Androcles didn't realize what was happening until Diana kicked, twisted and pulled the rope around her neck and disappeared into the dark night woods. Ma
catche
s. But before Androcles could react another noose was around his neck, pulling tighter and pulling him back.
He dropped the cloth he was working on and grabbed the rope around his neck, but it was too late - he was being dragged through the snow and into the dim night.
He cast a last glance at the camp, and saw Argen lassoed and dragged away, his child seized upon by a group of gray-faced, clothed men, who screamed, kicked, and bitten him. He wanted to call them but couldn't. He couldn't breathe.
The speed at which he was being dragged increased dramatically due to a nasty lunch, and when he heard the clatter of hooves, he realized they had tied him to a horse. A man with a broad smile, his face as odd and gray as the others, watched him pass, and then turned toward the camp. For a moment Androx clearly wondered who and what they were, but that thought was stopped when his shoulder struck a rock and began to hurt.
Andrew's face bulged, throbbing as his blood pressure rose. His chest burned and he longed for fresh air, and it took all of his willpower not to succumb to the mad panic and death. He grabbed the noose with both hands and managed to stretch it out just enough for a quick breath, but not long enough for what he needed.
As the horse turned, he hit the snowdrift with a thud. He was momentarily grateful that there were no trees in sight, grateful that it was snow and not gravel. He wanted to cut the rope with his sword, but he did not dare risk losing it.
The horse picked up speed and rushed down a straightaway. A
d
Okles tried to rotate his body, sliding feet first, but the snow kept accumulating between his legs, like a fulcrum, allowing him to turn around. He tried to pull himself toward the horse, but every time they hit a bump, his wet hands couldn't hold the rope.
As his consciousness began to fade, he finally gave in. His chest ached from the lack of air, and lights appeared in his vision as he struggled to stay awake. Suddenly, the horse slowed and let go of the rope, just enough for him to take another shallow breath. Then it sped up again and he turned to see the rider driving it over a large, wide, square boulder. The horseman probably expected Androcles to hit his head on it and die, and maybe he was right.
Knowing he only had one chance, he used all his strength to turn his feet in front again and grab the rope as hard as he could. He skidded forward until his feet touched the boulder, and once he made contact, he kicked and pulled. The horse spun and flew into the air, and the moment seemed frozen in time. The rider fell to the ground and the frightened horse struggled to get back to its feet. A split second before the horse began to gallop again, Ankerex slipped the loose noose from his neck and took a deep breath, the air feeling like liquid on his tongue.
Still gasping for breath from suffocation, he drew his sword and leapt at the horseman, who was trying to remount. He threw the man to the ground and stabbed him until he stopped screaming in pain and fear. The horse suddenly broke away and the rope slipped away before Androcles could catch it.
After such a rush of chaotic activity, the sudden silence seemed unbearable. He had a headache, and the bearskin had fallen somewhere, but he was unharmed. He put his hands on his knees and gasped, trying to regain some energy in his limbs.
After a while, he raised his head and looked back along the trench he had dug in the snow. He walked off into the darkness along a path that was probably untrodden. He lowered his head again in frustration when he realized he had been dragged so far that he couldn't even see the light of the campfire.
It took him a long time to regain his breath long enough to walk without passing out, but once he did he trudged over to investigate his attacker. A
d
Okles kicked the man down and discovered that he was an ordinary person, and that the man's skin and hair were not actually gray. He just rubbed ash all over himself, probably to mix it with the snow.
Androcles rummaged through the deceased's belongings roughly, and there was almost nothing left except his clothes: a pair of shackles hung from his belt, a stick hung from his hip, and nothing else. Something else. There were only two uses for shackles: to escort war prisoners back home for ransom and to transport slaves. This wasn't a war, which meant these people were slave traders. Slave traders stole his family.
Androx stood there, unable to see anything, as dark emotions began to swirl in his gut. He soon realized how much damage his unpleasant trip had taken. The desperation of the moment kept him from feeling it, but now every part of his body was a bruise or scrape. At least nothing was broken.
By the gods, Agun wouldn't be happy about this. Moreover, slave traders were not kind to their captured children. Half the time, when they're not portable, they let them die. In fact, Pepper can make a good case for this.
Gone forever. Gone forever. He may never see them again. He may have to wander in the wilderness of ice and snow for the rest of his life, never finding out where his family was sold. He found himself shaking, not from cold or pain. He was scared, as if he hadn't been this way in years. Not even when facing Mary - it turns out there's a difference between trying to start a family and keeping the one you already have.
He jogged as fast as he could, ignoring the weight of his snow-wet pants.
Why him? Why now? How could they attack him so silently? Did Deanna lead them to him? If so, why did they take her away in the first place? Unless... she must have offended them. Didn't she say she found the devil somewhere? His master must be hunting her. What else could it be?
No, in fact, it's more likely that they discovered she had one and wanted to destroy it. Demons should not take half-hearted measures. That must be it. Either way, it was Deanna's fault and he would make her pay.
Soon he found the bearskin and threw it over his shoulder. The extra weight seemed to slow him down, but the gods only knew when he'd get a chance to warm up again. Better bring it.
God, how far did they drag him? It seemed fast, but he was sure he made it at least a mile. The road was long, and he trudged slowly through the snow, giving his fear and anger time to cool and subside. When he saw the flickering firelight in the woods, he felt nothing but worry.
He slowed down and stopped, and then he found Deanna sitting in the same place again, holding her bald head in her hands, shaking all over, as if she was crying. The wagon and cattle were gone, stolen of course; but his spear was leaning against a tree and no one noticed. When the fire of anger returned to him, he held it back calmly and purposefully. She heard his words and looked up at him. Her face was wet with tears and her eyes were red.
"I'm sorry," she said. In that moment, her voice sounded young. He didn't see the confident woman sitting there just now.
"I'm going to kill you," he said.
It took her a moment to respond. "You can't. But I deserve it," she said at last, wiping fresh tears from her face with her bare arms and staring into the fire.
Anger almost overwhelmed his discipline. Not only did she dare to destroy him, the giant-killer, but she mocked him? With a hate-filled confidence, he reached into his heart to kill. He didn't have time when the attack happened and his children were nearby - and they could have been harmed. It just makes the horse go faster when he's being dragged. But now? Now it's time to vent his anger.
He called it from deep inside, spurting outwards hard and hot. It was his pure will that his enemies gave form. It was his unconquerable mind, too powerful to be controlled by his body. It pulsed out of him like waves, growing stronger and stronger. Steam began to rise from the dry ground. The snow begins to melt. The campfire burned.
During his 25-year military career, every time he killed an enemy and every victory he won, his desire to kill became stronger. By the end, he could make his enemies tremble and tremble just by looking at them. Now, after slaying the goddess Mary, it was more powerful than anything he had encountered since the day he met Earth's old titan, Sewell.
However, Deanna wasn't worried. Somehow he could sense that she was repelling him, perhaps for her own purposes. She turned to look at him, then back to the fire and said, "That's right. Maybe you can. Maybe not, but maybe you will."
He opened his mouth to say something bold, but for some reason, nothing clever or scary came out. He wanted to boast about killing the goddess, or about killing six people before breakfast, but he thought nothing of it. He wanted this young woman to truly know how much she had hurt him and what kind of person he was, but he couldn't find the words.
As he looked at her, he slowly realized that her regret seemed genuine. Despite everything that happened, was she really not at fault? He didn't know what to think of her, but seeing her like this, it was hard for him to regard her as a dangerous person. How far has his pledge to be a "good guy" gone?
For a long time, no one spoke or moved, and he gave up, abandoning his intentions. She confused him. "Why are you sitting here crying," he asked, "instead of with your slaver friends?"
