The team leader’s sword was shining with a flaming red color. After hacking Ryder’s hand, the leader changed the trajectory midway and aimed straight for his neck. All Ryder could do was try to dodge.
But other guards rushed in, to attack.
Ryder, somehow wasn’t feeling pain. The back of his head was bleeding from the fall, his chest had a wound, and now his arm was cut off. Yet, he could feel his head lightening up, as if he’d faint. The blood loss wasn’t faring nice for him.
He frantically looked for an escape, and he found a window. The soldiers rushed in, but luckily Ryder had enough distance to jump through. He leapt out of the window, where the soldier behind him, almost caught up.
He somehow managed to do a roll, and continue the run. But the guards were actively following, and they were bound to catch up. Ryder wasn’t losing on stamina, but his blood was incessantly flowing. He was losing control over his body. His breath, so ragged that he was gasping for breath. And eyes shutting down, as if for eternal slumber.
Ryder’s step staggered in the middle of the road from a complete failure of the bodily system. Beastmen and beastwomen, glaring at him from the shops on both sides. All of them were wearing masks, and their eyebrows scrunched together. Their necks lifted up, looking down at Ryder.
“Filthy beast.” Ryder heard one of the bystanders.
As Ryder was falling, he wanted to roll, and run for as long as he could, but his body refused. He fell face straight, on the road. The momentum carried him forward, and rubbed his cheek over it, as it lacerated.
The guards running behind him caught up. The forwardmost guard rolled the blade in his hand, and clenched the sword with both hands, pointing it down. Ryder made a single flail to get up, but he couldn’t. The guard swiftly stepped beside him, and hurled the sword down. It pierced through Ryder’s heart.
Ryder stopped moving. As the guard pulled its sword out, his panther tail swinging rapidly. Some people in the crowd turned away, and most of them scoffed, turning back to their business, removing their masks. The leader of the team, appreciatively nodded at the guard, and a smile tugged at his lips.
“Throw this body into the slums.” The leader ordered, as one other guard joined, and both of the guards lifted the body.
They walked with the corpse, all the way to the extreme outskirts of La Devora. The bystanding citizens turned their faces away at the sight, even if they watched down from their mansions.
The scenes started to shift as they walked away. From the posh, lavish shops, and houses, and men and women wearing well-tailored clothes. After sometime, Dust started to well up with heavy steps of the soldiers. Clothless babies could be seen, gleefully running around. Gradually, the vintage cars shifted to bullock-carts, and then, all people appeared to be on foot.
“Ugoh!” A guard covered his mouth, his beast-ears drooping down. He slowly looked up at the tattered, wooden fence of the slums, which had gone black from dust and dirt.
“Let’s just throw this from here.” The panther guard said, as the other guard bobbed his head. “Okay, on one,” One of them held Ryder with his hands, and the other with his legs, as they swung him, “two, and three.”
Both of them threw the body, as it landed inside the fence. The panther guard pinched his nose, wagging his tail, as it patted the other guard on the shoulder. “Let’s go.” And they both walked away.
The body lifelessly thrashed on the ground. It rolled a couple times, smearing itself with dust. The thudding made the people peek out of the holes in their huts. Laced with the foul scent of chemicals, the black rats scurried around in groups.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A pair of frail legs, stepped out of the straw huts. Though not tall, he had to duck from the top of the door frame, to step out. The body was blackened, with blotches of fair skin underneath. Yet, his eyes glinted with a certain youthfulness.
“Is it another body?” the young man mumbled to himself.
“Roland!” A thin, faltering voice called out from inside, as the young man glanced back. His head turned just enough to acknowledge the words.
“Don’t do it again, you will… die like this.”
The voice escalated, only to quieten down in the dark.
“Why do you do this every single time?” Roland replied, as if mumbling to himself. The puffs of breath escaping his mouth, more audible than the words.
“Berthe,” He turned back to the hut, and leaned on the door frame, “Do you want us to die?”
Though, in the dark, and absence of the candles, which were like a treasure pot in the slums. Nothing was really visible, and especially Berthe, as she was hidden in a corner of the room. Yet how she was just quiet today, unlike the usual Roland - Berthe argument. Perhaps, they had starved for more days than they should have.
“I’m going now.” Roland resigned. He patted the door frame before leaving, as if giving a pat on Berthe’s head. He didn’t look back, and just halted for a moment, looking at Ryder''s corpse.
His eyes squinted, and a heavy sigh escaped his mouth, pulling his chest in – his ribs poking out of his skin. Yet, reluctantly, and gradually, he moved forward.
Ryder’s body was face down on the floor. Roland clutched its shoulder and turned it around, as his eyes laid on its face. Instinctively, sharp talons emerged out of his fingers, and his golden iris glinted with an intent of murder.
<i>A snake beastman? </i>Subconsciously, his lips couldn’t help but part, in a gasp.
<i>Why? </i>He turned his head, looking outside, into the <i>Lylle </i>village. He wanted to call out for people or the guards, but of course, none would hear.
<i>Why would they throw away a snake beastman? </i>He turned back to Ryder, gazing at his face, making sure he was seeing a snake beastman.
<i>My father’s research! </i>He snapped up, and started to run back towards his hut. <i>My father’s research must be having something. </i>
His legs not able to hold him, he staggered inside the door of his hut. Bertha jumped at her place for a moment, terrified by the sudden intrusion. But then she just watched Roland, in the light of the setting sun, frantically leaping towards the old trunk.
It had always remained locked, lying at the corner since their mother’s death. Bertha was clutching on her stomach to lighten her hunger, but her grip lightened. She just watched her brother running around, searching for something. It reminded her of the past decade, when their father was alive.
“It has to be here… it has to be.” Roland looked around, mumbling to himself. “No way the rats took it away. I keep it– Ah!” He sighed, the corner of his mouth slightly curving up.
He picked the iron key, and leapt at the trunk. He put the key inside, and with two clinks, the trunk unlocked. A bit to the left, and then right – his hand rummaged through it. The trunk was small, and soon, he slid the scales, and compasses out of the way, to find a bundle of paper.
“What are you doing?” Bertha asked, not moving from her place.
“Shh! Bertha,” He didn’t look up, “Not right now, please. Shut up for a moment.”
Bertha didn’t speak, and just watched her brother, flapping through the pages. She was never interested in dad’s research, unlike Roland. He used to work in the day, for buying a candle each day, and run around to the quiet, smelly hills in the west of the slums, for a quiet read.
“Snake, snake, snake. Yeah here!” He collected the scattered pages in a bundle, and pulled out a small bundle, tied with threads, marked : Snake beastman.
“<i>The snake god’s name is undoubtedly mentioned in Zorian history a thousand times. Au-ule- ro-me-bro… these are the current descendants of Zorians. Though, according to my hypothesis. This isn’t the correct name. </i>
<i>Like any race, the snake beastmen were born by the bite of Snake god, and his apostles. But as for why there were only twelve snake beastmen in history. Black claw, the tower’s ranger, perhaps possesses a very thin amount of that blood. </i>
<i>After the Invasion war, and the fall of Zorians, what’s left of them is rowdy hooligans, which only carry their lost weapons. But in my early days, when I used to fly around the world. About seven centuries ago, I met the leading archaeologist at the time. By his grace, I could view a slate left of the ruins. </i>
<i>Years of decoding it, this is all we know about true snake beastmen: Death is the way… white… black. </i>
<i>I used to lead a lot of research, and talked to a lot of pioneers, but I failed to find any connections. Unfortunately, now I am forever doomed in the slums.”</i>