Artyom Dereschuk - Hate the Sin

In horror, the boy threw away his gun. It wasn’t a symbol of safety for him anymore; its touch burned him. In that short moment he acknowledged that it was the evil that had been responsible for everything wrong in his life. It was the reason why Homewrecker was lying in the dirt with his head split open. Homewrecker, who had been defiant of the world around him, who to the very end had refused to let the brigade break him and make him fit in.

“ All of this will be over one day, and we’ll survive today to see it .” He remembered Homewrecker’s last words. “ I’m sure of it and I’ll claw at the Earth to fulfill that. Because only I decide what I am and what my future will be. ”

Could he have anticipated what he would become just a few more minutes later?

It should’ve been me, Corpse Eater thought as tears started streaming down his face. He was the one who deserved such an end. He who had admitted defeat long ago and had let despair into his heart.

We were the sacrifice, the boy bitterly realized, choking on tears. We were the sacrifice the General was talking about. That’s all we were ever good for .

The shuffling sound got closer, and the boy could now hear nails scratching on metal—somebody was trying to pull themselves closer to him, gripping onto whatever they could get their hands on.

Reluctantly, the boy rose up to his feet and blinked a few times, trying to make his eyes adjust back to the darkness. In the darkness, he saw the priestess pulling herself closer to him.

Her lower half was completely gone—it seemed that she had been unlucky enough to step on a well-aimed grenade. Her right arm was gone too, and whatever remained was a mangled mass of her own flesh and the Giant’s Blood. From what the boy could see, it was already at work, trying to repair the damage that had been done to her.

The General couldn’t miss her—he must’ve left her as she was to be feasted upon by the predators as a final taunt at her helplessness to oppose him. But even in her sorry state, she was still trying to score one last kill before her body gave out completely. One look into her eyes (which inexplicably glowed in the dark) was all the boy needed to realize: she would never give up. She would crawl after them to the edge of the world as long as she was alive, and she wouldn’t rest until they were all dead.

The unfairness of his predicament was too much for him.

“Why?!” Corpse Eater screamed, choking on tears. “What do you want from us? You think we wanted to do those things? It was either that or death! We didn’t start any wars! We didn’t want any of this!”

“Doesn’t… matter…” the priestess hissed as she continued to crawl toward him. “My people… deserve… retribution,” she eerily echoed the General’s notions. Each word was a monumental struggle for her, but nevertheless she didn’t stop. She wanted her voice to be heard.

“What do you want from us?” Corpse Eater pleaded to know, tears streaming down his face. “Forgive us, please! We’ve paid our toll! What do you want from us?!”

The priestess took a deep breath before breathing out a single word: “Die…” Even though it was only one syllable, it was laced with such hatred, such desire to see her enemies fallen that the boy understood: she would never forgive them. Till her last moment, her every action, every move would be aimed at killing them.

Corpse Eater wasn’t sure if he could blame her after what she’d been through. But he wasn’t going to let it pass, either.

Slowly, moving just a little bit faster than the priestess, he approached Death Herald’s body and pulled the machete out of the boy’s cold, rigid hand. Making a few test swings, he started walking toward the woman’s crawling torso.

For as long as she was alive, she’d try to kill them. Perhaps she wasn’t a threat at the moment, but the boy didn’t know the extent to which the Blood of the Giants which coursed between her cells could restore her body. There could come a day when she would walk the earth under the sun once more, and he could not allow that. Her very existence was not just a risk to all of them, it was pure evil—perhaps even purer than the General himself. A power with no accountability. Beyond vengeance and punishment. A power which couldn’t be taken away—only vanquished along with its bearer.

And for the first time in his life, the boy felt that it was his time to act.

Steering away from her prying hand he circled around her and pressed her to the ground with his left foot. He could feel she didn’t have enough strength to resist him and throw him off, and raised his weapon above his head, ready to bring it down on her neck.

“This… Is not over…” she wheezed, spitting out some black substance.

“It is,” the boy said, adjusting his grip on the machete so that it wouldn’t fly out at the most decisive moment.

“That man… Will take my place…” Her words made his weapon stop mid-swing. Coughing up more blood, the priestess continued: “He will… take their power… for himself… Do not… think that… your friend was the last…”

“He was going to use the herb to lift the curse,” Corpse Eater objected without confidence.

“No… curse…” was all the priestess managed to say before her lungs gave out.

The machete whizzed through the air and separated her head from her torso, which immediately rolled away into the shadows. But as the boy looked down on her, he realized that, just as she had said, it wasn’t over.

It suddenly occurred to him that her words made perfect sense. Why wouldn’t the General take such a power for himself? With the war drawing to a close, this could be his last chance to save himself. To rise above conventional weapons. To rise above accountability. If the man had managed to survive for so long as a mere human, with the Giant’s Blood mystical power he would be nigh-invincible.

He imagined the horrors that the man would become capable of with such power, and he felt nauseous. Greatest warlord in Liberia? That title would become laughable. The man would become the god of war incarnate, capable of single-handedly turning the tide of any conflict. He would cause much more mayhem than the priestess ever could if someone like him would rise to such power. No warlord would refuse to become his banner man, and no prey would be out of his sight. There would be so much blood that the continent would overflow and start spilling it into the oceans.

The boy could practically see the mountain of skeletons, entire mountain ranges of them. All of them made of the bones of thirteen year olds. Like him. Like Homewrecker. Like those kids in the village.

But perhaps there was something to be done.

The boy realized that he had to act quickly, and just as his plan of action formed in his mind his body immediately set to carrying it out. He kneeled, turned over the decapitated torso of the priestess, and, raising the blade high above his head, plunged it into her chest. Then he pulled it out, took aim and did it again. He wasn’t sure how it was done, but he had seen the General do it far too many times in the past, and thus was doing his best to replicate the man’s actions.

There was only one way to claim someone’s power—to eat their heart raw. The General had always said that it had to be done while the victim was still alive, but perhaps a few minutes didn’t make much difference.

The priestess’ ribs wouldn’t give in to him, and the boy spent an immeasurable amount of time trying to pry them open, cutting his fingers on her sharp bones. Her skin under his palms was not delicate as he had expected it to be—changed by the Blood of the Giants, it was harsh and solid. Only the numerous gunshot wounds on her chest that had shattered the ribs underneath were helping him