YOUR GOD ABANDONED YOU HERE

While Mr. Edward fought for breath, the red-eyed, armor-clad man who had formerly gripped his neck shouted, pointing not at him but at a random child doing push-ups.

"T⍥ņ, T⍥ņռᏵ Ѧᒻ⍥⍥D ⍥į ٧⩃𐑮Tņ D/Ϟጰ/թᒻ/ռԐ ጥȞ/Ϟ ⩤Ԑ⩃&ᒻ/ņᏵ ⩃ጥ ⍥ռጰԐ!"

The boy, obviously startled by such a sudden call, paused for a brief moment and then shuddered, immediately resuming his unhealthy punishment, obviously fearing retaliation from his overseers.

But that was momentary, for as he glanced at who had called out to him, he was reassured and stood up immediately, nodding at the red-eyed man who had called to him with a look of profound respect in his eyes.

"⩤ȞT թņռ/ϞȞ ጥȞԐ Ѧ⍥T? ϞȞ⍥ņᒻD ⩤Ԑ ռ⍥T Ѧ𐑮/ռᏵ Ȟ/⩯ ѦԐį⍥𐑮Ԑ T⍥ņ𐑮 ጰȞ/Ԑį?" The green-eyed man, with who Mr. Edward felt a sense of faint familiarity, spoke words that he did not understand, but judging by his tone and the tenebrous glance that the man threw at him, he believed that his words were not to his detriment.

But the remaining triad of shadow-clad figures who, clearly were not fond of him glanced at one another and snickered in a baleful manner before bringing their sinister, abyss-touched gazes once again before the little boy.

Mr. Edward was also observing the little boy, curious as to why he had been called out.

It was obvious that they had nothing to do with each other, or at least nothing that he knew of, which in all returned to the ever-paramount issue of the language barrier that severely limited Mr. Edward's understanding of the changing scenarios and in turn, his precarious ability to plan for the situation accordingly.

He had long made his peace with the fact that he had been the victim of an incomprehensible transmigration—as much as a man could anyway.

But was annoyed or rather frustrated by the fact that he seemed to be in the body of a diminutive child, a fair comparison being the one in front of him.

Mr. Edward, in a semi-alert state, observed the male child, his heart beating erratically, his breath shuddering, and his teeth gritted.

He was chilled to observe that he was no taller than the boy who, from his very clear view, observed him with a kind of disdain and anger unbecoming of someone his age.

No, his earlier perception was wrong. The boy was a head taller than him, and as he loomed closer, his distinctions became horrifyingly vivid.

Scar-ridden muscles that Mr. Edward only saw possible in a child void of myostatin, eyes of glowing red that sent a resonance down his spine, and a gaze, that pitiful leer, void-laden and intimidating, stared at him so that even Mr. Edward, despite his true age felt his spirits dim.

The boy had rough black hair and, like the rest of his peers, was scantily clothed, wearing what seemed to be a loincloth made from a natural darkish silk.

By his body language, Mr. Edward was sure that the boy intended to fight him, but despite the absurdity of the situation held no fear as he saw the boy as the least of his worries.

He knew nothing, that the language barrier made sure of it—and in his forced solitude he felt an overwhelming amount of dread and isolation emotions he desperately tried to suppress.

But one could not fully suppress one's nature, hard-wired and decided by one's genetics from the moment of existence; they were ineluctable, primordial even.

Fear was one of such immutable truths present in most living beings even of low intelligence, and while one could foolishly suppress it, it could not be fully extinguished.

Mr. Edward's unease was well concealed but displayed by shifty eyes and clenched fists, his focus barely on the boy in front of him.

"Should I run? Is this the punishment for murder in this horrid place? No, it would be foolish to run. I have to get more information so I can escape," Mr. Edward thought desperately, his disordered fancy conjuring up nothing but maddening futility.

Information at this moment was a coverted enigma, and while Mr. Edward was a brilliant man, his abilities were limited in such a calamitous scenario.

"Bam!"

A loud, thunderous footstep engaged Mr. Edward, the boy, under the watchful and slightly entertained eyes of the four men, had raced towards him with a horrific level of momentum.

"It's just a kid," Mr. Edward in his foolhardy naïvet thought, as he reached out to stop the boy, an act which led to shocking repercussions—or at least shocking to Mr. Edward.

A powerful blow to the torso shook his core, delivered by none other than the inhumanely strong boy, with a force so powerful that it took Mr. Edward off his feet, specks of red amid the ichorous spittle that was forced out of his mouth.

Gravity was quick to betray the situation; his legs gave in, forcing him to his knees as he gasped for life.

The boy, unwavering in his malevolent intent, stepped back slightly whilst he delivered a swift kick to Edward's face.

"Bam!"

His body was flung to the side, blood drawn yet again as the pain made his vision waver, his mouth letting out a loud groan.

Mr. Edward, in his debilitated state, was sure that the force this boy commanded was comparable to that of a fully grown man or at least the grown men he was accustomed to in his old existence.

The boy was unyielding as he moved to attack yet again while yelling in an unknown language.

"⩤Ԑ⩃&ᒻ/ռᏵ!"

"Ԑռ⍥ņᏵȞ!" One of the red eyed men shouted before turning brusquely to his companions saying, "/ጥ /Ϟ ռ⍥ጥ /ռ ⍥ņ𐑮 թᒻ⩃ጰԐ ጥ⍥ թņռ/ϞȞ, ȞԐ /Ϟ ϞņϞթԐጰጥԐD ⍥į ⩃ Ᏽ𐑮⩃٧Ԑ ጰ𐑮/⩯Ԑ, ᒻԐጥ ņϞ ⩃ᒻᒻ⍥⩤ ጥȞԐ ጰȞ/Ԑį ⩃ռD ⍥ņ𐑮 ٧/Ϟ/ጥ⍥𐑮Ϟ."

Legs trembling and with a pained frown, Mr. Edward observed these men as he forced himself up.

The one who had spoken just now seemed to have pitied him to some extent, or at least that was what Mr. Edward thought before quickly contradicting himself.

"There is no way these barbarians would feel pity!"

Before he knew it, the boy had resumed training whilst he was once again picked up by one of the red-eyed men that so indifferently bore him.

Slowly, they made their way through the brutal training grounds lined with worn canvas shelters and filled with the cries of children.

Desolation was a word that could describe but never wholly portray how Mr. Edward felt, the shadows of deep isolation clawing at his mind.

But the next sight quickly drew his attention once more,

In the oppressive depths of this unknown place, the city or town wall loomed, a monolithic barrier forged from volcanic ash and blasphemous stone, its black surface absorbing all vestiges of light.

Looking at it now, Mr. Edward gasped in wonder, for in his arrogance, he had grossly undermined and misjudged its monstrous size.

A nightmarish embodiment of ancient masonry, it was tall dangerously so, yet subtly breathing, as if alive with some unspeakable curse, all an illusion of his mind of course.

Scattered across its cracks, patches of bioluminescent fungi pulsed in sinister hues of red, green, and violet, casting a rather spectral glow on the wall, luminescence that made the seemingly light-absorbent wall more visible to Mr. Edward.

Above, figures patrolled with ceaseless vigilance, their silence resonating with oppressive discipline.

They were soldiers, clad in weighty, pitch-black armor that seemed hewn from the very darkness itself or at least that was what Mr. Edward saw from his position as he watched them move in eerie silence.

Their eyes, a hellish red, glowed with an unnatural intensity that chilled yet terribly fascinated Mr. Edward, cutting through the gloom with malevolent purpose as they loomed into the distance guarding those inside from an unseen threat.

The men that carried him, once more indifferent to the wretchedness of his condition, stopped before this wall facing a large gate seemingly made from both wood and metal.

This place seemed to have a penchant for making everything in it dim and dark as were the colors of dread itself.

It was then, when Mr. Edward was close enough, that he took note of an oddity that could easily have been overlooked.

A moat or pit filled with spires of splintered wood and jagged iron, sharp enough to eviscerate anyone who dared trespass.

Stretching towards unseen lengths possibly covering the entire circumference of the wall, this pit was large in width so as to make it impossible to jump over and, dare he say, invisible to the senses of any observer foolhardy enough to tread unaware.

The people who built it were sure to make use of the natural and almost palpable blackness of the place so that even Mr. Edward, in his pain and horror, did not know if to praise their intellect or shudder at their cruelty.

Truly, the only reason he had managed to spot it in time was the fortunate fact that he had been positioned in a reasonable angle allowing his curiosity of the place to guide his gaze.

As he pondered, the gates opened forward with a resounding shriek, forming a bridge of grim necessity to grant passage over the spike-ridden moat.

It was not difficult for one to mistake this place and its people for a bastion of barbarity or primitive intelligence, but judging by the rather well-done pully system before him, that and the intricacies of their architecture, Mr. Edward discovered that there was more to this society, a society that he would love to study should he live long enough to tell the tale.

A loud thud marked the landing of the bridge, and the soldiers or men marched through it, their actions exuding more discipline than before, all save for the green-eyed one who remained as unbothered as ever.

Whilst they passed, the bridge or gate closed behind them, enclosing them in temporary darkness whilst a secondary gate opened before them.

"Hmm!"

Mr. Edward could not help but hum, his eyes narrowed as he gazed at the beautiful yet haunting city, and its people who moved before him.