An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

The girl stood before the poised men... her heart beating within her chest as adrenaline filled her body... she tensed, tightening the grip she had on the dagger... as the two mercenaries circled her like sheep up for appraisal. From one, they became two—it seemed the count had increased the difficulty.

Their movements, though tense, still failed to hide the arrogance they carried instinctively. No matter how dangerous the girl was, their mental aptitude did not allow them to accord her a danger level equal to their worst nightmares.

The girl did not move. She stood like a spring ready to be loaded.

She strained her eyes, watching for any sudden attacks. Her instincts screamed at her to keep her eyes on them no matter what. Unlike them, she had no skill whatsoever in combat...

A fight to the death was something else entirely—the desperation on both sides could be the deciding factor. How they used that desperation to increase their odds of survival might ensure victory.

The picnic basket weighed heavy in one hand, the dagger heavier in the other. Blood clung to her skin like oil. Her limbs trembled from fatigue, from the adrenaline crash. Her body wasn't made for this. Raised on the bare minimum, even minimal work was a burden on her malnourished form.

Her breath was shallow, her lungs burning, her small chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm.

One of the men spoke, his voice low and sharp:

"She's just a kid. Overwhelm her and don't let her use that accursed dagger."

The other nodded and quietly positioned himself.

The girl's knees ached, and her wrists burned with pain. She had never held a dagger before, and now her body reminded her. Her other hand weighed heavy with the basket—it didn't help in this situation, yet she couldn't leave it behind lest she allow the other party to win.

Still, she tightened her grip on the dagger, but her hands were too small, and all the blood made it difficult to maintain a proper hold.

So she didn't notice when the first mercenary lunged at her like a steaming truck. Her pain had distracted her—

—and that made her reaction slow.

His boot, lethal and brutal, knocked the wind out of her, followed by a vicious kick to the abdomen and her frail ribs, sending her flying.

CRACK!

There was a muffled snap of bones...

And a scream of pain from her—

"Arghhhhh!" Her scream was sharp and heavy, slicing through the ears of the mercenaries. Though they felt shame and anger, they stilled themselves—they had to finish her off.

If only they could make it less painful, but since she chose to fight back, they would show her pain. Maybe then, she would give up and accept an easy death.

THUD!

Her body hit the ground heavily, followed by a muffled boom. The energy the mercenary used was immense. Her organs rattled, bells rang in her ears, her head spun, and the pain was like a blazing furnace within her... it burned...

Her vision swam—everything was a blur.

She coughed a mouthful of graying blood. The basket had nearly flown from her hands, but it stayed... an extra weight she could not let go of, no matter how hard it was to fight like this.

The dagger, too, was still in her hand—but barely.

She had to get up. She had to stand. She had to fight harder.

And yet another boot came down on her. It was aimed at her chest. If it landed, it would crush her ribcage, shatter her heart, and kill her instantly.

In a certain sense, this was mercy from the second mercenary. Watching her breathe and hack blood reminded him of dark memories—he wanted to end her struggle. But the girl was not appreciative—she rolled, though not far enough.

SNAP!

Bone cracked like glass, the bones in her arm holding the basket shattered by his heel. Her scream tore through the night.

She couldn't breathe. Her arm now lay useless, the basket still attached at the other end—but it might as well not have been.

The dome rippled as heavy pressure descended onto the mercenaries, but with a gesture from the Count, it vanished like a breeze.

"Don't interfere, Adler. This is her rite, let her fight for it," they heard him say.

For the first time since the game began, fear crept into her heart like a worm. It slithered into her mind, and the emptiness she felt was pushed aside to make room for fear. She feared the pain. She feared death. She feared what her mangled body would look like if things continued like this.

She feared failure—the feeling of powerlessness. She was powerless to help her parents. Maybe then, they would have all died together fighting, just as they did every other day to live.

To live in this society that pressed others beneath its feet. Like an endless ladder: the divine stepped on the monarchs of Astrea, who stepped on the nobles, who stepped on the lower nobility, who then stepped on commoners. And even the commoners would find others to suppress. A constant war of oppression, to feel superior. She was tired of it all. But she didn't want to go out like this.

She feared giving up. She feared surrender. She feared abandonment. She wanted to sleep. She wanted warmth. Was she asking for too much?

She looked up, blood pooling in her eyes. They had long lost what they once were, becoming unrecognizable.

Her ears picked up the laughter of the two men. It wasn't cruel laughter—it was relief. They thought the noble would interfere, but he didn't.

"Pathetic little thing, see how your master cares for you." One of them squatted next to her, picking her up by the hair, forgetting what happened to the last man who touched her hair.

"Do you see now?... Hmm? Do you see the cruelty of life? Be obedient and just accept your death." His eyes locked with her bloodied ones.

She tried to move—but her limbs felt like lead. Her ribs screamed. Her broken arm throbbed with every heartbeat.

She clenched her jaw. She wouldn't cry.

She wouldn't.

But that defiance only enraged the man.

"WHY DON'T YOU JUST DIE!" the man roared. His mind was filled with fear, anger, shame, and detachment. Seeing her still so stubborn broke the last straw of his sanity.

A vicious punch landed on her face, breaking her jaw. The raw power these men had was nothing to scoff at.

If she could scream, she would have—but her jaw was out of commission. This time, it seemed she might truly die. The pain had long frayed her nerves, but something was taking it away—devouring her pain in small trickles.

The mercenaries might have been stripped of their power and weapons inside the dome, but their physical strength remained. They didn't need reality manipulation to deliver bone-crushing blows.

Lost in delirium, her body trembled and rattled, random thoughts flooded her mind. There were screams of rage from beyond the physical world. She saw pale faces scream for her, shout in anger. They embraced her broken body, offering what little warmth they had carried with them before they passed on. Something circled her body—but it was elusive.

Her graying ichor pooled beneath her, creating something... wonderful.

Her hand instinctively swung the blade—the remaining one. It missed—but it had the desired effect. The man, not wanting to end up like the mercenary from before, retreated. The girl's head bounced off the ground below, sending a shiver through her body. She sucked in a sharp breath and struggled to stand with what little strength she had.

You are so pitiful, little girl... Look at you. Are you done already? Is this where you fall? Do you wish to embrace death as they spit on your cold corpse?

As she fought to stand, a whisper slithered into her mind. Let me help you.

It offered.