Runaway Devil

Bethany

My head spun as my stomach flipped again. The dew from the grass seeped through my jeans, chilling me and making me shiver. At least, that was what I told myself. I was trembling on the cold, wet ground, surrounded by strange things I didn't understand. They spoke in voices that sounded inhuman, they used a language I should not have been hearing, and their bodies... they were twisted and mashed together with all sorts of animals. I couldn't comprehend what was happening around me, it was like my brain, in order to survive, disconnected indefinitely.

I sat there, listening to children cry and panicked mothers hushing gently. People clung to one another, but those who were separated did not dare move closer to their loved ones. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw familiar faces. Jerry, Issac, and Ben all sat together. Issac had his knees tucked under his chin, rocking himself, starring at the ground. His glasses fogged with condensation, despite the cold. Ben grasped his shoulder and murmured something to calm him, to no avail.

I was alone, no one to comfort me, no one to panic with, no one to hold my hand. I was alone in a sea of terrified people. The wind blew through us, sending dead leaves dancing in the air. The sky looked different, darker, angrier than before. These creatures brought Hell with them, and they would let it loose on us.

The man that came to the shop looking for Kara was dragged from the bushes. His punishment snapped all of us out of our panic. We watched as the woman, presumably their leader, painted the field with his blood. I remember seeing his eyes when they dragged me from my home. I looked directly at him, and he did nothing to help me. He watched them take me. But now I was in his shoes; I watched them beat him bloody. Whether it was fear or indifference that kept him from helping me, I would never know. But with each strike against his frame, I felt a jolt in my own body.

They beat him until his breathing was ragged against the cold air. I could see his bones turn to crumbs under his split skin, and I found myself wanting to help. I looked to Jerry, the biggest of the three boys. He sat with his fists clenched, most likely to mask his shaking. His eyes trailed the soldiers around him, he was hyper-focused on their movements.

I could see people flinching when a creature got too close, or made a sudden movement, or spoke too loudly. Their language was rough and grating in their throats like they were tearing the words apart with each breath. It sounded violent and fit them well.

Their commander, the tall woman, looked unbothered. She let her men roam where they pleased, lacking urgency. I took the calm as an opportunity to observe more closely. They were tall, towering creatures. Even the shortest of them beat the tallest of us by two heads, at least. Most had wings, but they ranged from the deepest black to almost translucent. Some had more earthy tones, with browns, mossy greens, and maroons.

Their bodies, even though they were horrific, fascinated me. There was a beauty in their savagery. They looked like they were designed by someone, someone looking for specific characteristics. There was an even mix of animal parts across the board, from reptilian features all the way to mammalian.

A man walking directly in front of me broke my train of thought. I remained as still as I could, barely breathing. His armor looked like a second skin and moved with him flawlessly as he knelt before me. Even kneeling, he towered over me. He leaned down to get a better look at my face. His nose was broad and flat on his face, reminding me of a lion's. His head was shaved, like all the rest of them, revealing a nasty scar across his scalp. It puckered and was a light pink against dark olive. But what caught my attention was his eyes. They sat deep his head, but where a vibrant orange-yellow. They seemed to pulse while staring deeply at me.

"The one with pretty skin is mine." I flinched when he brushed his finger against one of my tattoos. His hand was rough and calloused, I felt his strength without needing to be the victim of it. I had no idea what he said but I knew it wouldn't blow over well for me.

"We aren't permitted to claim any humans. Come on Ragnir, you know that," A fellow soldier responded, casually strolling up to him. This one had a sharper face, but just as wide. He had more bird-like features, almost like a hawk. They both were thickly lined with muscle, their whole bodies ribbed with it.

The soldier kneeling gripped my wrist and lifted me from the ground. My heart leaped into my throat as I struggled in his grip. No other hostage had been touched, let alone lifted, since they brought us here. He had claws, I realized, and they were digging into my skin. Now that he was standing at his full height, I had to crane my neck all the way back just to see his face. It was more severe from below. The shadows were accentuated, making him look meaner.

I grabbed at his hand, desperate to loosen his grip. He had me on my tiptoes, all my weight being held up by my wrist. I sucked in a gasp as he examined me more closely. He looked me up and down, from different angles.

"She's covered in pictures. Did you know they had inkings up here?" His friend asked. The soldier holding me up like a piece of meat shook his head and shrugged. I could only assume what they were talking about, and it did not comfort me in the slightest.

"She's so small." There was a wonder in his tone like he was curious.

"Ragnir. Beoval." Someone barked at them, quickly approaching. Whoever it was, it made him drop me and step away quickly. They stood stiffly and I backpedaled on my palms, kicking desperately with my heels. They went on to talk in their violent tongue as I recovered in the folds of the crowd.

I felt people's eyes on me, on my bloody wrist, which was already bruising. I felt the tears on my cheeks before I realized I was crying. I cursed quickly and wiped them from my face. My heart was beating wildly like it would break through my ribs and plop into my hands any second.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped as if struck, but when I saw it was only Joel. His hand was heavy but a welcomed comfort.

"Hey, you're okay," he said. His voice was hushed and gentle, juxtaposing his huge frame. My head was on a swivel, looking for the rest of his family. "I'm here, honey."

"Where's—?" His face fell, suddenly looking far more haggard and worn than the previous moment. I felt my mouth open and close a couple of time before I snapped it shut. I couldn't bare to look at his fallen face, my heart ached as he looked at me with those eyes. I stared at my wrist in my lap, it throbbed and pulsed something awful.

My vision blurred before I could stop it. And once again, tears graced my cheeks. If I kept this up, I would waste all my tears, and have no more left to cry.