One of the boys—the same one who had punched me in the face earlier—walked toward me while spitting to the side, as if trying to rid his mouth of the "disgusting taste"
The six-eyed maggot had supposedly left behind, and the moment he stepped closer, the others instinctively paused their beating, giving me a single, fleeting opening that made my thoughts sharpen for the first time since the ambush, because in that instant, I genuinely considered fighting back.
With my right hand, I lunged forward and seized one of the wooden sticks, gripping it with enough force that the dry wood screamed under the pressure, cracks spreading instantly along its length as if it were about to shatter, and my sudden movement made the boy flinch backward in surprise, his confidence wavering for less than a second.
Unfortunately, that single second was all it took.
While my attention was fixed on him, two heavy blows struck the back of my head almost simultaneously, the impact exploding through my skull and sending me crashing back to the ground, stars bursting across my vision as the world tilted violently.
"You’re a mumu, man, you think you’re wise?!" someone shouted.
"So that’s it, huh? You dared to touch us because you want to initiate us into some cursed coven!" another yelled, their voices rising in hysteria.
The moment they realized what I had tried to do, whatever restraint they might have had vanished completely, and the kicks and strikes resumed with even greater force, heavier, more deliberate, as if every blow now carried permission, no mercy left in their movements, no hesitation in their eyes.
They stopped bothering to pull me upright and instead let me curl up on the dirt, their boots and sticks raining down as curses and insults poured from their mouths, and somewhere between the pain and the rage, I lost count of how many of my teeth had fallen out, how much blood soaked into the ground beneath me.
’Dammit... dammit...
Why can’t I fight back? Why am I still hesitating when they don’t even care if I die?
I’ve always been treated like a monster... some kind of bastard that shouldn’t exist.
Why don’t I just kill them? All of them? Is it fear? Screw fear—screw the consequences—screw all of you.’
The thought burned hotter with every hit.
’If I don’t fight back now, I’ll always be the one on the losing side.’
At first, I had planned to pretend to be weak, to endure just long enough for someone—anyone—to come running, but after all the blows I’d already taken and the way no one had shown up despite my screams, it became painfully clear that if I kept this up, even my regeneration wouldn’t be enough to stop me from dying.
Never, not even in my worst imagination, had I expected Gustav to go this far.
I knew we hated each other, but betrayal like this—this calculated—cut deeper than any stick or boot.
Surrounded on all sides by the six of them, I curled up desperately as they beat me, trying again and again to grab at their legs, only for my hands to be struck in return, bones cracking under careless force, each failed attempt punished with another hit, another kick.
The only reason I was still conscious was because of my body’s abnormal tenacity—any other child would’ve died from a single blow to the head long ago—but even so, my thoughts began to scatter as pain flooded every corner of my body, broken bones burning, muscles screaming, my own voice tearing out of my throat whenever I tried to stand and failed.
In all my lives, I had never felt such pure, suffocating hatred toward humans.
I was sure the villagers had encouraged this, rooted for their children in silence, because this was nothing more than a ploy—a dirty one—and yet I couldn’t strike back the same way without dragging unimaginable consequences down on my family, consequences far worse than what I was enduring now.
For four years, I had lived like a monster, watched by adults and children alike as if I were some blood-sucking abomination, while other kids lived normal lives I could never have, and the rage of that injustice churned violently inside me.
Worse still, the ones beating me were older, bigger, stronger.
But none of that mattered anymore.
I was terrified.
My body was growing weaker by the second, my healing factor lagging behind the damage, my consciousness blurring at the edges as I cursed myself for being unable to kill them, not because I lacked the strength, but because doing so would paint my family as accomplices to a murderer.
The helplessness was crushing.
Then something strange happened.
A new pain—sharper, deeper—surged through my body and rushed straight to my head, accompanied by violent nausea and spinning sensations I had never felt before, my vision smearing into red and black.
’What’s happening...? Am I losing too much blood?
This can’t be right—I didn’t heal myself, but... why does it feel like everything is stopping?’
I started gasping for air, my lungs burning, and strangely, the pain began to fade—not because I was healing, but because I could no longer feel my body at all.
’No... wait—why can’t I move? Why is my healing this slow?’
My limbs refused to respond.
My vision went blank.
My body numbed, then stiffened.
They kept hitting me for a while longer before hesitation finally crept in.
"Is... is he playing dead?" one of them asked nervously.
"No," the brown-haired boy scoffed, though his voice wavered slightly as he kicked my head, only for my body to remain unnaturally rigid. "He shouldn’t be dead yet..."
"...Wait," another whispered, panic seeping in. "Did we... did we really just kill a child?"
Tears pooled in one boy’s eyes, his voice trembling, because he hadn’t planned to kill me—none of them had—they only wanted to vent their anger.
"Stop panicking, Tom!" the brown-haired boy snapped, forcing righteousness into his tone.
"So what if he’s dead? We should be celebrating! We’ve finally taken care of the demon child!"
"We did something heroic—for the village, for the Holy Shrine!"
"Do you know what kind of harm he would’ve brought to our families if we hadn’t acted?"
His words rang hollow...
As my consciousness slipped further into darkness.