Soulshocked | ONC 2021

An empty sacrifice

"Kill me."

The bandit crawled forward by digging his filthy, long fingernails in the dirt and pulling his body, stains of blood and guts leaving a trail on the sparse patches of grass.

The squelching sound of pierced flesh stabbed through the air. A tiny black blade had landed in the man's neck, stopping him cold.

"I'm sorry."

Garranis walked over to the dead raider that hosted his knife, his eyes shuttered as he approached. He would have to open them eventually, but for now the blurriness was preferable.

He squatted down next to the corpse, opening one eye fully and yanking out the small knife by the handle. It wore the makeup that Garranis loathed.

Garranis squeezed his nose and rolled over the dead body, a stringy intestine limped out of the man's open wound. He shut his eyes again.

Taking a deep breath, he opened them again and pulled off the former raider's bulky brown vest. He patted it down. There was a small hunting knife, but that was it.

"Why do you always do that?"

Garranis turned. The speaker, a shorter man with a thick grey beard was waddling over.

"You know why. They sometimes have bandages, or alcohol, or something," Garranis said.

The bearded man snorted, placing a hand over his eye and standing on his tiptoes to look over the grassy plains for the multitude of dead bodies.

"I think you hate it too much for it to be worth it," he said.

"I hate all of this, but I still do it," Garranis replied.

"Cause you're so damn good at it. If I was half as good a blacksmith as you are a killer, well then maybe you wouldn't have to be such a damn good killer," the bearded man laughed, handing. Garranis a small jug of water.

Garranis chugged it down.

"I don't like to think myself a killer," Garranis said.

"Ahh, killer, protector, Krinosis, Krinosas," the bearded man scoffed. "I should have a thousand titles in town, but I settle with one, blacksmith. If you weren't here to kill people like these, we'd all be—"

The bearded man stopped in his tracks.

"I'm sorry, Garranis. I didn't mean to."

Garranis got up from his squatted position, continuing on in the direction which the bearded man had come from.

"It's okay, Hagsin. I know you didn't."

Hagsin's eyes fell to the ground, and he fell a few paces behind the taller man. But not long later, he brightened, jogging up to Garranis.

"I have good news though, Garranis! That man, the uh, the doctor, he should be arriving here soon."

This time, Garranis stopped, and Hagsin did as well. The warrior's sharp, brown eyes stared into the blacksmith's.

"He is here?"

"I-I'm not sure," Hagsin stuttered. "But he should be soon—"

The warrior sprinted off like a race horse, the blacksmith's legs failing to keep as he was dragged along by the arm.

Hagsin's knees ached even more under the weight of his arms, and he struggled to prevent himself from collapsing forward. It was as if dust was trapped inside his lungs and his throat.

Garranis, on the other hand, was unfazed, and his eyes scanned the village for the sight of any newcomers.

He reached down to take Hagsin by the hand, but the older man raised a finger to indicate he needed a few more seconds to catch his breath. Garranis groaned, and with a sharp exhale, Hagsin stood up and followed the man around the dirt roads of the village.