Fractured God

A young man observes a distant village from a nearby cliff. "Well, it looks like I won't have to scourge around the forest for food" he murmured to himself. The young man slowly begins his descent down, thinking, "Man, it's already been four years. There's no way in hell I'm still in Akumia after travelling all this time. I should probably ask the villagers about where the hell this place." the young man then stopped in his tracks.

"But what if no one there speaks Akumian? Eh, at this point, hearing anybody speak it would honestly be a relief", he then decided he'd figure out how to deal with them speaking or not speaking Akumian when he got to the village. Now, who was this eccentric young with a habit of making conversation with himself? His name was Tibaut Agirow and he had been travelling (more accurately trying to escape) his home country of Akumia for quite some time now.

His hair was a dark muddy brown and nearly touching his knees, and his body's current state, in terms of cleanliness, could only be described as 'ghastly'. His clothes were dirty and had so many holes in them that walking around in a potato sack would be considered more civilised and he smelt of a neglected chicken coop. With the village within eyeshot, he started sniffing himself. "Man, I hope I find a river soon, it's been a few weeks since I've had a bath," he said with his face dejected.

Eventually, he reached the entrance of the village, however, something definitely seemed off. "You know, it's kind of odd for a village to be this silent so close to noon". He cautiously approached one of the houses and knocked on the door. Nothing. "Well, maybe they're working the fields or something, not every villager has the luxury to stay home for most of the day," he thought to himself. He tried another. No response. And another. Zilch.

"I'm probably just overthinking this, I'll just go loo-" As he was about to walk away from the door, he noticed it was ever so slightly open. He opened the door and decided to look inside for a bit. Unsurprisingly there was no one inside, however, oddly enough there were a few chairs and some bowls with what looked like oatmeal that were knocked over and on the floor. "Hmm, what could have caused this" he pondered before hearing a discreet thud sound in the direction of the bedroom.

He slowly entered but saw nothing out of the ordinary until he looked under the bed. Before he could react dust was thrown in his face and whatever had thrown it used the opportunity to jump through the window and run away. "Goddamnit, I loosen my guard for a second and this happens" he then begins to profusely wipe his eyes out. "Shit, that stings, what even is thi-" he then begins to smell the powder "Is this flour?" he looks outside the window and notices the footprints left in the dirt are quite a bit smaller than average size. "Tch, what a brat" he then cracks his knuckles, "looks like I'll have to teach someone a lesson." He then vaults over the window and starts slowly following the little footsteps.

While following the trail he cools off a bit and thinks to himself "Well, I did technically break into his house, so maybe I'll just give the kid a flick on the head or something." As he continues his leisurely chase, he notices something odd. In the centre of the village, he notices a large pile. A large pile of what you may ask? Who knows, it's been covered with a large sheet of cloth. However, it's what Tibaut saw next that gave him a hint. There was blood splattered with splotches of various sizes surrounding the covered pile.

His face straightened, and he slowly began approaching the covered pile. "Maybe it's just a pile of diseased animals" he tried to rationalize. For all he knew a plague could be ravaging the local farm animals. Unfortunately, as he pulled up the cover, he was forced to accept reality. While he was unsurprised, it did still fill him with a flurry of emotions. "Wha-why, who would!?". He couldn't even begin to find the words for the atrocity in front of him. Men, women, children and the elderly were all stacked in a pile about 3 metres tall at its 'peak', with some with smashed limbs and faces and others with lacerations and various body parts cleanly sliced off. Before he could even get his thoughts in order, a piercing screech assaulted his ears before disappearing just as quickly. "The brat."

He ran in the direction of the sound as fast as his legs could throw him. Greeting him when he reached the house of the noise was a woman. The sheen of her hair combined with the colour one might be mistaken to think she has threads of gold for hair, green eyes as stunning as a lovingly polished emerald and a body that was neither in excess nor lacking when it came to certain features while the leather and plate armour she was wearing seemed like it had no intention of hiding it.

For Tibaut, who was lucky if he saw more than a handful of women a year, he would have praised God and engraved her very image into his soul. So why didn't he? Oh, that's simple, there was blood on her sword. While that alone may not be a deal breaker for some, the house she was standing in was littered with the bodies of various men with stab wounds and a young girl with a slit on her throat struggling to breathe.

"Are you one of them?" she plainly asked. It was a simple question however the words could not leave Tibaut's mouth. ("Do I answer? Will she let me go if I say no? Why the hell did I even come here?") As his head swirled and swirled with questions, he was quickly snapped back to reality as the blonde fiend started to approach him. He knew talking wasn't going to get him anywhere and so he readied himself.