In the midst of all these random ruminations, a single thought rose from smoke.
The first useful one he'd had since he woke up.
Well, it was an old excerpt from a book he'd once read. Just a single sentence.
He spoke it out. Loud enough to overlap the throbbings going on underneath his skin.
"Pain keeps you human."
Human?
He let the words bleed into the air, trying to read some meaning into it.
Why will he remember this at such a critical time?
Was he still human? Could he still be called one?
'Talk about a useless brain. Don't even get me started on my arms.'
Ethan glanced at his mangled arm, sighing in disgust as he moved it around gingerly.
It barely looked like a limb anymore. A heap of meat and nerves.
"Wait" he had noticed something.
He studied carefully at it, fixing his eyes on the wrist.
A small tiny bracelet hung on there, inconspicuous.
He suddenly got a fleeting memory of daggers and misty silver eyes when he looked at it.
'Such a big help, it turned out to be', he thought sarcastically.
Not long after, while poking around in his mind, he got an idea.
A very terrible suicidal one, though.
If it went wrong, he would die.
And it had a near positive probability of things not ending well.
He cast a gaze around the dark room, eyes moving from pile to pile.
Debris littered the floor like forgotten corpses. The pain was distant now, blurred by something deeper.
His quest for survival. His zeal to live.
He found what he was looking for almost immediately.
An old iron lance, a bit close to him. Time had buried it in a thick coat of brown red corrosion.
But it would do. He reached out, ignoring the pain and pulled it closer.
Ethan gripped tightly, before placing its pointed tip on his mangled arm.
He took a long, lasting deep breath.
Maybe a final one.
Looked away, squeezing his eyelids tight.
He wished he had another pair of hands to block out his incoming screams from his ears.
"Okay…here goes."
A last breath, then he squinted to ensure the pointed tip was in place, right above his arm wound.
For some reason, he chose not to use his chest.
His fist clenched tightly, shaking a bit slightly in the cold air.
In that tense moment, he heard it.
Wasted metal groaning under weight.
The trapdoor.
Ethan froze, tilting his head up to take a sneak peek.
Then, he heard low stumping noises above him.
...Boots...
He knew it too well, but didn't remember how or why.
The trapdoor rattled oddly again.
Ethan could already guess from the sounds.
Someone was trying to pry it open.
Then, a man's voice came, coarse and irritated.
"Y'all sure that he's down here?!"
Metal shrieked, reverberating through as the hatch was ripped off its hinges and frame.
Not swung open. Ripped out.
"That princess sure knows how to lie through her teeth, doesn't she?"
Ethan didn't care about their discussion. But he knew one thing.
If he didn't act fast, he'd soon be pounds of mangled flesh beneath their boots.
A heap of burnt bones and skin.
'Bunch of real luck…dying twice in a day.'
He could feel those clammy cold hands closing in on him.
He had to break free.
He'd already died once. Today.
"I can't die again!"
He shut his eyes tight and swung down his left hand viciously.
Spear pierced through with a sickening crunch of bone and a wet snap of sinew. Tendons snapped like old ropes.
All these reached his ears before the pain did.
~SPLASH
Blood sprayed the walls in arcs of crimson, giving a glossy gleam to the tainted parts. Reflected by slivers of sunlight visible through cracks in the trapdoor frame.
Yet, not a single sound escaped Ethan.
His lips didn't even move.
Instead, his body began to glow up with some ethereal glow. Energy rose from his body, curling like steam.
But it disappeared almost immediately. Gone like it had never been.
Still silent, he rose and began to saunter towards the open trapdoor.
Something about his gait seemed off.
Not shaky or scared. Like a teenager should.
But like a man waking from a dream.
Confident. Predatory. Meaningful calculated steps.
A man with an unkempt face and shaving sores around his fat neck poked his head in.
"I've got the kid. Hey! Someone get over here! He's moving!"
Hasty steps approached.
Six…no…eight pairs of feets, all running towards the trapdoor at once.
He felt them all. Heard them. Somehow, he knew.
He remembered everything. Every bit of his memories.
He halted, right underneath the open space where the trapdoor used to be.
He leapt out, hair whipping in the wind, obscuring his vision at some point, as he rose into the open world.
When his feet felt firm ground, he shook those unruly tendrils off, using a hand – a hand?! – to ruffle it down.
Funny enough, he didn't need a moment to adapt to the blazing sunlight.
Unlike when he'd first woken up.
As though something had changed in him.
The man scrambled back as Ethan shot him an empty gaze, falling over his own legs.
He didn't look all that terrified at all. Just surprised.
Until he saw it.
That eye.
His face changed to a mask of terror, and he began to shuffle away, all dignity forgotten.
Ethan turned to face the others, disregarding him completely.
"Is he the Ashborn kid? Why's he staring at us like…?" The soldier's tone faltered when he saw it too.
A deep glowing violet – shaped like a pyramid, burning in Ethan's left socket.
So unfitting to his frame.
The others had already taken several steps back.
He was the only one who hadn't moved yet.
He wrapped a hand around his hilt immediately but then, his body froze.
He – or rather his body, stopped moving altogether.
Defying his will.
His feet itched to turn and flee in the opposite direction, instead of advancing forward.
His instincts screamed danger. Adrenaline pumped through his body.
Not for a fight, but for flight.
Therefore he remained motionless. Trapped in a body that had turned around him.
But he didn't understand.
Why did this broken boy make him feel so inferior…like a prey before a apex predator.
And it didn't subside. Still, every part of him screamed to flee!
"Hey," Ethan spoke for the first time.
His voice carried no trace of fear. Low. Calm. Hollow. Cutting through the wind like a shrapnel.
Yet, he didn't look like someone capable of anything.
Two broken arms, one mangled beyond recognition.
The other still clutched a rusted lance. A hole in the heart.
Not to mention, that glowing eye.
"Who the hell are you?!" The soldier shouted back.
As soon as he did that, beads of cold sweat broke down his forehead, his lips trembling violently.
The pain it has cost him to speak those out couldn't be even likened to breaking a backbone.
A mask of surprise drifted over Ethan's face, but it was gone in an instant.
'He was able to withstand my Soulbind?!...It must be due to this host of mine…'
He flexed his fingers slowly, before fisting it, noting the resistance and nodding slowly.
'We both have got a long way to go, Ethan…!"
He loosened the fisted hand, releasing the 'Soulbind' in the process.
At that point, that soldier broke free and began to take brisk but calculating steps forward.
In his hands, fire lit up, licking his palms ferociously.
"I asked for your name," he reminded, a low but reverent tone lacing his voice.
"Ethan Ashborn," Ethan said nonchalantly, still flexing his fingers.
"At least, I think that's the name of this host of mine…" he tilted his head to see everyone, his eyes unreadable.
The soldier's eyes widened in panic and confusion. 'This host of his?! What does he mean by that?!'
"Sorry", Ethan seemed to remember the soldier's presence, "but I'm done answering. I'll be the one asking the questions now."
He stepped forward confidently, causally flipping the lance away.
To everyone's horror, he crudely straightened the broken arm, snapping the bone into place.
No scream. Not even a wince. Only blood.
Not to mention the steady drops of blood that fell like rain, dyeing the grass beneath him.
He stepped forward, wringing both hands like he'd just finished with some casual business.
As he strolled forward, the wind fell silent, as though it lost its voice and vigour.
The light darkened. The world seemed to hold its breath, collectively.
Not to mention the blood trailing behind Ethan like a signature of some sort.
Then in a voice colder than ever, he asked, "Why did you kill his parents?"