1453, Arsakhena under the jackboot.
The Third Continental Wars incinerated the Old Order. In its wake, the New Order arose from the ashes, burying millions of souls under the brutal regime of Eumeswil and its alliance Unitypakt.
Eumeswil came as the uncontested hegemon of the new Arsakhena. The war was won, at all costs, yet humiliation followed—The state’s grand ambitions of a new world for Meihrians came to a halt as economic and political crises followed while the decaying Reichsführer Alfred’s watch was clouded by the vultures of the party below.
In this world, within Eumeswil’s forests, a bandit camp harbors criminals conversing amongst themselves.
-”Feh! Talk about tough times! Lately there ain’t been nothin’ worth plunderin’... and now this terrible night and rain.” grumbled the cloaked bandit, taking a swig from his water bottle.
-”Looks like things’re shrivelin’ up in these parts.” spoke the bandit leader. “Only good’s we caught this scrawny kid wanderin’ the forest.”
With a smirk, the bandit wearing a bandana added, ”Well, even so, she’ll be worth somethin’ when we sell her off.” as he cheerfully hopped onto a nearby tree branch next to the captured girl.
-”He likes her.” mused the bandit with cloak.
The bandana-wearing bandit walked near the tied up and gagged young, helpless girl. He began licking her delicate, small neck. Terror gripped the girl, causing her to tremble and break into a cold sweat, as she yielded to the relentless assault he unleashed. The bandit leader, though callous, frowned at the bandana-wearing bandit’s behavior.
"Enough of that, Varro!" the leader barked. "We're here for profit, don’t do anythin’ to the loot. We gotta sell her."
Varro stepped back, smirking at the girl with a sinister glint in his eyes. The bandit leader, a burly man with a scar across his face, approached the captive girl with a calculating gaze. He observed her: She had white skin, silver-coloured eyes and short, straight hair, and she was quite tall for a girl at her fifteens. The bandit leader measured from his eyes that she was one hundred eighty centimeters tall. Her face was like a master sculptor sculpted it, her features were delicate and simply beautiful. She was truly pristine, and he commented on it:
-”Though I have to say, she does have a pretty face. I be guessin’ it wouldn’t hurt to have some fun, right gentleman?”
The two bandits looked at each other, they saw that they both had smiles that reached their ears. They turned their heads towards their captain and replied with excitement: “Aye!”
The bandit leader threw the doll hat and the cloak the girl wore to the muddy forest ground. He gripped her dress between her chest and ripped it apart with his big hands, revealing the petite breasts of the girl. The bandits stared at the girl with lustful eyes and they ran to her and pinned the girl down, the bandit with cloak on the head and Varro on the feet. Varro undressed the shoes of the girl and let out her socked feet, to which he salivated. The cloak-wearing bandit detested:
-”That’s gross, man!”
-”H-hey, everyone has prefer-!”
-”I would strongly advise you to reconsider your interactions with the young lady, lest you may suffer undesirable consequences.” A cold, ominous, and deep voice cut through the air.
The bandit group stopped abruptly after hearing this shivering voice behind them. All of the bandits turned their heads shakingly towards their backs and focused all their attention there.
What they saw were a man that had an obsidian-black complexion, dark hair, and amethyst eyes. By the looks of his face, he seemed he was in his forties and his right eye was closed shut. He was short, shorter than the girl, and had a body that befits a monster hunter: Muscular, shaped, and he had scars and wounds all over his face. He wore a black garb: A fedora, a cloak, and a trenchcoat. He holstered a revolver on his right hip and a terrifying, dark scythe was grasped by his gloved hands.
-”W-who the hell are you? W-What you tryn’a pull?!” blurted Varro.
-”H-How long’ve you been there, bastard?!” snapped the bandit leader.
-”Long after you all start jabbering.” replied the man with scythe.
-”You’ve made a fool out of us, you fuckin’ nigger!” uttered the cloak-wearing bandit.
-”I didn’t. Now, leave the young lady alone.” The man began walking forward.
-”D-don’t screw with us, man… We could drag out your bowels!” threatened Varro.
-”H-hey Yannick, do you think he is a monster hunter ?” asked the cloak-wearing bandit to his leader.
-”Don’t be a dumbass, Ralph. A monster hunter is a rare as a goddamn unicorn. This cunt is just a guy tryin’ to play hero!” bluntly answered Yannick. He looked at the man coming to them. “Don’t ya realize the position you’re in now? You are one-to-three, I’ll give ya one chance! Leave all your arms and goods and split!”
The man suddenly dashed forward with incredible speed, punching the face of Yannick, which send the bandit flying and crashing straight to a nearby tree. Ralp and Varro looked at their boss and they saw that his face was a bloody pulp: Crimson blood was gushing out of his nose, mouth, eyes and from some parts of his face. His features were twisted in pain.
The bandits stared in horror as the mysterious man effortlessly incapacitated their leader. Varro and Ralph hesitated for a moment, exchanging uneasy glances, but fear quickly overpowered their bravado.
"Y-you're gonna pay for that, you son of a bitch!" Varro shouted, drawing a pistol from his belt.
The man with the scythe raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. With a swift and fluid motion, he unleashed the dark weapon, its blade reflecting the moonlight. The air seemed to thicken with tension as the bandits realised they were outmatched.
"You really want to go down this path?" the man warned, his voice low and ominous.
Varro lunged forward, attempting to shot the man with his gun, but the man effortlessly sidestepped the attack. In return, the man dashed while the scythe arced through the air, and with a flick of the wrist, Varro’s arm was cut and his pistol naturally dropped to the ground.
-”MY ARM!” Varro screamed in pain to the night sky in tears.
-”You had your chance,” he intoned, his voice low and threatening. “Now, it’s time for consequences.”
Ralph, witnessing the futility of his comrade's efforts, took a step back, his courage waning. The man turned his gaze towards Ralph, his amethyst eyes gleaming with an otherworldly intensity. Ralph felt a surge of water soak his crotch as he trembled at the sight of the man: He realised he was a real monster hunter. Ralph began running away but the man swung the scythe in a wide arc, releasing a surge of dark energy that sent Ralph flying to the ground. He crashed into the tree, knocked unconscious by the sheer force of the attack as his head suffered major concussion.
The captive girl, still tied up, watched in awe and confusion as the man effortlessly defeated her tormentors. She couldn’t believe her luck as the mysterious figure approached her, his otherworldly eyes locking onto hers.
-”Fear not, young one,” he said, his voice still cold but softer now. “You are safe.”
With a single swing of his scythe, he cut the ropes binding her hands and feet. The girl quickly ungagged herself and, though grateful for her rescue, still eyed him cautiously.
-”Who… who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling.
The man offered a slight bow and introduced himself. “I am known as Hazmil Tadesse, a monster hunter and a mage.”
As Hazmil spoke Varro picked up his revolver with his intact hand and aimed at Hazmil with a smile of desperation. The girl saw Varro and shouted:
-”Behind you!”
Varro fired the revolver and Hazmil calmy but swiftly turned and deflected the bullet with a motion of his scythe, changing its mark to Varro’s head. Before Varro could comprehend what had transpired, the bullet penetrated his skull, causing him to tumble to the ground with a rough impact. Blood began to trickle from the fatal wound.
Hazmil turned back to the girl, his expression unchanged. He sheathed his scythe and crouched down to her eye level.
-”I appreciate your warning. Now, you are free to go.” Hazmil said calmly.
The girl hesitated, eyeing Hazmil cautiously. Slowly, she nodded, still unable to find her voice.
-”Where is your abode, young lady?”
The girl, still shaken from the recent events, pointed towards the east, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and lingering fear. Hazmil Tadesse nodded, his amethyst eyes locking onto hers once again.
-“Very well. Head back to your home, and do not worry about these bandits any longer. They won't trouble you again. And take this.” He spoke and gave his trench coat to the girl. He straightened, turning his back towards the girl.
-”M-my name is Annabeth.”
Hazmil turned back to face Annabeth, acknowledging her with a nod. "Annabeth, be vigilant."
Annabeth, still recovering from the trauma, managed a weak smile and whispered, "Thank you, Hazmil."
The enigmatic man disappeared into the night, leaving Annabeth alone amidst the fallen bandits. As she made her way back to her town, her mind raced with a mix of fear and relief. She couldn't shake off the images of the bandits and the mysterious man who had saved her. Despite the unsettling encounter, a spark of curiosity ignited within her.
***
As Hazmil and Annabeth approached her town, the looming silhouette of the settlement gradually emerged from the shadows. The moonlight cast a pale glow upon the desolate streets, revealing the town's dilapidated structures, their weary facades worn out. As they walked through the entrance, Hazmil couldn't help but notice the cracked cobblestone pathways that struggled to maintain their original form.
The houses, once vibrant with life, now stood as weathered remnants of a better time. Windows were shattered or boarded up, and paint peeled away from the decaying wooden panels. A melancholic air enveloped the place, as if the very essence of the town had succumbed to the weight of countless hardships. The occasional creaking of a rusty sign or the forlorn howl of the wind through abandoned alleyways added to the eerie atmosphere. They approached Annabeth’s house and saw her mother in front of it, washing some close in a basin. Her mother noticed them:
-”Annabeth… You…” She muttered with her tender and shaky voice. Annabeth’s mother ran to her and placed her hands on Annabeth’s shoulders as she cried “Where have you been all night girl?! Do you know how worried I was?!”
-”A-Alright mom, just keep it quiet.” Annabeth said in embarrassment.
Annabeth heard footsteps coming inside the house. It was getting near to the door and the footsteps were quite heavy: It was her dad. He opened the door and revealed his drunken self:
-”Whaaat? Annabeth? Runnin’ out like that all’ve shudden like a jackrabbit… Where the hell you’ve been wanderin’ all night, ahhh?”
-”S…So what… You look ridiculous still drinking.” Annabeth contested.
-”D-dear, please stop… S-She came back safe, after all…” Her mom muttered.
-”Shay wha ?” Her father said to Annabeth. “Ye shtupid runt! Go buy me shome booze.”
-”You’re going to keep drinking?!” Annabeth spoke.
-”Annabeth stop that!” Her mom scolded.
But she pressed on. ”Enough already! Day after day you just keep drinking and babble about how you hate your wife and daughter! Why don’t you think about us some?!”
Annabeth’s father hit her in the face. She fell to the ground with a thud and grasped her cheek where her father hit her. Hazmil kept watching while his arms were folded.
-”Don’t talk to me like ya know more than me!”
Annabeth only stared to her father in contempt.
-”What? What’s that look…?” Annabeth’s father uttered in surprise as he grabbed a nearby stick.
-”A-Apologize to your father, Annabeth!”
-”Outta the way, Caroline!” Annabeth’s father shoved her mother away.
-”Mom!” Annabeth screamed while people of the town gathered around the unfolding scene.
He began hitting Annabeth with the hard, wooden stick. “What was that look for?! What, huuuh, what?! You gotta show me more respect! You gotta… gotta… be nicer to me! ” and he hit her with a powerful blow to the kidney that left Annabeth breathless.
Hazmil still stood there, his hand gripping his forearms tightly. Annabeth’s father’s realized Hazmil and then gave Annabeth a surprised look.
-”So… So that’s what have you been doin’ all night, huh?! You fuckin’ whore!” Annabeth’s father began to hit harden than usual. “You are now a fuckin’ coal burner now huh?! You disrespectful mud shark!”
-”D-dad it’s a- it's a misunder- AHH!” Annabeth couldn’t spit her words out while her father was beating her to a bloody pulp.
-”You goddamn disappointment, you nigger lover!”
-”I would advise you to stop being hot under the collar, mister.” Hazmil finally spoke.
Annabeth’s father became shaky, yet continued. -”W-what, what did you say to me? What the he’ll are you doin’?! I will fuckin’ have lynch you if I have to black buck! You are not even half a man!”
Just as his eyes wandered to Hazmil’s open-carried revolver, Hazmil announced:
-”Are you, by any chance, Mister Klemens?”
-”H-How do you know my na-”
-”I am the monster hunter hired by you to slay the beast plaguing your town. Would it be permissible for us to talk within the confines of your home?”
Surrounding them, a sea of astonished faces emerged, accompanied by hushed whispers and murmurs. Klemens, bewildered, sensed a chill of anxiety as cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
-”O-Of course, Mister… uh…. H-Halim?”
-”Hazmil.”
-”Please, please do come in, Mister Hazmil!”
***
-”A poisonous beast, you say?” Hazmil said with an eyebrow up. “That proves to be quite vexing.”
-”Y-Yeah, it sneaks into the town at dark and attacks whatever it sees! Our crops gets trampled, our livestock poisoned or outright eaten, and it's just taking lives left and right! Bullets even don’t work to it!” stammered Klemens.
The two men talked on the table as Annabeth and her mother Caroline watched. Caroline was treating Annabeth’s wounds as she hugged her tightly.
-”Normal bullets can’t effectively hurt every beast, forget about even killing them. Do you know where this beast comes from, Mister Klemens?” asked Hazmil.
-”Well… Uh, it troddes to the town from the wrecked path from the south. No one ever goes there since it appeared and the road has become pretty run down.”
-”Does the monster use magic? Does it leave any magicium residue?”
-”Not a hint of magic, sir.” Klemens felt embaressment calling Hazmil “sir.”
-”Does it have feathers or lack them?”
-”Nah, no feathers! B-but picture this, grotesque flappy skin! Muscles on full display and everythin’!”
-”I guess it must be pretty hungry. Guess one village is not enough to sustain it.” Hazmil mumbled.
He got up from the chair and announced:
-”What plagues this town is a Cirein.”
-”C-Cirein?” muttered Klemens.
Hazmil continued. “As you all saw, it is a poisonous creature, and you only need to inhale or touch it’s poison to be poisoned. It gradually reveals it's poison to the air but it is not going to be a hard hunt.”
Annabeth looked with a face of curiosity, eager to see the monster hunter fight again.
-”I require a place to stay, mind if I stay in your home, Mister Klemens and Mrs. Caroline?”
-”Absolutely not!” hastily replied Klemens.
-”Well, I will head out then. It was nice talking to you .”
Hazmil gave one last look to Annabeth and left the house. He sighed deeply as he tried to uncloud his mind of the thoughts of this dysfunctional family and instead focused on the task ahead. He has seen families countless time like this, and yet, it still bothers him to see these relationships.
As he looked around the town, he saw the untrusting and skeptical stares of the people, filled with judgement and prejudice. He knew he would not find a place to sleep. The only thing left is to walk and find a comfortable point in the forest to set a camp on. So he began walking toward the forest.
Before he could leave the vicinity of the house, the door creaked and Annabeth came to him.
-”Mister Hazmil, I am so sorry for my father’s foolish behaviour…”
-”Thank you for your kind words. Please rest assured that there's no need to apologize on behalf of your father. Is there something you want?”
Annabeth felt her cheeks blushing at the well-spoken words of Hazmil. She spoke:
-”I can show you somewhere where you can rest if you like…”
***
-”Here we are… You can rest in this windmill shed. No one’s used it since it broke down. When morning comes, I’ll bring some food. Then we’ll talk… Stay put until then, please.”
-”Thank you for your consideration. I will.” Hazmil entered the abandoned windmill shed.
The windmill shed, though dilapidated, offered a sheltered space for Hazmil. As he entered, the creaking sound of the rusty door echoed through the stillness of the night. The interior was musty, with the faint scent of rotting wood lingering in the air. Hazmil surveyed the surroundings, finding a corner that seemed somewhat less dusty than the rest.
He took off his fedora, hanging it on a protruding piece of wood, Hazmil unholstered his revolver and laid it beside him. He gripped his scythe and shoved inside his—now open—right eye as it changed its form into darkness. The darkness completely went inside the empty eye socket and he closed his right eye shut. Sitting on the cold ground, he closed his amethyst eye, allowing his mind to wander.
The events of the night replayed in his thoughts—the bandits, Annabeth's rescue, and the revelation of the town's affliction. Hazmil knew the nature of a Cirein, a creature he had encountered before. But this time, it seemed different. The town, its people, and the underlying tension intrigued him. Ever since that event that cost him everything, the world seemed to fall into the darkness. The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born: now is the time of monsters . He knew that very well…
As Hazmil delved into his introspection, Annabeth stood outside the windmill shed, uncertain of what to say or do next. The rain continued rashly, making a cacophony with the rustling leaves and occasional hoots of distant owls. She contemplated the mysterious man who had appeared out of the shadows, his presence shifting the course of the night. She felt a different aura from him. A holy aura . But what exactly is he? She thought.
With a hesitant sigh, Annabeth turned away from the shed and walked towards her house. The glow of a few lanterns illuminated the path, casting a dim light on the worn cobblestones. As she approached her home, Annabeth's mind raced with conflicting emotions. Her father's violent outburst and Hazmil's intervention stirred a whirlwind of thoughts within her. She questioned the status quo of her life, the shackles of her family, and the future that awaited her in this desolate town.
Entering her home, Annabeth found her mother Caroline quietly sitting in a dimly lit corner, her eyes revealing a mix of worry and exhaustion. The frail woman looked up as Annabeth entered.
-”Are you okay, dear?” Caroline asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
-”I am fine. Don't worry about me, mom.” Annabeth forced a reassuring smile.
Caroline sighed, her gaze lingering on the bandages covering Annabeth's wounds. The mother's worry was palpable, but words seemed to escape her in that moment. The two women sat in a heavy silence, the air filled with unspoken thoughts and shared concerns. Without a word, Annabeth went into her room and sat on the floor, resting her back to her bed. With tears, she tightly hugged the trench coat that was given to her.