Chapter 48: Massacre

The village was nothing but a charred and twisted wasteland, a gruesome aftermath of a fire that had engulfed it in a matter of hours. The air was thick with the stench of burnt flesh, wood, and singed clothing, and the silence was only occasionally punctuated by the cawing of crows that circled overhead, their beady eyes fixated on the carnage below. Unlike regular crows, they were white in color, resembling the bird but not quite. They were Astrothians.

Agatha stepped forward, her boots crunching on the glass-like remnants of what used to be the village's cobblestone streets. The ground beneath her feet was a mosaic of shattered pottery, splintered wood, and fragments of lives that had been snuffed out in a matter of moments. The houses, now little more than blackened shells, bore witness to the relentless fury of the fire that had consumed them.

Her heart raced as she approached the first of many freshly mutilated corpses that littered the scene. A child, no older than eight years, lay sprawled across the scorched earth. The fire had been merciless, leaving the child's once-rosy cheeks charred and lifeless. The once-soft hair, now brittle and stiff, clung to the skull like a gruesome halo. Agatha's eyes traced the outline of the child's body, taking in the horrific details – the melted remnants of clothing, the twisted limbs, and the empty, staring eyes that seemed to follow her.

The next body she encountered was that of a woman, her face grotesquely twisted. Her skin, blackened and peeling, revealed the bone structure beneath. The woman's hands were clenched in a permanent grip, as if she had died mid-struggle.

She spotted a group of corpses huddled together, as if seeking solace in their final moments. A family, perhaps, or friends who had perished together. They lay entwined, their limbs melded together by the intense heat. The once-vibrant colors of their clothing had been reduced to shades of gray and black, a macabre testament to the fire's indiscriminate wrath.

As she moved further into the village, the scene grew even more disturbing. The bodies became more mutilated, the evidence of their suffering more pronounced. Limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, skin hung in tatters from charred bones, and the stench of burnt flesh grew stronger with each passing moment.

One particular corpse caught her attention – a man, perhaps the village blacksmith, given the state of his muscular arms and the anvil-like strength they had once possessed. His face, contorted in a final scream, was frozen in a mask of terror and agony. The fire had taken his life in the most brutal of ways.

As she continued through the village, her mind raced with questions and horrifying images. How had this happened? Who could have done this? Was it those Cultists? Why did they do this? She tried to imagine the terror that must have gripped the villagers as the fire raged through their homes, their lives, and their loved ones.

The final scene she encountered was the most disturbing of all – a pile of charred remains that seemed to defy description. It was as if the fire had consumed not just the bodies, but their very souls. The pile smoldered, sending up plumes of acrid smoke that filled the air with a choking, nauseating stench. She could not bare the sight so all she could do was distance herself from the scene.

Agatha stood there, trying her utmost not to relieve her stomach of the food she had digested, her heart heavy with the weight of what she had witnessed. The image of the fresh mutilated corpses, the burnt village, and the overwhelming stench would forever be etched in her memory.

She blankly stared ahead as snow continued falling from the sky.

She had never seen this much death. All of this was ingrained into her senses, she could not ever forget this. She always thought herself strong of will, but this. How could someone do this, not just kill men and women but children too.

What monster would do this?

Her right hand lifted to cover her mouth. The smell was so horrible, and even when she closed her eyes she still saw their mutilated corpses.

"Agatha." She slightly jumped at the voice before turning to look at who addressed her. It was Mikoto, of course. They had been partnered up after all. His face was obscured, she could not tell what the boy was thinking or what expression he had on his face.

Maybe he looked angry. Maybe disgusted. Or was there a smile on his face like his mask suggested? Or maybe he had no expression at all.

"We....we should inform Professor Eugene." His voice was low, barely a whisper though. Though she could not discern just what he was feeling upon seeing this massacre.

"No." Agatha managed to utter out that word, she imagined Mikoto was looking at her with slight confusion. "This was no accident, someone was behind the slaughter of these people. I...I can't just go back now, there's a chance they can still be nearby." Mikoto remained silent. "We....I have to stop this from happening again."

A chill wind howled as the silence continued. She wished he would say something, she was just thinking of the massacre now. Involuntarily she could not help but shudder, though she spoke of hunting down those responsible she did not know if she wanted to face such monsters. Did she really want to be face to face with such people?

It was laughable, her the Gregory heir shaking in her boots.

"You look like you're about to hurl." Mikoto finally spoke, Agatha looked at him confused. "Your legs are shaking and not due to the cold, you have a spell active to keep yourself warm no doubt." He continued. "And you are pale."

"And? What are you suggesting?" She asked somewhat defensively.

"You're scared." He stated matter-of-factly. Usually when someone would speak those words to her, her pride would have taken a beating. But she was so sick of it, so sick of playing the cold and uncaring heir. Sick of being what her father wanted her to be. So sick of what others expected of her.

And so sick of this uncaring enigma called Mikoto Yukio.

"So.....so what!?" She shouted out. "Do you see this massacre!? Children were killed! Mutilated! It's a damn massacre of innocent people! What did they do wrong, huh!? And how can you be so uncaring all the time!? Don't you see what's around you!? People are dead!" Her uncharacteristic outburst, while short-lived, seemed to take some energy as Agatha took a few breaths. She stared at Mikoto, at those narrow slits of his, just barely she could make out a single red gleaming eye.

"You're wrong." He merely stated, he raised his hand. Ever so slightly it was shaking. "Despite what you might think of me, I'm not some uncaring fool who would look at the corpse of a child and keep a blank face." Agatha could not help but stare at the boy with surprise. He was so freely admitting what he felt. "This sight all around me makes me want to scream in fear, the sight of the corpses makes me want to throw up. The scent of burned flesh and the sight of this all is ingrained into my mind." He heaved a heavy sigh as he ran a hand through his head. "I don't react because I'm accustomed to violence. I saw it all, children missing a limb being rushed to the emergency room, people so severely burned they looked deformed, and more."

"Point is I am fearful too if I'm being honest." He admitted. "Not at those who did this, but at the fact that living, thinking beings could do something like this. We humans are a malicious bunch, huh?"

Agatha merely looked down in shame. Mikoto was just a human too, a child at that same as her. Yet she deigned to call him uncaring, she did not know what he had been through. Maybe his childhood was worse than hers.

"I...I'm sorry, Mikoto." She apologized, it was all she could do at the moment. "I just..." Mikoto just raised his hand to stop her.

"It's fine, Agatha, really I understand what you're going through."

"Still, I should better control myself." She stated. "These outbursts are unbecoming of me."

"Eh, I don't think they are." Mikoto stated as she looked at him in confusion. "Showing emotion means you're humane."

"Humane?" She questioned.

"It's a good thing, Agatha." Mikoto informed. "But still, if this all was the work of the Cultist then they're more of a threat than we thought."

"Then...it would be wise to regroup with the others." Mikoto nodded his head. She did not like it one bit, she wanted to go after them but she knew how stupid that would be. Agatha clenched her fist tightly, she did not know these village people but she would make sure those responsible would pay.

"Let us go." She stated as she walked past him.

("This massacre was recent.") Mikoto thought as he followed behind Agatha through the destroyed village littered with corpses. ("Usually that would mean those responsible should have been nearby, but no. I suspected teleportation magic but detected no mana residuals. And then there's the second thing.") His mind wandered as he passed a body of a male, unlike most, he was untouched by any flames. However, there was a scorch mark where the gaping hole by his chest was. ("A fire spell was my original thought, but still not even a spec of mana to be detected.") Mikoto pursed his lips as he tore his gaze away from the body.

This was all just too messed up.