Part 4: Invasion 3

What do you expect, life is but a survival game. Yours comes first. Beside I owe nothing to her but the life she gave me, a corporeal duty of hers. She had never done anything else to warrant any remorse from me in her predicament.

Could this also be what it means to hold a grudge?

Well, as a gift to you mother I will do you this favour. I will remember their faces. I will avenge you. Have them feel what you felt a thousand times more. They will wish for death but it will be slow and excruciatingly painful.

And I will look after Blaire, teaching her how to survive. It will be my mission to see through.

That is the least I owe to the both of you, ‘mother and father’, for bringing me into this world and not disposing of me even after been branded a devil.

This time she wasn’t staring at me but the one to my side. It may be a flicker, a hallucination but I saw hope not for herself but for Blaire, her survival. It may be a silly notion but perhaps she felt what I said.

Though there was still hate present, reluctant to leave her with me, there was acceptance. At that point I realized she was already gone. The was blood pouring out from her mouth. Looks like she had sneakily bitten on her tongue to speed up her death. I think she didn’t want to die by their hands. Her eyelids lowered and her head as well.

“Too bad, she died. Her defiance to the end was truly one to praise.” Said the one who had tortured her, spilling her blood to the floor.

The one behind her let go and she dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

“You could have at least held her a little longer, to help me send her over to the bed.”

“No way. I’m not into that psycho fetish of yours. Carry her yourself.”

So with great effort, one from the pain of his penis been bitten and the other from the weight of Caela’s corpse, he dragged her before lifting her onto and placing on her back on the bed, blooding the sheets.

He propped her knees up, positioning himself before her.

“You’re free to join in on the fun.”

“No, unlike you we prefer the living ones out there. Even younger.”

“She’s still fresh.” He retorted.

“Yea no thanks, I don’t do corpses.”

“We’ll just watch. See how you fuck her with your hurt cock.”

“Whatever. The pain’s part of the process.” He commented

“Freak.”

“You really are a weird guy.”

They chuckled.

He moved himself closer and…

Well, guess we’ve seen enough. If we stay here any longer they will find us and we end up like them.

I grab Blaire’s hand and lead her away. I know the cruelty of showing her this savagery, but the impression it will leave behind will be one for her survival.

Mhm… Should I consider this, what happened to them Karma for what they put me through? Not that it mattered. Looking back now, I am thankful to have been born with a stronger body to have survived their baseless punishments.

We head through the back into the yard.

—Before leaving I did manage to grab a pair of knives in the kitchen, found some kindle and a flint. It was swift because I knew exactly where they were.

Out there through and into the back alleys.

The screams of terror fill the air, the familiar sounds like music to my ears. The cacophony of cries and the blazing of burning homes were like that of an orchestra, setting a mood of chaos and carnage.

I hear the patter of steps from the distance and as we brush through the alleys I could see the walls and pavements painted with blood, people running only to be slaughtered. Children and babies been bashed and women raped.

A few people did put up a fight, but the inevitability of their death was assure. They were put down with the aid of the soldiers’ comrades.

… And the people I see been killed and abused? What of it? I do not know them, their faces or whatsoever. I do not owe them any favours. So why should I care?

I wonder though: could any of them—their souls—be one of those I knew in my previous lifetimes? There is an almost infinite possibility… but even so I do not know them in this lifetime, nor do they remember me. So I have no care.

A part of me feels excited to see such carnage once more. The stench of blood, the screams, the smell of smoke, the sounds of sword through flesh, the bashes and crackling of flames and those other sound and smell that seem to be lost, overpowered by the stench, and discord.

Experiences of lifetimes does tend to leave a lingering effect, personalities aside. I think the factor (for the birthing of personalities in lifetimes and behaviors) to the change in ones life in each new world and life is adaption (general) and the strife for true death (personal thought) for people like us.

That’s the feeling I have now. And the voices which are of the same mind within are crying out, wanting to be free to join in on the fun. To let them rain chaos. The crazy psychotic feeling wants to slip out though my face, but I held. The bar though is holding, unfathomable as usual.

Through the twists and turns of the back alleys and alleyways we hid from sight, in the darkness, behind boxes from coming soldiers making way towards the wall.

Along the way we pass by some kids—I only glance at them a quad of early teens and a few children—hiding as well, cowering in fear.

They managed to get away, hiding in the alley hoping no one will see them. Banding up together like this though is just presenting themselves to the slaughter, even if they were spread out, without leaving the town they will be killed.

“Mommy, where’s mommy?”

“Why? Why are they doing this?”

“They killed them.”

“They hurt Sissy and mama.”

“Isn’t that the devil?” One child said making the others look my way, then tremble.

Exaggeration much. Am I that scary?

“Hey devil, where do you think you’re going with her?” Asked one courageous teen.

I ignore them.