Chapter 2: Chapter 2: You Know Nothing, Useless Angel.

Everything hurts when she wakes up. The floor is hard. The thin tarp that she’s lying on doesn’t alleviate it the slightest. The breeze is cold. She’s staring at the ceiling. Well. It’s less of a ceiling but just a shabby, patchworked tent being put up by a stick. Ah... this is exhausting. She already misses her fluffy cloud bed. It’s noisy on the outside, the entire place reeks of blood, rot and manure, so she can’t get more rest even if she wanted to. Instead, she musters her strength sits up. A sharp pain jolts down the left side of her body. It makes her flinch inwards. Curl up like a ball. Then she examines her hand. It’s bandaged with a stick straightening out her arm. She can’t move it at all. This is so annoying. If she had her divine powers, then this wound would’ve long been healed.   

Like I said, if you want your powers back, find a way to make that white haired hottie sleep with you. 

Urg, she’s back. It’s too early for this,  

“You’re still going on about that?” damn, Bathory’s persistent. Perhaps she shouldn’t have yelled. Any exertion of force just makes her vision spin. She grunts, 

“He already said he’s not interested in you. Stop being so childish and just pass on. I have a mission to complete.” 

So, what if I’m childish! I am a child. Do you know, on the day I turned eighteen, was the day I died. So much for a happy birthday huh? What do you even know about our suffering when you’re holed up all cozy, looking down upon us with your condescending eyes. Where were you when my mother was cradling the corpse of my dead baby brother, delirious out of her mind as she still tried to breast feed him? Where were you when my uncle was forced to kill his own daughters just so they won’t get raped by Estelis soldiers? Where were you when children on the streets break their own fingers, burying the dismembered corpses of their siblings. You know nothing of this world. You have experienced nothing of it. Mission, mission, mission. We’re not a broken project for you to fix! This is our lives. Maybe that’s why you’re so heartless! 

She's anticipated comeback. But she hasn't anticipate it to hit her like a stab to her gut,

“I-…" she can’t refute against Bathory. There were ample instances which she could’ve prevented the fall of the seven kingdoms, and each time, she failed. She caused this, so she can only apologize,  

“I’m truly sorry for all the suffering I’ve put you through. Listen... I’ll work hard to fix this. I swear. So, none of these horrible things will happen again.” 

You’re sorry? Good. Repent. Now find a way to fulfil my wish. 

Ah. She just ruined it. She just ruined the moment,  

“So, it’s all about sex in the end for you? Woman! Don’t you have any nobler goals, like I want to end starvation. I want to save children from suffering. I want to see my family again.” now she just feels swindled,  

“Give me my pity back!” Bathory isn’t listening to her anymore, she’s obnoxiously singing la-di-la-di-da-I-can’t-hear-you, over whatever she’s saying. It’s giving her a pulsating headache, she rubs her temple, relents,  

“Okay. Okay. Enough already. I’ll try my best alright?” Bathory’s demeanor immediately changes,   

Sweet! You’re the best. Goodluck, useless angel! Silence. The pain gradually fades. She definitely got tricked. Then she takes a deep breath. Gives herself a pep talk. Alright, alright. This hurdle is part of her mission. She’s got to think about it this way. Perhaps it’s good that she gets close to that assassin boy. He seems like a General in Astia’s army and she’ll need information if she wants to get started on how to halt this war.  

Getting up, she makes her way out of the tent. Brushing the cloth aside, she squints at the sunlight shining through. The skies have cleared. The fire has been extinguished. But the smoke has yet to dissipate, furling into the clouds from the charcoal. She’s still in that tiny village she arrived at. Except, now it’s pitched with green tents and vine banners everywhere. 

The sigil of Astia, if she remembers, this war started because of an assassination on the Duke of Estelis. But it could’ve been prevented if she had successfully wedded the Princess of Estelis with the Prince of Astia. Perhaps, if she can somehow arrange a fated meeting between them again, the two kingdoms will be able to talk things out. Then Bam. World peace, she returns to heaven. Gets a promotion, everything is all good and well. Alright! Alright! She’s got to find that assassin boy to get things rolling!  

Now, where is he even? She’s walking down the dirt paths. Meandering past the tents, peeping inside. A patient in each one. Most of them are in horrible shape. Bandaged up and hardly breathing. On the other end, corpses carried by Astian soldiers are put in a pile as a mass grave is being dug by men and boys in chains. All of them have a scar carved into the base of their nape of a leaf. She recognizes the clothes some of them are wearing. The same blue uniforms with a leviathan head as the soldiers yesterday.  

They must be prisoners of war from Estelis. A bald middle-aged man is whipping them. Yelling at them to hurry up. The crack resonates sharply at his command. On the outskirts, there are more prisoners that’re being ordered to cut down trees in the perimeter and sharpen the logs to mend the fence. Another slave driver with a large beard is there, blowing his horn at the shackled workers as they stagger pass. The whiplash bounces onto an elderly prisoner. It topples him down. The log collapses on his back. Yet no one is helping him. They all have that dead look in their eyes. Listlessly marching forward to perform their duties like zombies. Neither are the soldiers nearby. They're on a break. Seated to a side, drinking ale and having a good time.  

The bearded slave driver is walking towards the old man. Oh. Is he going to help him?  

No... He’s kicking him, ordering him to get up. But each time the old man tries to support himself with his shaky arms, the brutal kicking collapses him again. He’s dry coughing from inhaling the sand he repeatedly smashes on. Letting out a timid wheeze as he begs,  

“Stop. Please stop.” 

Before she realizes it, she subconsciously approached them, injecting herself between them to stop yet another kick from landing on the old man, 

“How could you treat him like this? He’s as much human as you are.”  

Her intrusion startles the slave driver. Or perhaps. It’s her face, because a flash of fear darts past his eyes, followed by disgust when he registers,  

“Who the fuck is this walking corpse?” he asks the soldiers. They brush him off,  

“Don’t mind her. She’s just a village girl.” Beard slaver finally addresses her,  

“Get out of the way, missy. You’re hindering with my work!” but she refuses to budge,  

“You call tormenting old, helpless people a job? You should be ashamed of yourself. You know, there’s a special place in hell for people who abuses the elderly-” but she couldn’t finish her sentence before she’s shoved aside. Her useless legs give out. It smacks her to the ground. The slave driver resumes. But she quickly crawls forward, stopping the kick with a bear hug on her one good arm, 

“I said stop it!” but the impact lands on her stomach instead. It fucking hurts. It feels like the air got knocked out of her. Goddammit, if she at least had her own body, this would’ve been nothing. But she clings on when the slave driver again winds up,  

“Let go!” he hollers. Repeatedly striking her in the gut. It irks the wound on her shoulder. Probably torn the stitches, because her clothes feel wet again. The pain makes her head spin, it pulsates through her veins, but relentlessly, she holds on, screaming with whatever fragile strength she has in her,  

“I’m not letting go until you promise you won’t hit him anymore!” God, she tastes blood in her mouth, she spits it out. It sprays over his shin,

“Let go. That’s fucking disgusting!” ahh, it's starting to get hard to breathe. Her grip is giving out. Even the old man behind her is trying to advice feebly, 

“Young lady. It's okay. You’ve done enough...” it breaks her heart hearing how gas out he sounds. If only she wasn’t this fucking fragile. Dammit! If this continues, she’s going to faint again.  

Then a third voice joins,  

“What’s going on here?” deadpanned and monotonous as she remembered, “I recall tasking you to repair the fence, not brutalize the villagers.”  

The slave driver immediately halts. Stiffens. Shrugs her off before dropping to a knee,  

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“My Lord.” to greet him. She turns over her shoulder. It’s him. Bathory instantly squeals. This is the second time he saved me. We’re fated. I’m telling you we’re fated! She no longer has the energy to retort her. So instead. She keeps her mouth shut, trying to dull the ringing pain with sheer will as she watches the scene furl out. 

The assassin boy is exiting the forest with a few troops behind him. They’re tugging along a row of Estalis soldiers. One of whom she recognizes to be the short guy that assaulted Bathory to death. Assassin boy still has dried blood on himself, now, with bags beneath his eyes. He yawns as he mutters,  

“At ease.” stretching his arms over his head to adjust the sockets with a crack. Looks like he hasn’t slept since last night. He was on pursuit. Then he gestures the troops to escort the Estalis prisoners elsewhere with a wave of his finger. He stops before them, repeats,  

“So? Care to tell me what’s happening here?”  

“I was just doing my job, and this crazy woman came out of nowhere and started lecturing me. When I tried to get her to leave, she hugged my leg and didn’t let go!” No. She can’t remain silent in this situation, 

“That wasn’t what happened at all.” 

“That’s exactly what happened.” and she pushes herself to elaborate through her pulsating headache, 

“He was kicking this old man-” her voice cracks, she chokes on blood, but she takes a deep breath so she can resume, “and he won’t stop.” 

“She hindered my job. You wanted the fence done by night fall and she’s stopping it from happening.” 

The assassin sighs, 

“That’s enough. I understand now.” rubbing a finger into his temple, 

“You.” he says towards the slave driver, “get back to work. Cut the old ones some slack. If you break their backs, they won’t be able to work anymore.”  

“Yes, my Lord. Promptly.” The slave driver bows again before scampering off.  

That conclusion dissatisfies her, but he’s already walking away. Completely disinterested in her that she forces herself up and limps after him,  

“Why are you even forcing old people to work in the first place!” at this point, it’s sheer adrenaline that’s helping her stand, she gets a boost of energy, enough to lecture,  

“Imagine if someone else did that to your father or your grandpa how would you feel?” that makes him suddenly stop in his tracks. So abruptly, she runs straight into his back. It jolts her back a little. Almost toppling her over again, but she finds her ground and stabilizes herself to look at him. He’s turning around. There’s a furrow between his brows, a lot more emotions than he usually shows when he tells her sternly, 

“Someone else did do that to my father and my grandfather, and much worse. Much, much worse.” it’s just a few notes off a yell. She beseeches first, 

“Then how can you allow the same thing to happen to other people’s father and grandfather.”  

He looks like he wanted to admonish her. But instead, he spends a few moments to look at her up and down before relaxing his expression with a sigh,  

“You’re naïve.” at least he has enough decency to not raise his voice at a battered girl. He says with a flick of his head,  

“Look around you. What do you see?” he gestures his gaze to the huts that are burned down, the plantations, trampled to dust, then towards the stakes, he narrates the scene, 

“The crucified village men haven’t been entirely taken down yet.” directing her attention to a devastated child, crying at the bottom of it. Clawing at the chains that held his father up, then he points to a different location, 

“The medics are still rushing people in and out of tents on stretches.” A grieving mother within one is hugging the lifeless arm of her dead daughter, unwilling to leave her side,  

“And that’s not all. We’re just uncovering more dead bodies buried beneath the rubbles.” around them soldiers on duty, ceaselessly digging through the pile. In the distance beyond the forests. More smoke furls into the skies. Too far away for her to hear the screams.  

“And who do you propose did this to us?” he addresses her again, voice colder than ice. She knows the answer, but she refuses to admit it. Instead, she shakes her head,  

“You shouldn’t pin a kingdom’s sin on individual people. Aren’t what you’re doing to them, the exact same?”  

“Then what do you suggest I do instead? Show them mercy? Let them go?”  

“That will be what God wants.” It makes him scoff,  

“Then where was God’s mercy yesterday? Where was God’s mercy when Estelis marched into our lands, raided our villages, killed our men, raped our women, enslaved our children? Where was he when my father was quartered by horses. When my grandfather was flayed. When my sister-” he cuts off here, he didn't intend to reveal this much. His pupils are wavering. Then he completely steels, 

“The Estelian dogs and their violent ways deserve nothing short of death. They have already completely decimated Genocia. We’re just next in line for their conquest. But so long as I still breathe. I won’t let my kingdom fall.” telling her very seriously, 

“This is a Godless world, lady. Mercy only gets you killed in the end. Close both eyes and stay low. Otherwise, you won’t survive.” 

“But-” her throat feels dry. She swallows her words. She couldn’t say it. She doesn’t have the audacity to ask him to forgive his enemies. The grudge between the kingdoms runs deeper than what she sees on the surface. It’s now turned into a blood feud,  

“Don’t you wish to stop this fighting one day?”  

“It’ll stop when Estelis falls.” she scrunches into her skirt. Bites her lips. She’s out of retaliation. Bathory’s right to accuse her that she doesn’t know anything of this world. She can’t undo the deep-rooted damages that are already dealt to the people with a few words alone. He is walking away when she calls out,  

“Wait. Then at least let me help with the tasks, in any little way I can to make things easier around here-” stretching an arm forward as she tries to chase after him. Fuck... She’s feeling dizzy again. The wound has ripped open from the kicking just now, so she’s been bleeding out. This girl is anemic to a fault. Goddammit. She can’t keep her consciousness. The light is smudging into her vision. She tries to blink into focus. But she again, collapses onto the ground. Black out.  

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