6. Killing Fields

Chapter 6

“Amal wake up,” a girl yelled, her hands clutching at his shoulders, “It’s time.”

Instinctively, Amal sprung up and overtook her into a chokehold, where a knife, appearing out of nowhere, was aimed at her throat. “Wai- stop it’s me, Jasmine,” Jasmine cried, her eyes wide with terror, coughing. Amal dropped his knife, leaving it on a nightstand, and freed Jasmine from the chokehold. “Wrong way to wake someone up Jas,” Amal said, standing up.

He scratched his hair, scanning his surroundings. Amal was in a makeshift tent, food and other supplies lay off to the side of the small room. Jasmine had just come in; The entrance to the tent were flapped open, which meant everything inside was visible to the outside. He sensed soldiers milling around outside his tent, whispering, and moving about. It was turning dark, almost night. Amal caught the scent of nature, the smell of grass, damp moss, and flowers. It seemed to wake him up instantly.

“Hmph,” Jasmine pouted, “So much for your so-called 'no hurting woman and children rule'.” Amal chuckled quietly. He slowly moved closer to the entrance of the tent, and zipped it shut. “What’s going on” Amal asked, sternly. Jasmine was wearing her uniform; A dark moss-olive green camouflaging jacket. She had holsters on both sides of her hip, long knives and several kunai placed on their respective sides. Her thick, black hair was tied up in a ponytail. Jasmine was ready for battle. Meanwhile, Amal had on only a pair of shorts, his bare chest exposed.

“Well?” Amal questioned, gathering his things while glancing at her. Jasmine tore her eyes off his chest. “Uh, boss said to get ready, we’re moving out”. Amal nodded, picking up his camo uniform, which was draped over a small nightstand. As he began to dress, he noticed Jasmine standing in the middle of the room, motionless. “Is there anything else?” Amal asked, staring at her. Under a single lightbulb that lit up the tent, her face seemed to glow. Her warm brown eyes stared straight at him. Amal felt warmth creep up to his face, he ignored it. “Nope, I guess I’ll see you to it,” Jasmine muttered, before leaving the makeshift tent. Amal sighed, staring as the flap of the tent close as she left. He then glanced at his hands. His fingertips were trembling. Memories of his reoccurring nightmare resurfaced, as he stared off into space. His body managed to pull itself into the uniform on autopilot. Instinctively, he tapped the underside of his arm sleeve. He felt the hidden blades beneath them.

After all his straps were tightened, his uniform firmly adjusted, Amal slung a small duffle bag over his shoulder. It carried all his essentials, sizable amounts of food, water, a medical kit, and various tools for his terrain. He walked over to a nearby folding table.

There was a large, bundled toolkit, spanning several layers of items within it. He released the clasp that held the toolkit together, which unfolded itself, exposing rows of deadly weapons and wicked sharp tools. There were 10 kunai throwing knives, a long knife, a hatchet, as well as various other tools designed for torture. Many of the weapons revealed intricate designs on the handle. Except for the kunai, many of the other weapons included a visible symbol at the bottom of the hilt; A depiction of a striking raven at its side profile, surrounded by blooming leaves, that point to the bird. Amal picked up a hatchet, and grazed his thumb over his gangs’ symbol, before placing the weapon back into the assortment.

Amal passed his fingers delicately over the weapons, as though they were his prized possessions. All of them seemed new and untouched; they’ve been cleaned thoroughly and efficiently, gleaming and shining. The weapons reflected light off the single lightbulb that hung on the ceiling of the ceiling. All the weapons were black as night, undetectable. Satisfied by his assortment of weapons, Amal used the clasp to fold the toolkit back to how it was previously; packed and bundled up tightly. He then placed the toolkit into his duffle bag that was slung over his shoulder. He patted his hand on his hip, which carried a pouch of some of the weapons he’d carried in his toolkit. It held several kunai, in the instance where he’d be under surprise encounters and attacks. Finally, Amal grasped a necklace from his nightstand. Attached to the necklace held a vial of deadly poison, in the instance he’d be captured and taken as prisoner. Amal stared at it for a moment, before pulling it over his head and tucking it inside his clothes, hidden from view.

He walked over to the flap of the tent, when he pressed some weight on his left ankle, feeling a mild jolt of sensitivity. Series of flitting images implanted itself in his mind; the faceless figure grabbing at his ankle, clawing at it. Amal shuddered and winced, breathing heavy. He took a deep breath, and moved forward, willing himself to forget the dream, which seemed to fade away rather quickly.

As Amal opened the flap out of his tent, he was greeted by the chaotic bustling of soldiers and medical officers trudging around, focused on their tasks. Amal pulled his cap on his head, walking over to the center of the camp, where a supervisor awaited his arrival. “Schmidt, we ready to move?” Amal called out to his co-partner in charge of the mission.

“Thamizh, glad to see you’re well rested, considering yesterday’s incident,” Schmidt answered, looking up from his table, reviewing some documents. “What are you talking about?” Amal answered, mildly puzzled. Some of the officers marching around, stopped to salute Amal, before continuing along. Schmidt was wearing a look of confusion. “The new plan we’ve strategized together for the past few nights, due to the unprecedented early arrival of our targets?” Recognition passed Amal’s face. “Of course,” Amal continued, “so I notice we’re almost ready to mount this part of the expedition,” Amal declared, scanning his surroundings. There were about a dozen soldiers on the scene, all rushing to prepare and pack up. Some seemed to have finished and were enjoying their meal at a designated area. Though everyone seemed busy and engrossed in their own activities, the area was relatively very quiet, except for the quiet whispers and other noises, namely the act of zipping up tents.

“Yes sir, just a few more things, and we’ll be able to begin,” Schmidt claimed. Amal nodded. He eyed Jasmine helping others with some tasks. She had woken him up, and Amal was under the notion that he was up earlier than he should’ve. Amal smiled, and then wandered along the muddy path that snaked through the makeshift camp. “Thamizh sir?” a soldier asked, catching Amal’s attention, “I require your assistance for a short moment,” he announced, just loudly enough for Amal to hear. Amal glanced at the soldier and trudged over. After a moment, the soldier disappeared inside a tent a few metres away. The door to the tent gently flapped against the winds. The winds brushed against Amal’s face, stinging his eyes; they suddenly felt sensitive. Rubbing them, Amal entered the tent.

“Thank you, Thamizh sir, this will only take a second,” the soldier said, motioning over to his table, where a map of the region was laid out. Amal drew closer to the map. It had markings and symbols drawn, the various encampments, deployments, formations of soldiers, as well as a detailed assessment of the environment. “A few of our guys were going over your strategy, and making some adjustments to our own,” the soldier continued, speaking rather quickly. “But there was an issue,” motioning to a point on the map.

Amal leaned over the table, staring at the map. He envisioned it as though it were in the third dimension; the forests blocking the view of the opposition, how the soldiers were to be deployed, and he envisioned the direction they were headed, as though a real-time simulation of the battlefield. He knew his group might be running into an unknown number of armed guards.

“We have a distraction element going through there…” Amal said, pointing behind several trees near the opposition’s village, “and in this scenario, we are providing due diligence in sneaking out of the enemy’s radar,” Amal kept his eyes on the map, still visualizing the elements of the environment they were about to forego. “Huh,” the soldier replied, crossing his arms, “Was that not in the action plan?” Amal sighed, and stood up straight, adjusting his uniform. “That was a last-minute change. And it is not in your jurisdiction, so it is not of your concern,” Amal ordered, staring coldly at the soldier. The soldier looked away, clearly afraid, even though the soldier was twice the age Amal was.

“Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be off. I believe everyone’s ready?” Amal asked, his cold stare striking daggers at the soldier. “Um, ye- yes sir, everyone’s ready,” the soldier replied, slightly trembling. Amal nodded, dropping his stare, heading out the door.

As Amal exited the tent, he was greeted by a warmer temperature outside. As well, Jasmine headed in his direction. Amal locked eyes with her, before turning and walking away. The doorway of the tent was flapped open, and Jasmine peeked at the remains of the soldier standing in the room of the tent. She caught up with Amal, who seemed to deliberately move faster. “What happened in there?” She asked him. Amal slowed his walk, his back unturned and stiff. “Nothing, I just provided him with some advice,” Amal replied. Jasmine didn’t seem convinced, eyeing him carefully. “I’m pretty sure he pissed himself in there,” Jasmine exclaimed, accusing, “You have to control yourself, Amal.” Amal sighed, dismissing the thought.

He turned to face her, staring at her. Jasmine abruptly stopped in her tracks. “I’m in control,” Amal said adamantly, “It doesn’t matter what you think I should do, we need to prepare for this mission.” Jasmine lifted her hands up in surrender, giving him an evil stare, before turning and marching away. Amal watched her leave, gritting his teeth. Flashbacks of the nightmare he had, suddenly flooded his mind. The darkness he’d felt, it seemed to creep back in. And just as quickly it popped in, the feeling, as well as his flashback, faded away sharply.

Amal motioned a boy slightly younger than him over. “Are they ready?” he asked, pointing at the small-scale, makeshift stable. The boy glanced at where Amal pointed. “Yes sir, the horses are ready.” Amal nodded, patting the boy on the head as they walked towards the stables.

“So, which one would you like?” the boy asked gently. “I think the usual, Billy would be fine,” Amal responded, his smile contagious. “Are you sure sir?” the boy asked, hesitantly, “He’s a little skittish right now.” Amal’s smile unwavered. “I’m sure.”

The stable was large, a little less than a dozen horses stationed within. As soon as they approached the stable, Amal recognized the horse. The unique auburn, luscious mane of the horse was favored to Amal, as well as the bond the two shared. Amal drew closer to Billy, his hand grazing the muzzle. Immediately recognizing him, Billy nuzzled his head under Amal’s hand, his tail raised high. “Wow,” the boy said, staring at Amal in awe, “I don’t know how you do that”. Amal’s hardened face melted, revealing an overjoyed child. “Do what?” Amal asked, adjusting the leather saddle of the horse. “He usually doesn’t like it when anyone else touches him, except you,” the boy exclaimed, ecstatically, “You’re like a horse whisperer!” Amal laughed, a genuine, heartfelt laughter, as he saddled up the horse, gripping the rope as he pulled himself over. He guided the horse through the center, where all the other soldiers gathered; they were ready. The atmosphere radiated of solemnness and determination. Amal stopped in the middle of the encampment with his horse, emanating a sense of power and strength.

“Everyone gather up,” Schmidt announced, standing in the center with his arms crossed, seriousness implanted in his face. “So, for this part of the mission, Amal and I will be leading our teams into the enemy village. The plan, as all of you know, is to capture Idelic, the operations specialist that has caused ours, as well as other villages, significant harm. Of course, this capture isn’t so simple, so Amal’s team is designated to support us, their strategies outlined in the action plan you’ve all seen. The fire will rise, we will prosper by eliminating our opponents.” In unison, everyone chanted the same line, “the fire will rise,” their voices echoing, stretching vastly beyond their little encampment.

Amal circled around, his horse facing most of the soldiers in the vicinity. His mere presence attracted everyone’s attention. Many with fear in their eyes, some in awe, and a few with scorn. Jasmine stood slightly away from the crowd, looking away. She seemed to be lost in thought. “Alright everyone,” Amal’s voice boomed across the field. “Let’s get settled within our groups, and we’ll be off. The Leader will be pleased with our success.” Everyone cheered, many smiling. Many were now effectively bustling with energy and willpower. “Mount your horses, soldiers, we’re headed to battle,” Amal exclaimed.

The two groups headed out of the camp, the horses carrying either solo riders or pairs, Amal in the front. The horses picked up speed. Amal was energized by the chilling breeze of the winds that passed over him. In the dark of the night, Amal felt most alive. As though a wolf, speeding through the forest with his pack, preparing to hunt for prey. Amal could feel his murderous hunger growing; soon, and for a moment, he’d be human no longer. With this thought in mind, Amal raced along, faster than the others. Zipping passed the winds and trees that trailed alongside him.

“Amal slow down!” Jasmine yelled. She was riding her own, Sasha, a mare with a taupe shade for a mane, and almond fur that covered the body. Amal turned his head around, glancing at the others. They were trailing far behind, at least several metres away and increasing every second. Amal leaned backwards and shifted most his weight on the saddle. Billy slowed down instinctively, producing a short, soft snorting noise. “Oops,” Amal said. Soon Jasmine was beside him, Sasha galloping comfortably. “You’re just itching for a battle, aren’t you?” Jasmine claimed, smirking. Amal glanced at her. “I’m just following my orders,” he said, speaking over the speeding winds, “But yeah of course”. Amal grinned at her. Jasmine rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you get tired of being reckless?” Jasmine questioned. There was a sizable boulder a short distance ahead, which was in Amal’s path. Directly behind the boulder was a little river stream that stretched along the horizon. Beyond that, there was a moderately downwards sloping hill that trailed down several dozen metres. Amal kept the pace. Without any signal, Billy seemed to understand Amal’s intentions. Catching Jasmine’s eye, he winked at her, as a response to her question. Sasha slowing down, Jasmine tugged gently on the reigns to move to the other side. The other horses and their passengers behind them were catching up. Within seconds, the boulder rapidly drew closer to them, and Amal and Billy continued at full speed. Amal sensed the rhythm and composure of Billy’s speed, acting as one, as they’ve done for years.

Billy’s hooves connected with the surface of the boulder, springing them both high up into the sky. Amal felt himself float in midair, everything seemed to slow down. In the peak of the jump, Amal caught the sight of lights that flickered countless miles ahead. The enemy’s village. Amal glanced down; they’ve crossed the small stream of water. Behind him, Amal heard the clapping of hooves against the dirt path. At this speed, the group would get there in less than an hour. Amal felt adrenaline pass through his veins, the sheer thrill coursing through his body and stretching beyond. Amal shook off the disapproving expressions staring back at him from behind, and Billy took off charging downhill. All of this, with Amal beaming with joy.

After the hill began to straighten and steady, Billy began to gallop at a slower pace, allowing the others to gradually catch up with them. Amal could sense Jasmine stifling a grin. Although it was dark and the night seemingly devoid, the hoofing of horses, the soft chirping of crickets, muffling voices behind him, the environment seemed to burst of life.

Jasmine and the other soldiers were only a few metres away now. “Okay, that’s all fine,” Jasmine whispered, Sasha sped up, so the two horses were racing side by side, “But what exactly are you about to do?” Amal glanced at her. “You mean the mission? I hope you read the plan, cause I’m not repeating it,” Amal said, with a sarcastic undertone. Jasmine eyed him, serious. “Something doesn’t feel right, I hope you’re not disobeying any orders,” she said, studying him. Amal remained silent for a moment, speeding up. The group increased their speed simultaneously.

Amal frowned. “I won’t, I’m going to do what I’m ordered.” He stared straight ahead, equivocally, the lights of the distant village became brighter and much more visible. One of the horses sped up. “Jasmine,” Schmidt said, expressing a look of solemness, “Give the two of us a moment, thanks.” Jasmine nodded suspiciously, slowing down until they were trailing a few metres behind to the right, away from earshot. Amal glanced at Schmidt curiously. “we’re nearing our entry point, we’ll be splitting off to our target,” Schmidt continued, before pausing for moment. “Clear your head, the added stress won’t be doing you any good. Know your role,” Schmidt added assertively, sensing Amal’s discomfort. Amal nodded, regaining his composure. Disguising his hesitant thoughts, suppressing it. Acknowledging Amal’s response, Schmidt distanced himself away from Amal. Jasmine was still riding several metres away from them, though a concerned expression on her face. The other soldiers trailed behind, scrutinizing them.

“Okay this is it everyone,” Amal whispered to everyone, as they slowed down, to his command. Amal stopped, and used the handle attached to the saddle of the horse to lower himself onto the ground. Everyone else did the same. They were a little less than a mile away from the target village. Amal grabbed his gear and double-checked the blades he kept hidden. He scanned his surroundings. Aside from his group and their furry companions, the forest they’ve stopped in, was devoid of any human contact.

The trees rose up high, almost as though touching the dark skies. Critters and other small insects and animals were perturbed at the group’s presence, the sounds of their noises echoed into the air as they swiftly fled. Amal’s razor-focused eyes guided a steady and secure path through the thick woods, one that snaked its way to a vulnerable entrance to the village. Everyone in the group gathered their equipment and tools, and made their way behind Amal, managing to stay completely soundless. It would’ve been difficult for an average human to detect the soldiers. Amal took the lead, moving soundlessly but quickly through his manufactured path. Cautiously trailing behind him, was Schmidt, followed by Jasmine and the rest of the menacing soldiers, who were all equally devoted to their mission.

Amal was careful to avoid any straggling twigs and noisy roots, as he dashed along the path. A short distance away, a single guard was stationed at a very high vantage point, slightly left of their path. They seemed to fidget with a tool of some kind. A large wall rose several dozen metres high and surrounded them. The wall circulated around the enemy base as a barrier. Amal, noting this, brandished his blade. He glanced at it. It was wicked sharp, it was a blade that would be able to silently cut through thick fabric and flesh like butter; with enough force, that is. Amal signaled for the others to spread out, hidden behind the many obscuring trees and bushes that blocked the guard’s view. Amal gripped the handle of the blade tightly, with his thumb and index finger.

The others stared at him in awe as he became immersed with his skill; becoming one with his weapon. Merely an extension of his body, was the blade. Finding an opening, Amal raised the blade a little higher than his right ear. He envisioned a straight line that connected his blade to a point of impact, the side of the guard’s head. The blade was whipped through his fingers, soundlessly, as it sliced through the air. The guard toppled over his post, falling backwards, disappearing from view. Amal heard a soft thump as the body hit the ground.

“Whoa,” whispered one of his soldiers, crouching behind a pile of bushes. Amal closed his eyes, channeling his focus. Above, a crow circled around the body, searching for flesh to devour. A pair of squirrels scampered around, disappearing into the dark woods. Sensing his surroundings, Amal concluded it were devoid of any other enemies.

He cautiously weaved through the path, arriving at the path that separated them from the dead guard and the hidden village. He let his hands pass over the wall. It was firm, but easily malleable. He slipped out two small hatchets and a thick bundle of rope from his backpack. As Amal hung the rope over his shoulder and grasped his hatchets, the others crouched behind, scanning their surroundings, and moving as silently as possible. Amal struck one of the hatchets as high as he possibly could, and threw himself higher, his forearms tingling as he climbed. His hatchets continued to strike, as he used them to rise higher up the wall. They were very sharp, stabbing the wall didn’t seem too much of an effort, though each strike made an audible noise echoing through the immediate area. Amal grunted as he made the last strike, already at the top of the wall. He crouched down, there was a short ledge on the other side of the wall, presumably footholds to scan the surroundings beyond the wall.

Amal stared out at the village. It was dark but had some flickering lights in some areas. Now only a short distance away, Amal marveled at the enormity of the village. It was spread across a countless number of acres, expanding far into the distance. He turned around slowly, careful not to make a noise. He glanced down the wall, his comrades were waiting, silently.

Amal rolled down the rope, which was more than long enough to reach Schmidt and the others below. He tied his end of the rope sturdily on the ledge he’d been standing on; it was stable enough. He drew closer to the wall, waving them up. Schmidt was the first to climb up, steadily, followed by Jasmine and the other nine soldiers. Not a few moments later, everyone managed to group up with Amal on the other end. Amal used the still tightened rope to slide down, the others following suite. The last soldier untied the rope and slung it over his own shoulder. They jumped, and curled into a ball, rolling onto the ground to cushion his fall.

Amal counted all the companions in his group. They were all there, silent and all crouched down, close to the ground. Amal snuck over to the dead guard’s body, retrieving his blood-stained blade. He motioned two of the soldiers to hide the body, as they carried it over to the side of an obscured area. Amal and Schmidt exchanged looks, nodding in unison, as the group was divided into two.

Amal made one last glance at Schmidt’s group and guided his own, sneaking into an exposed path into the village. He scanned his surroundings as he cautiously weaved through. Another guard was stationed with their back pointed towards the village a short distance away, positioned with their arms crossed, at the top of the wall. The guard was closer to Schmidt’s group than their own. Amal grasped the handle of his blade, aiming it towards the guard. He suddenly felt a hand gently push down on it. It was Jasmine’s as she held her own blade in her hand, ready to wield. Amal nodded and continued in his path. A soft thud was heard a second later. Amal turned his head, the guard was gone, toppling over the high walls, as well as the blade in Jasmine’s hand. She expressed a look of satisfaction, glancing at him for approval. Amal nodded and guided the group along his created path.

Amal sensed a few figures walking towards them, a few metres away, but shielded from view. Amal signaled the group to stop, and they hid behind a wall of the nearby building. There were two guards, who walked past the group. Amal and the others were undetected, but the guards were in front of them. Amal eyed two of the other soldiers who were nearest to the soldiers and motioned over for them. They nodded as they understood, sheathing their weapons. The two soldiers quietly and cautiously snuck behind the guards, who seemed alerted at the absent guard at the post.

Quickly, in a matter of seconds, the two soldiers grabbed the necks and covered the mouths of the guards, and slowly snuffed out their breath. The guards made no noise as they shook their bodies helplessly, until they were laid on the ground, unmoving. The two soldiers hid the bodies under a nearby large pile of bushes, invisible to the eye.

They continued to move, parallel to Schmidt’s group, acting as overseers. Amal gathered the other group would be nearing the building of the target; they were closing in. Amal and his group only had a few moments. They reached a particular building, set in the corner of the enclosed village. Amal motioned for them to stop. They were in a secure area. “Alright, this is it,” Amal whispered, audible enough so Jasmine and the others could hear, “We’re splitting up for a moment, we need to secure all sides of the building.” He noticed Schmidt’s group just ahead, hidden within the shadows. They were waiting for assistance.

There was a clear entrance to the three-story building, a balcony on the second floor. Amal closed his eyes to sense his surroundings. “Jasmine and Klade, perform surveillance on that second floor. There are two guards present in there.” Jasmine and the others stared wide-eyed at Amal, who had just opened his eyes. “How- never mind, let’s go Klade,” muttered Jasmine, sneaking towards the building, starting to climb. Klade watched Amal for a moment, before joining her. “Everyone else, you’re to surround the rest of the building without being noticed, got it?” The rest of the soldiers nodded, beginning to disperse. The team was stationed and preparing. Amal sighed, dreading his next move.

Amal took a step backward and disappeared into the village. He sneaked along the dark areas of the village, managing not to get noticed. Amal sensed a group of armed individuals around the corner. Amal patted his sleeves. Not now, he thought, as he sped passed them, undetected. He swerved through another corner, narrowly avoiding some straggling villagers. Amal quickly held himself against a wall, willing the villagers to disappear. He peaked around the wall and found that they had left the area. As he hid himself behind the thick trunk of a towering tree, he spotted his targeted building. It seemed as though an ordinary wooden hut, similar to the other houses in the village. Though it were much larger than them and fit the description of Amal’s target house. Amal scanned his surroundings again.

Aside from the gentle breeze of wind flowing behind him, the streets seemed to be completely empty. Before continuing on, Amal recalled a previous conversation. Something doesn’t feel right, I hope you’re not disobeying any orders, Jasmine had said. Amal gritted his teeth. This is what I have to do, he thought. “Hey anyone there?” someone spoke, jolting Amal back to reality.

All his senses flared, a wave of unsettling energy washing over him. He crouched down, peeking over his shoulder. Amal instinctively slipped out a dagger in his hand. There were a couple villagers, clearly drunk, as they stumbled over each other. All males, but one of them squinted in Amal’s direction. They all stopped, uncertain. Damnit, Amal thought, I should’ve been more cautious. Amal stayed completely still for what seemed like an eternity, until the group continued on walking. “Huh, must just be imagining it,” the man said. “You dumb sehnae, got me paranoid for no reason,” one of the other men retorted, snickering, as they turned a corner into one of the narrow streets. Amal sighed, sheathing his blade. He neared the building, still hidden by the darkness of the night. Amal pressed his ear into the building. There was someone in there, snoring. Amal took a deep breath and slipped into an open window into the home.

Making no noise, he crept alongside the walls of the home. It was fairly larger than it seemed; the furniture, such as tables and decorative pieces, seemed to have been arranged to provide the illusion of space. The noisy snoring was audible from one of the rooms. Amal continued to move soundlessly, creeping towards the noise. A single drop of sweat trailed down the side of Amal’s face. He wiped it off quickly, with the back of his hand.

Amal entered a narrow hallway, with a few doors surrounding him. He slowly turned the knob to the one near to him. Amal cracked the door slightly open, just enough to peer through and scan the contents of the room. It was an empty bedroom. Judging by the various toys littered around the room, as well as the miniature bedsheet on the floor, Amal gathered it were a child’s bedroom. He was taken aback. The target apparently has, or had, a family. A child, maybe a wife too. Amal lowered his gaze for a short moment, before slowly shutting the door to the bedroom.

Now back in the hallway, Amal made his way along the path. Under his feet, a soft, lengthy rug was stretched as far as the end of the hallway, several metres across, that left dirt footprints behind Amal as he continued through.

He grasped the handle of the wooden door, that seemed to unravel at his touch. Attempting to open it, the door wouldn’t budge. Locked from the inside. Amal produced a metal pick from his shoulder bag, fiddling with it in his hands. He pressed it against the lock. Within a few seconds, he heard a soft click, that unlocked the door. He pressed a hand towards it, the door opening as slowly as possible. It made a creaking sound as it was pushed, though the snoring on the other side continued without disruption.

Amal was now inside, the room darker than he’d expected. He sensed the man slumbering off a few short steps away. There were various pieces of furniture around the room, as Amal cautiously stepped closer. He slipped out a few items from his bag. One a rope, it was a thin but sturdy rope that strengthened when it stretched and tightened. The next, was a medicinal pack, in which he pulled out a miniscule vial of a liquid with a greenish hue, as well a needle. He held them in his hands, his eyes glimmering with darkness as he stared at them for a moment. The fire will rise, a voice whispered.

…

Echoes of heavy breathing and steps wavered as Amal and his target exited the village, a considerable distance out of earshot. Amal stopped in his tracks, surrounded by the unwavering trees and darkness, as the night was pierced through the chilling veil of uncertainty and hollowness. Amal let go of his imprisoned individual, letting the man fall and slump over, face down on a pile of dirt. Amal stared at the sky, sensing the perfect moment. It was only a few seconds until the sedative wore off. He brandished a wicked sharp torture weapon, a blade with an uneven end.

With stone cold eyes, Amal firmly pressed the blade near the mans face, and covered their mouth tightly with his hand, which immediately woke the man up. “Wh-mph,” the man tried to speak. “I’ll let go in a moment,” Amal said, his face becoming more visible to the man. The man was white-faced in shock when he noticed the boy who caught him. Amal let go of his hand. “Harbinger of death,” the man whispered, trembling in pure terror. Tears began to form, already trailing down the side of the man’s face.

“Tell me what you know about the Zuela Quieve Clan,” Amal demanded, his blade dangerously close to the throat, “And you just might survive the night.”

Continued on: Adventure to the Unknown (Coming soon)

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