Chapter 20: Blood and Bullets
"Is that a... gun?"
The words tumbled out of Avin’s mouth, thin and cracked, muffled as Gloria’s limp body collapsed onto his chest with a sickening plop. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. The weight pressed him down, suffocating, before sliding slowly off him and onto the floor with a dull thud.
His eyes snapped upward.
Miranda.
She stood frozen, gripping the strange piece of metal in her trembling hands. A weapon. Sleek. Cold. Brutally out of place. It was a relic Avin had only seen in memories from another life—a fragment of Clive’s Earth. It shouldn’t exist here, not in this world of swords, sorcery, and abyssal nightmares. The sight of it gnawed at him, made his heart pound unevenly.
He turned back to Miranda. Her gaze never left her mother’s crumpled body. Her pupils quivered, swimming in a sea of tears that refused to fall until—plip.
One broke free, striking the floor like a tiny glass bead.
Then another.
Then another.
The silence shattered—
PAW!
A noise ripped the air. Gloria’s body twitched, groaning low, limbs jerking like a broken marionette.
Avin’s head snapped toward her. His blood ran cold.
Another twitch. Another spasm.
He staggered backward, his breath coming fast, heart clawing at his ribs.
Then—CRACK! Another violent movement.
His gaze whipped back to Miranda. Her tears streamed now, hot trails carving her pale cheeks. Her nose ran; she didn’t wipe it. The gun trembled in her hands, her knuckles white, her body shaking as though her grief had found a rhythm in the weapon itself.
Her lips moved, but no words came out. Only sound. Click. Click. Click.
The trigger kept falling, again and again. The magazine was empty—Avin could hear it, the hollow futility in the sound. No more bullets. No more thunder. But still she pulled. Desperate. Possessed. A girl clawing at the impossible, trying to bury death under noise.
Avin’s throat tightened. His lips parted.
"Miranda!"
His voice cracked, raw and broken. "Please... stop."
The sound seemed to cut through her frenzy. The clicks faltered. The gun slipped from her trembling hands, falling to the ground with a metallic clatter that echoed far too loudly.
Miranda’s eyes—red, wet, drowning—met his for the briefest heartbeat. Then she spun and bolted, fleeing the room with ragged breaths, her sobs swallowed by the corridor’s shadows.
The silence that followed pressed like iron.
Avin staggered to his bed, pulling himself free of Gloria’s half-conscious grip. He sat on the edge, chest heaving, his body trembling with a fear he didn’t understand. His hands clawed at the sheets, holding on as if the world might tip him over.
A single tear escaped him, dripping onto the blanket. He caught it with his palm, rubbing harshly at his eyes.
"I guess you really did care for her, huh, Avin?" he whispered—not to himself, but to the boy whose memories still haunted this body. The Avin that came before.
He forced his gaze back to Gloria. She wasn’t still. Her body twitched faintly, stubborn, as if death itself couldn’t claim her. The sight filled him with dread. He dared not move closer.
But then—
BOOOOM!
The door exploded inward. The wooden frame splintered, shards flying. Avin’s head whipped toward the blast.
Ashborn stormed in, his towering frame swallowing the room’s air. Four guards rushed behind him, blades drawn. And at the doorway—hesitant, broken—Miranda stood, her hands shaking at her sides.
Avin’s heart lurched.
Because Gloria moved.
Her body convulsed violently, twitching with unnatural speed. Bones cracked and shifted under her skin, joints dislocating with grotesque sounds. Her head snapped backward, rotating at an impossible angle like some demonic owl.
Her eyes opened.
Red.
Nothing but red.
The twitching turned frantic. In one jerking, fluid motion, she twisted her mangled body to match the angle of her head, bones grinding, sinew tearing. Then she rose, shooting upright on trembling legs.
Bullets fell from her flesh like loose nails. One after another, metallic clinks raining across the floor.
The guards faltered, fear written plain on their faces.
Then Gloria roared.
It wasn’t human. It wasn’t even animal. It was something primal, abyssal, a sound that pierced marrow and dragged screams from throats.
Avin’s spine iced over. His stomach clenched. His body screamed at him to run.
She lunged.
One guard caught in her grip, helpless as her claw-like fingers wrapped around his head. He screamed, stabbing desperately with his sword, the blade sinking deep into her abdomen. But Gloria didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
She howled, tearing at his helmet, ripping steel apart like parchment. The guard’s scream pitched higher, raw terror filling the room as blood sprayed.
"Useless shits."
Ashborn’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and cruel.
He stepped forward, dwarfing everyone. One stride. Another. Then—
WHAM!
His armored fist crashed into Gloria’s face. The impact thundered through the chamber, and her body shot across the room, smashing into the wall with a sickening crunch.
"Mother..." Miranda whimpered, shutting her eyes tight, turning her face away, as though refusing to let herself witness the desecration. Yet her tears betrayed her, sliding silently down her cheeks.
Gloria’s body writhed. She roared again, rushing at Ashborn with feral madness.
Ashborn didn’t move.
His hand shot up, clamping around her skull. With effortless brutality, he slammed her into the ground. CRACK. Blood gushed from her mouth, staining the stone. She twitched, dazed, broken.
Avin’s eyes darted from her battered form to Miranda’s trembling one. The daughter watched, her body stiff, her heart bleeding through every tear she fought to hide. Avin’s chest ached, as though her pain seeped into him.
Ashborn planted a boot on Gloria’s chest, pinning her. His armor ground against her flesh. He looked back at the quivering guards, sneering.
"Detain it."
The words cut like a knife.
Avin froze. His heart thundered, erratic, furious. A heat surged inside him—anger, defiance, grief all tangled together.
Then it spilled out.
"Her."
Ashborn turned his head slowly. "Excuse me?"
"Her!" Avin’s voice cracked, sharp, desperate. "She’s Gloria! Not... not just any beast!"
For a moment, silence devoured the room.
Ashborn’s eyes narrowed, disappointment heavy in his gaze.
"Gloria," he said slowly, voice drenched in disdain, "is now an abyss creature. Abandoned by the gods of this land. She... is an it."
The words stabbed deep. Avin had no reply, only a raw ache in his chest. His gaze rose to Miranda. Her eyes met his—fear, sorrow, helplessness drowning in them. He wanted to speak, to comfort, but words failed.
The guards moved in, binding Gloria with thick chains, pulling her arms behind her back. She struggled, but the restraints glowed faintly—divine seals burned into the iron. Her screams echoed as they dragged her away.
The room emptied. Only three remained.
Avin.Miranda.Ashborn.
The silence pressed, suffocating.
Miranda stood hollow, her body still trembling, her eyes lost in grief. Avin’s chest clenched at the sight. He didn’t know her—not truly—but he felt compelled to bridge the void between them, to distract her, to ease her pain.
Anything.
His eyes drifted downward. The weapon. The gun. Cold, alien, lying on the stone floor like a fragment of another reality.
He pointed at it, trying to draw her mind away from the abyss tearing her apart.
"Where did you get this?"
Miranda’s eyes shot to him, wide, disbelieving. Her tears welled again. She bit her lip, trembling, but the dam broke. A muffled sob escaped, echoing through the chamber like the cry of a wounded child.
Then she fled—her footsteps frantic, echoing down the hall until they vanished.
Avin stood there, helpless. Confusion. Sadness. Guilt. So many emotions he couldn’t name boiled inside him, threatening to split him apart.
He turned.
Ashborn’s glare cut into him, cold and merciless.
"I knew you were a weak soldier," he said, voice dripping venom. "But I never knew you were a worse man."
The words hit harder than any blade.
Ashborn scoffed, turned, and strode from the room, cursing under his breath about his brother.
And then—silence again.
Avin stood alone, drowning in it.
"What...?" he whispered, hollow, trembling.
"What?"
TO BE CONTINUED