My pleas meant nothing to them.
No matter how much I struggled, kicked, screamed and just...
No matter what I did, they only added more bounds. They kicked me, threw stones and beat me with broad sticks. I couldn't fight back any longer, weakness and broken bones and shooting pains rendering me completely helpless.
But that didn't matter. I was still breathing and that was entirely too much for them. They wanted me to die, suffer, cry and perish. But I would not. No matter how much or how often I screamed for repentence, not understanding then what crime I had committed, they never let me go. They would keep on until their limbs wore down and their throats grew hoarse from screaming.
Demon! Witch! Devil! Unnatural! Bastard!
I could never tell which one hurt worse. They all stung. They could destroy my body however they liked, but nothing hurt even half as much as those fucking words did.
Sometimes they would tie me to a pyre and pile logs and sticks around me, set them on fire and wait for the ashes to die, long devoid of wood, I would remain there, naked and scarred, my clothes long gone and the ropes long deteriorated. Would they never realize that fire would not kill me? That beatings would not kill me? By then I would always lay there and cry, unable to get up and run away.
But that was nothing. The thing that truly made its mark on my memory was the fucking water. Sometimes they tried that first, but after the fire, they would tie me up and attach me to a weight of some kind, then the stronger men of the village would drag me to the lake, over the dock then toss me into the freezing murky depths. I couldn't drown, of course, but it felt like I could.
My lungs would feel like they were being crushed, my vision would blank and my head would feel dizzy. I would simply struggle and try to escape until the ropes finally broke, sometimes a week later. I'd have to be careful not to surface too soon, for the townspeople would often watch the water, waiting for the demon-child to reappear.
I never understood why they were afraid of me. I'd never done anything to them. I never hurt their children or stole from them. I was a good little Teuton! I was supposed to protect them and fight for their freedoms! Did they not know who I was? Could they simply not understand that I was them?
This all happened, this was my life. I spent more time hiding and training on my own and doing my best to just do my job and not be seen by the people of my own nation than I did just... being Gilbert. I never got a chance to learn who that was.
Do you know Gilbert? Is he cool? Does he stand up for what's right? Does he fight for the good of humanity? Is he a self-obsessed jerk? Does he even exist?
Or am I truly a demon like they said I was?