Bab 2: I Have No Mouth Yet I Must Scream

Chains bound him, biting into his wrists as he was dragged along with the other prisoners—men and women he had never spoken to, never even acknowledged. Beside him, an old man with a voice like gravel rasped, "You'd do wise to stay calm. There's no escaping."

El Ritch glanced at the speaker. The man was massive, towering like a black bear rearing on its hind legs. His weathered face was a map of scars and deep lines, each one a testament to a life of hardship. God is surely cruel—or indifferent, El Ritch thought. After begging, after lowering himself to the most vulnerable state a man could, exposing his soul to the heavens, what had he received in return? Silence. Not merciful, not wrathful. Just the haunting, shameful silence.

The procession moved through the town, jeered at by the townsfolk who lined the streets. They threw refuse, rotten food, and curses, their hatred palpable. A rotten tomato struck El Ritch's cheek, bursting against his skin. He turned toward the thrower—no older than him, a girl with wide, furious eyes. She looked at him as though he were a rat crawling at her feet, begging to be crushed. He lowered his gaze, his chains clinking as he shuffled forward.

I only stole food, he thought, his fingers tightening around the iron cuffs. He could feel his pulse quicken with every step. Ahead, the gallows loomed, a wooden monument to death. The line of prisoners halted. One by one, their chains were unlocked, and they were marched up the platform to the nooses that dangled like hollow promises. Each body would fall, side by side, to hang in shameful display.

When it was his turn, El Ritch ascended the creaking steps. The rope scratched against his skin as the noose was tightened around his neck. His heart thundered in his chest. He stared at the weathered planks beneath his feet, unwilling to lift his head and meet the eyes of those who gathered to gawk.

A speech began—the glorification of the hunters who had captured them. El Ritch didn't listen; he didn't care. He only noticed the absence of the burlap bags they usually gave the condemned. This time, they would die with their faces exposed, naked to the scorn of the crowd.

I only stole food, he thought again, his breath quickening. He clenched his fists, the chains no longer biting but trembling with the force of his grip. His head spun. No one deserves this. No one.

Then the platform shook.

Screams rang out, shattering the air.

"Beasts have broken the walls—"

"They don't die! They don't die!"

"Run! Run for your—"

Each voice was abruptly silenced, as though snatched away by unseen claws. El Ritch looked up. The crowd was scattering, executioners and hunters abandoning their places, prisoners breaking free in the chaos. The gallows emptied as the horde ran, but El Ritch did not move.

He stayed where he was, the noose still hanging loose around his neck. The spectacle before him was chaos incarnate, yet his mind was calm.

What was the point?

The platform groaned beneath his weight as he sat down, his legs folded beneath him. His eyes, hollow and resigned, stared into the distant carnage. If death was inevitable, he would not flee. Let the beasts come. Let them grant him the kindness man never could.

_______

Monster within me, I do not fear you.

For within me is the same impulse,

That runs within you.

The platform shook violently beneath El Ritch's feet, the gallows creaking like the bones of an old tree in a storm. Bloodcurdling screams rang through the air, drawing closer with every breath. Be calm, he told himself, gripping the edge of the wooden post beside him as if it might anchor him to the earth. The noose hung loose around his neck, swaying as he stood still.

"Save me—!"

The plea was cut short by a malevolent roar, followed by a grotesque cackle that echoed through the town. Be calm, El Ritch repeated in his mind, forcing his knees to lock against the instinct to run.

"They're in the house!"

The sound of bones snapping and flesh tearing filled the air. His body shuddered, but still, he stayed put.

"It won't die! It just won't die!"

And then, silence. A void so complete it made his ears ring.

El Ritch's eyes snapped open, and he flinched. Standing before him was death incarnate. A beast loomed, its monstrous form half-shrouded by shadow but unmistakably unnatural. Its eyes glowed with an eerie intelligence, locking onto him.

El Ritch's breath hitched. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs gave out beneath him. He stood frozen, a prisoner of fear. The creature's face was uncanny—human-like, but wrong in every possible way. Predatory features dangled from its form like grotesque ornaments, a parody of life.

The beast tilted its head, and then it gave a grotesque cackle—a sound that mimicked human laughter but twisted into something vile, inhuman. It didn't attack. It didn't even acknowledge him as prey. El Ritch felt the weight of its indifference like a blow. The creature turned and vanished into the chaos.

He exhaled shakily, his lips quivering as he fought back the scream rising in his throat. I'm truly worthless, he thought, his chest heaving. His senses gradually returned, the distant cacophony of screams, cries, and destruction flooding back in.

And then he heard it: a voice distinct among the chaos.

The boy.

El Ritch's head snapped around, searching desperately for the source. He spotted him scrambling through the debris, small and fragile, trying to escape the carnage. People trampled past him, heedless of the child's existence. The boy dragged himself forward, his small hands clawing at the dirt and rubble.

In the corner of his vision, El Ritch saw the beast again, watching the boy with a cruel, almost amused interest. Its jaws opened, unhinging unnaturally wide, and for a moment, El Ritch saw what no child should face.

Yes, El Ritch told himself, his fists clenching as he trembled. A death like this, in a place like this, is still more honorable than a life wasted.

The boy stumbled, and the beast lunged, its jaws snapping open to consume him whole.

And yet—

El Ritch moved.

His body acted before his mind could rationalize. He grabbed the boy by the collar and yanked him back, stumbling as the beast's teeth clashed shut just inches away. The air itself seemed to tremble at the force of the bite.

The creature cocked its head, confused, its glowing eyes narrowing as it regarded El Ritch.

It should have been a death of honor, El Ritch thought, his heart racing. So why? Why did I step in?

For a few moments, the beast locked eyes with El Ritch, its glowing gaze dissecting him. Then, it glanced down at the boy, as if El Ritch's presence was an afterthought.

"You think I'm worthless, don't you?" El Ritch rasped, his lungs burning as he forced the words out. Speaking felt like swallowing hot coals, but he didn't stop. "Then I'll make you give meaning to me."

Blood dripped from his mouth, and he knew those would be his last words. His voice was spent, his body barely holding together. But still, he acted.

Grabbing the boy, he bolted toward the burning houses, his feet pounding against the dirt and debris. Behind him, the beast screeched, a sound that seemed to tear through the fabric of reality itself, and gave chase.

It leaped, its claws swiping inches from El Ritch's back, narrowly missing as he dove through the broken frame of a door into the blazing wreckage of a house. The heat was suffocating, the air thick with ash and smoke, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

Through the burning house, he barreled into the backyard, hurdling over the low fences that separated the properties. Each step was agony, but the boy in his arms clung to him, his small fingers gripping El Ritch's shirt like a lifeline.

The beast was relentless, smashing through walls and debris with feral strength. It moved with terrifying speed, a blur of malice and power.

El Ritch passed a well and caught a glimpse of villagers huddling inside, desperate and trembling. Without hesitation, he snatched up a fallen torch and hurled it into the well. Flames erupted, and the villagers screamed, their cries piercing the chaos. The beast paused, distracted by the sound, and El Ritch seized the moment, running for his life.

Just a few more houses, he told himself, just a few more, and we'll escape.

His heart sank.

Another beast loomed ahead.

This one was bird-like, its body covered in dark, oily feathers. Its head was dominated by a massive, hooked beak, and its four limbs were grotesque, like the paws of a bear fused with claws meant for slaughter. The creature hunched over the mangled bodies of villagers and other beasts, big and small, its grotesque meal half-devoured, its stomach split open.

The ground quaked as the first beast arrived. It cackled, its voice reverberating with mockery, but it wasn't directed at El Ritch this time. It turned its glowing eyes to the bird-like monster and growled low and threatening.

The bird-like beast screeched in response, spreading its massive wings. Its limbs tensed, and with an explosive leap, it lunged at the uncanny humanoid predator.

El Ritch didn't wait to see the clash. He dived under the remnants of a broken house, dragging the boy into the shadows with him.

"M-Master," the boy stammered, trembling uncontrollably.

El Ritch couldn't speak. His throat burned, his lungs heaved, and blood pooled in his mouth. Instead, he placed a hand on the boy's chest, his rough palm steadying the child's frantic breaths. He forced a warm smile, even as his body betrayed him.

It's all right, he thought, holding the boy's gaze. I'll get you out alive, even if it kills me. Even if I die.

His smile didn't waver, even as the ground shook and the sounds of battle raged just outside their fragile hiding spot.