Playing The Victims [BL]

Chapter One Hundred & Thirty-Eight | Fourth World

[ 138 ]

[ I suppose I should give a warning for this chapter? .. hm. I'll think about it and get back to you. ]

It was a day later, in the early hours of the morning where everyone's defences were expected to have fallen as the warm sunlight poked above the horizon, where the first snaps and cracks of branches on the ground filled the silent air. Movements clumsy and uncertain, these strangers kept themselves close to the thick trees and tried to go as far as they could unnoticed.

Dotted around the enclosed landscape were shelters made entirely from wood and whatever else the forest had to offer. They were completely peaceful due to the early time of the morning, with no signs of life from any of them.

Those unwelcome few were counting their lucky stars as they steadily approached, weapons firmly in grasp. Hand gestures and barely noticeable whispers were sent from one to another and soon the group splintered in order to efficiently attack as a collective.

The man in charge of this group was sneering, ridiculing those who would shortly be caught unawares. As soon as they each reached the threshold, each group looked to their leader and awaited his signal. And with a sharp nod, they received it— pouncing into the shelters with weapons raised and desire for blood ensnaring their gazes.

Their guttural calls revealed their presence, but as they quickly came to realise, nobody was home. By the time they looked at one another, confusion overwhelming that cockiness, some more sounds of movement were swiftly heard. This time it was a resounding snap, and as they moved to leave, the roof which had recently had it's supports altered, came tumbling down.

Neglecting to look up, the men who had just stepped without hesitation into the plan Finch had nicknamed the 'Venus Fly Trap', were impaled by the wooden spikes which had been hand-crafted and then bound to the lining of the roof; awaiting its victim.

Only one man was able to avoid the trap, and he spun around trying to look for the enemy. But it didn't matter how hard he looked, even in his last moments he never saw a face. Only an arrow which shot out of nowhere and hit him straight in the chest. As his body hit the ground, those who had long since been prepared for such an attack, left congratulating each other for later and moved on to the next group.

Finch had stuck by his desire to bring the whole battle to an end before it even begun, but as the torturous hours stretched on and Falcon had yet to return, his thoughts soured. Now he was faced with the reality of the situation, the brutality of his own species which would always resort to violence.

It was a natural phenomenon. Something that would be far harder to stop instead of embracing. And for those who shared reservations about fighting, it always came down to the same thing. Whether they would risk losing everyone they cared about to the hands of those they refused to fight, or would they fight those who posed the greatest risk and ensure the safety of those treasured few.

If System was watching or not, Fahren knew they would be reiterating that the decisions he should make are the ones he believes are the right ones. He should do what he absolutely believes to be the right thing, and regardless of the outcome when the time comes, he would have been true to himself.

Which is why Finch didn't feel guilty watching what he just watched. His decision for there to be no bloodshed was ambitious and overall unlikely. It had just taken him longer than in the previous worlds to fully comprehend who his 'treasured few' actually were. And that it no longer mattered what Hawk's justifications were for slaughtering innocents, Fahren knew that the man was yellow eyes. The virus that System created just for him.