NOVEL WEB Chapter 3: Embodiment of Death
"Mommy, where are you?"
"Wahh... I wanna go home!"
The little girl's sobs filled the heavy silence, her tiny body trembling as she clung to the woman's leg.
Tears streamed down her dirt-streaked cheeks, falling onto the cold, bloodstained ground.
Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of the woman's tattered coat, as if letting go would send her spiraling into an abyss.
Jasmine didn't understand. Just moments ago, she had been sitting with her brother and sister, enjoying milk tea after school. The warmth of the cup in her hands, the sweet aroma of the drink—it had all felt so normal.
But then, her mother had whispered something strange under her breath. The words had blurred together, slipping away from Jasmine's grasp as her vision darkened, her head spinning.
And now...
Now, she was here. Wherever here was.
She sniffled, her small body shaking violently. The woman standing above her—the one she had instinctively clung to—remained silent, her back straight, her expression unreadable.
A man stepped forward from the gathering of people surrounding them, his eyes cold and sharp, his lips curling into a sneer. His face was gaunt, the hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes giving him a wolfish look, like a predator that had gone too long without a meal.
"What's the meaning of this?" he spat, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Didn't we come to an agreement?"
The air grew thick with expectation. Every pair of eyes turned to the woman. The weight of their gazes bore down on her, yet she did not flinch.
"Are you out of your mind?" she finally spoke, her voice steady, ice-cold. "She's just a child."
A cruel chuckle escaped the man's throat. He tilted his head, as if hearing the greatest joke of his life.
"Heh. Just a child? Is that what you're calling her?" His tone dripped with mockery. "Where was this mercy of yours when you slit that poor bastard's throat earlier? Don't act like a saint now."
Jasmine felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. Slit someone's throat? She turned her wide, fearful eyes toward the woman who had been her shield moments ago.
But the woman's face remained impassive, like a mask carved from stone.
The silence stretched, taut as a wire.
Then the man let out a weary sigh. His shoulders slumped slightly, as though a great burden had been placed on them. "Fine," he muttered through clenched teeth. "You win. You can be the leader."
The shift in power was immediate. The other survivors—silent spectators until now—exchanged cautious glances. The unspoken understanding that had bound them together was beginning to fray, unraveling into something far more dangerous.
The woman smiled—a thin, humorless thing. "Good. Since you're so sensible, I'll hand the little girl over to you."
Jasmine barely had time to react before her body was yanked off the ground by her hair.
A sharp, searing pain exploded through her scalp.
"AHH!" She screamed, flailing her small limbs in panic.
"Let go!" she cried, kicking and twisting.
Slap!
A stinging pain erupted across her cheek. Jasmine's sobs hitched, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"Shut up," the woman, her saviour hissed.
Jasmine's heart pounded against her ribs like a caged bird. Then she saw it—the man's large, rough hand reaching for her throat.
Her eyes widened in sheer terror.
No...
She couldn't breathe.
I don't wanna die.
But just as his fingers grazed her skin—
A presence descended.
A cold, merciless aura swept over the clearing like a deathly tide. It was suffocating, Demonic, and filled with an intent so sharp it felt like invisible daggers had been plunged into every heart present.
The man's fingers froze mere inches from Jasmine's throat.
His breathing suffocated.
A shiver ran down his spine, primal fear sinking its claws into his bones.
The woman, too, stiffened. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly, and without meaning to, she let go of Jasmine's hair.
The little girl hit the ground with a painful thud.
Jasmine sucked in a sharp breath and curled into herself, her eyes darting around in terror.
And then she saw him.
A lone figure, standing at the edge of her vision.
A man clad in dark, tattered clothing, his sword held loosely at his side. His face was chiseled, expressionless—almost inhumanly so. His piercing gaze cut through the silence, locking onto Jasmine with an intensity that made her breath hitch.
For a single, fleeting moment, something flickered in his cold eyes. A crack in the icy exterior.
"Little sister..." he whispered, so softly that no one else could hear.
The ghost of a memory surfaced—a small girl, running through dirty city alleys, her laughter ringing in his ears.
Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the crack vanished.
The sharp voice of the man shattered the silence.
"Who the hell are you?" He straightened his posture, trying to mask the fear in his voice. "You think you can just—"
Before he could finish, the dark figure moved.
No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Just steel slicing through the air.
Swish!
A glint of silver.
A spurt of blood.
The man's words died in his throat, along with the rest of him.
His body crumpled to the ground, his head rolling a few feet away, eyes still frozen in disbelief.
Silence.
Then—
"How...?" one of the survivors choked out.
"He killed the boss…" another whispered, their voice laced with shock and fear.
Jasmine remained still, her tear-streaked face pale. She stared at the fallen man, then slowly shifted her gaze back to the newcomer.
The man who had killed without a moment's hesitation.
The embodiment of death itself.
But he wasn't looking at them anymore.
His gaze had softened. Just a little.
And he was staring at her.
At this time the woman finally came out of her daze and shouted, "Courting Death.."
Her face twisted hideously in a tigth frown.
Why was she feeling afraid, he was just a lone man, what could he even do.
"Watch out..."
A moment of lapse of could be very fatal on the battlefield, while the woman was thinking
Damien was already above her, his Sword flashing sharply.