same in death. It is simply nature. Only power can decide.

I turned back to the soldiers. "Throw the bodies in the ditch," I commanded, my voice cold and detached. "Let no one find them."

The soldiers moved quickly, lifting the wife and son's lifeless forms and tossing them carelessly into the ditch, where their bodies landed with a sickening thud. The ground would consume them. No one would remember them. Their deaths would serve a purpose, if only as a warning.

As they finished their gruesome task, the two soldiers who held Fendrel looked to me. "What about him?" one asked, nodding toward the broken man at their feet.

I looked down at Fendrel, taking in his pitiful state. His body was ruined, his spirit crushed, but his eyes still blazed with fury, with the unyielding hatred of a man who had nothing left to lose. I crouched down, meeting his gaze, watching the way his lip curled in disgust, in rage.

"A broken man," I mused, my voice calm. "A man with nothing left to lose… is the most dangerous kind of all." I stood, my decision already made. "But killing you now would be a waste. No, I want you to live. I want you to remember this day even in death, Fendrel. I want you to rot in that ditch, consumed by your own sorrow and hatred. Let your failure fester in your soul until it devours you."

The soldiers dragged him toward the ditch, tossing him in after his family, but Fendrel didn't scream this time. He had no strength left for that. Only a low, guttural sound, like an animal on the verge of death.

Mayer stood by my side, silent, his face pale. His eyes flickered to the wound in my chest, where the blood still poured freely. He frowned. "You're bleeding, Eliot. Badly."

I glanced down at the gash, finally realizing just how much blood I had lost. It was impressive, in a way. That I had lasted this long, that I was still standing despite the pain, the blood loss. But now that the adrenaline had worn off, the world seemed to tilt around me. I swayed on my feet, my vision darkening at the edges.

"I hadn't noticed," I murmured, my voice faint. But as the darkness closed in, I felt my legs give way, and the ground rushed up to meet me.

The last thing I heard before the world went black was Mayer's panicked voice calling my name, but it was distant, fading away as unconsciousness took me.

Not dead, not yet.

But close.