The relentless desert sun bore down on Goblin Slayer— radiating through his layers of protection, as he limped down the desolate dirt road.

The flatlands stretched out in every direction— barren sand, dry patches of yellowed grass, and scattered cacti were the only signs of life. His throat was dry as parchment, his lips cracked and bleeding. Every breath was a laborious rasp, and his entire body felt feverish. Though he was drenched in sweat, chills ran down his spine.

His abdomen still ached where the iron bar had skewered him, and despite the potion's magic, the wound throbbed— serving as a constant reminder of how close he had been to death. The teen clutched the area with one hand— hoping to quell the pain that gnawed at his insides.

'Am I bleeding on the inside? Have I lost too much blood?' Goblin Slayer asked himself, though he already was aware that there was no way of him knowing. And though his mind continued to race with many questions, his body simply moved forward— driven by stubborn willpower that outshone the dread he felt in his bruised bones.


The vultures kept a safe distance behind him— their black eyes glinting with anticipation. They could sense how close he was to succumbing, as they hopped along the sand on their thin feet.

The weight of his armor was growing more and more unbearable— his backpack like an anchor. His tomahawk felt heavy at his side, and his once sturdy iron buckler was chipped and damaged, barely functional.

His steps grew heavier, and his vision began blurring slightly as exhaustion took further hold of him. The gray-haired teen couldn't help but to wonder what was keeping him alive at all, as the thought of being alive on will power alone seemed ridiculous to him.

'Maybe I'm not as injured as I feel? Yeah, yeah… Actually… No, nevermind— that's just wishful thinking. It's probably just my body pumping all the adrenaline I've got through my veins— that's a more probable explanation.'

Just as his thoughts began to drift, something snapped him back to reality— the sand shifted beneath his boots, causing him to freeze.

A violent quake then rippled through the ground— the desert floor trembling. Goblin Slayer's heart raced, as the vultures suddenly fled— taking to the sky in a flurry of wings. His hand instinctively moved to the tomahawk at his belt. A low rumble echoed from below, and without warning, the sand burst upward around him in a shower of dirt and rock.

Five enormous scorpions erupted from the ground— their massive brown armored shells glinting in the harsh sunlight. Each one was at least ten feet long, with giant pincers that snapped the air menacingly and tails curled high, ending in deadly stingers dripping with venom.

Goblin Slayer's heart pounded in his chest as he raised his iron buckler— the trembling in his hands betraying how weak he had become. 'Out of all the times to be ambushed, it had to be now?!'

His vision swam, and his body begged for rest, but there was no time for that now. He tightened his grip on his tomahawk, raising it despite the shaking of his limbs. His breath was shallow, his strength nearly gone, but he would fight.

'It doesn't matter how many of these hellspawns crawl out of the Earth! I won't falter here— not now, not ever!'

The first scorpion lunged with terrifying speed— its massive claws reaching out to crush him. Goblin Slayer sidestepped, stumbling as he swung his tomahawk, the blade biting into the armored claw with a sickening crunch. The scorpion screeched and recoiled, but a second one was already upon him— its tail whipping toward his chest. He barely raised his buckler in time, the stinger bouncing off the metal with a loud clang. The force of the impact sent him skidding back, his boots digging into the sand.

He was outnumbered and outmatched— one wrong move would mean instant death.

A third scorpion rushed at him from behind, and Goblin Slayer spun on instinct— his tomahawk carving a deep gash into its tail as it reared back to strike. The beast hissed in pain— its tail flailing wildly, spraying venom across the sand. Before he could catch his breath, the first scorpion came again, pincers snapping at his legs. Goblin Slayer leaped, but not fast enough— one claw caught his ankle, sending a jolt of pain up his leg. He grunted and swung down with all his might, the tomahawk severing the claw clean off.

The scorpion shrieked, thrashing as its severed limb fell to the ground, but Goblin Slayer couldn't stop. He stumbled forward, breathing hard— his movements erratic but filled with brutal determination. The remaining scorpions circled him, their pincers clicking in unison as if planning their attack.

His body screamed in protest, his lungs burning with every breath. His vision was fading, but he couldn't stop.

'Not now… Not yet, not yet!'

With a roar, he charged at the nearest scorpion— his tomahawk glinting in the sun as he swung with all his remaining strength. The blade cleaved into its armor, shattering the shell, and Goblin Slayer twisted the weapon, ripping it free as a fountain of blood sprayed from the wound. The scorpion collapsed in a heap, twitching in the sand.

'That's one.'

The remaining scorpions, undeterred by their fallen kin, attacked in unison. Goblin Slayer raised his buckler, but it was too damaged— one stinger pierced the shield, grazing his left arm, and sending a fresh wave of agony through his body. He cried out, barely able to hold the tomahawk steady as another scorpion lunged for his legs.

He spun again, the tomahawk slashing through the air— severing another claw. The beast screeched, recoiling as Goblin Slayer hacked and slashed at it— his strikes becoming more desperate and wild. His limbs were heavy, his body sluggish, but he fought on, driven by sheer willpower and fury.

'Two.'

'Three.'

'Four.'

'F… Five.'

In a flurry of brutal strikes, Goblin Slayer finished dismembered the remaining scorpions— their bodies falling to the sand in a grotesque pile of twitching limbs.

He stood amidst the carnage, covered in their blood, his breath ragged and uneven. His muscles burned, and his mind felt numb from exhaustion, but he had done it.

He had survived.

The scorpions lay in pieces around him, their once terrifying forms now reduced to lifeless chunks strewn across the sand. Goblin Slayer dropped to his knees, panting heavily. His hands shook violently, barely able to grip his tomahawk anymore.

Panting heavily, the teen could feel his body crying out for rest— his muscles burned with exhaustion, and his injuries throbbed. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, then unclasped what remained of his iron buckler— letting it drop with a dull thud into the blood-streaked sand. The iron short sword, chipped and barely usable, followed suit.

'Lighten the load… I'm not going to get far, if I don't lighten the load.'

With a grunt of pain, he reached up and loosened the leather armor covering his left arm. The scorpion's stinger had grazed it earlier, leaving the leather shredded and soaked in his own blood. The armor fell away, revealing the torn flesh underneath. He hunched over, unable to stand straight, every movement sending sharp pain through his battered body.

Covered in insect blood, with his abdomen sore and his vision still blurry from the battle, he continued his slow, agonizing journey down the dirt road. The vultures, ever patient, swooped down behind him— descending upon the mutilated scorpion corpses to feast. The sight filled him with a sense of grim irony— he wasn't far from becoming their next meal.


The sun continued to beat down mercilessly on the Muhati Desert, the flat, barren landscape stretching endlessly before him. Every step was a struggle, his boots dragging through the sand as his body began to betray him. He could feel his strength ebbing away, but he refused to stop.

Suddenly, the rhythmic clopping of hooves reached his ears. He paused, barely able to lift his head, his vision blurry. Up ahead, a group of ten riders appeared on the horizon.

As they drew closer, he saw that they were desert marauders— rough-looking men with muscular builds, their dirty, light armor stained with sand and blood. They carried steel weapons, swords and axes gleaming in the harsh sunlight, and their eyes were filled with the promise of violence.

'… I should have just waited to retake that psych exam.''

The teenager's instincts screamed at him to run or hide, but there was nowhere to go. The flatlands offered no cover, and his body could barely move, much less escape. He stood still— frozen not by fear, but by sheer exhaustion. One of the marauders, riding at the front of the group, drew a bow and nocked an arrow.

Goblin Slayer, with what little strength he had left, tried to time the shot. He waited until the archer let the arrow fly, then twisted his body. He almost dodged it—but the arrow still lodged itself into his shoulder armor with a dull thunk— sending him tumbling to the ground. Pain shot through his body as he hit the dirt, and for a moment, he lay still— barely breathing.

The marauders circled around him, dismounting from their horses with cruel grins— convinced they had him. Goblin Slayer, gritting his teeth, played dead— his body limp and motionless, his breaths shallow. His heart pounded in his ears, and his grip tightened around the handle of his tomahawk.

As the first marauder approached, nudging him with the tip of his boot, Goblin Slayer sprang up like a feral beast. His tomahawk flashed in the sunlight, the blade biting deep into the man's leg, severing muscle and bone in a single strike. The marauder screamed as he fell, blood gushing from the wound. The berserking teen didn't wait— he tore the tomahawk free, spinning to face the others.

'One,' he counted, as he stomped down on the fallen marauder's skull— splattering his brains in the sand, as he turned to face his next opponent.

Another marauder lunged at him with a sword. Goblin Slayer raised his weapon to parry the blow— with the force sending him staggering back. He then followed up his parry with a wild swing of his tomahawk— catching the man across the chest. The blade cleaved through armor, flesh, and bone, sending a spray of blood into the air as the marauder crumpled.

'Two.'

The rest of the group descended on him, their swords and axes flashing in a whirlwind of steel. Goblin Slayer fought like a cornered animal, grunting and gasping in pain as his tomahawk cut through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency. Every movement sent sharp pains through his already battered body, but he pushed through it, using his agony as fuel.

One marauder managed to land a heavy blow on his side, the sword slicing through his armor and into his flesh. Goblin Slayer howled in pain but didn't falter— he drove the tomahawk into the man's neck, twisting the blade as he ripped it free. Blood spurted from the wound, drenching his hands and face.

'Three.'

Another marauder swung at his head, and Goblin Slayer ducked just in time, the blade whistling over him. He retaliated with a savage upward strike, splitting the man's jaw in two. Blood poured from the gaping wound as the marauder collapsed, choking on his own blood.

'Four.'

His vision blurred with sweat and blood, and his body trembled from exhaustion, but Goblin Slayer continued to fight. He took hits— several of them. A sword grazed his ribs, and an axe clipped his leg, but he remained standing. One by one, the marauders fell, their bodies littering the ground in a grotesque display of blood and gore.

'Five.'

'Six.'

'Seven.'

'Eight.'

'Nine.'

The last marauder, realizing his doom, tried to flee. But Goblin Slayer, despite his injuries, hurled his tomahawk with deadly accuracy. The blade buried itself in the man's back, and he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

'… And that's ten.'

Silence fell over the battlefield, save for Goblin Slayer's ragged breathing. He stood there, drenched in blood— some of it his, most of it theirs. His body continued screaming for relief— his vision swimming as he struggled to stay on his feet. His limbs felt like they were filled with lead, and every breath was agony.

With a groan, he limped over to the nearest last marauder's corpse— leaning down with exasperated breaths, as he gripped the handle of his tomahawk before dislodging from the back of the corpse's skull. Wiping its blade clean of brain matter and skull fragments along the back of the marauder's dirty armor, Goblin Slayer slid Sofia's gift in between his belt and hip before searching through their belongings for any form of first aid.

After shifting their filthy belongings and picking their corpses, Goblin Slayer could only find a few flasks full of putrid alcohol— all of foul, to the point that it was unfit to consume, let alone disinfect his wounds.

'Worthless shit— all of it,' the exhausted teenager thought to himself out of frustration, before beginning to drag his uncooperative foot behind him. His entire body trembled as he hoisted himself into the saddle, gasping from the effort. The pain was almost unbearable, but he forced himself to breathe, to hold on just a little longer.

'I can do it,' he repeated in his mind. 'I can do it.'

He gripped the reins, his body sagging in the saddle as the vultures circled above, now feasting on the marauders' remains. Goblin Slayer pressed on, forcing the horse forward, determined to survive— despite the overwhelming amount of odds that were stacking more and more against him by the passing minute.


Goblin Slayer's vision blurred as he slumped over the saddle, barely able to keep his eyes open. His gloved fingers— slick with sweat and blood— gripped the reins as tightly as they could, though his strength was waning. Every part of his body throbbed, his wounds pulsing with dull, lingering pain. His mind, overwhelmed by exhaustion and dehydration, began to slip.

The barren desert faded away, and in its place, horrific images crept into his mind.


The air was thick with smoke and the distant screams of their neighbors. The once peaceful village was now under siege, the night sky illuminated by the burning homes. Inside the small house, the boy stood frozen as Vivine frantically worked, nailing wooden planks over the windows, her hands shaking. Each hammer strike echoed like a warning of the inevitable.

"Ren, listen to me," Vivine said, her voice calm but her eyes betraying her fear. "I need you to hide. Under the floorboards, like we practiced."

The boy didn't move. His legs felt heavy, as if rooted to the floor. "Vivi, what's happening? Why-?"

"Ren, please." She knelt in front of him, grabbing his hands. Her grip was firm but trembling. She forced a smile, soft and sweet, the same one she always wore when she wanted to make him feel safe. "It's going to be okay, alright? Just stay quiet. I'll be right here."

He could see through the mask she wore—behind the soft facade was pure terror. But he couldn't speak. His throat felt tight, and all he could do was nod. Vivine smiled again, brushing the hair from his face before moving quickly, guiding him toward the hidden hatch beneath the floor. Her hands were shaking now, her voice strained as she lifted the boards.

"No matter what happens, stay under here…" she whispered, her voice cracking just slightly. "I love you."

The boy climbed down, his heart pounding in his chest. As he crouched in the cramped, dark space, Vivine lowered the boards back over him, sealing him in. Through the small gaps between the wooden slats, he could still see her moving about the room, trying to fortify the door. He wanted to say something, to beg her to hide with him, but the words stuck in his throat.

The door shuddered violently. Then again. The boy's breath hitched as he heard guttural laughter from the other side—the sound of claws scraping against wood. Vivine stepped back, her eyes fixed on the door as it splintered and buckled under the force.

A moment later, the goblins were inside. The door was smashed open, the vile creatures spilling into the room, their twisted faces full of malice. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, their sharp teeth glistening as they snarled and chattered in their foul language. They moved with a grotesque eagerness, clawed hands already reaching for Vivine as they tore the planks from the windows, the boards falling to the floor with loud cracks.

Vivine stood her ground, clutching a kitchen knife in trembling hands, but the boy could see it was useless. Her brave face faltered as the goblins surrounded her, their hands clawing at her dress. One of them grabbed her by the arm and pulled, tearing the fabric.

"No…!" The boy whispered, his small body trembling as he pressed himself deeper into the darkness.

Vivine's screams began, high-pitched and desperate, as more goblins swarmed her. They ripped at her clothes, their claws cutting into her skin, drawing blood. The knife she held clattered to the ground as they overwhelmed her, their hands groping, pulling her down to the floor.

The boy's eyes widened in horror as they tore at her dress— shredding the fabric as they pinned her down. Her voice was hoarse now, pleading for them to stop, but the goblins only laughed— their foul, screeching voices echoing in the room.

Through the cracks in the floor, he could see them tearing into her flesh. One of them bit down on her arm, ripping away a chunk of skin. Another slashed at her legs, leaving deep, bloody gashes. Her once-beautiful face twisted in agony as the goblins ravaged her— their claws and teeth turning her body into a mass of torn flesh and blood, while others in their band began forcibly penetrating her orifices.

She let out a blood curdling shriek.

But the boy couldn't move. He couldn't do anything but watch in helpless horror as they dismembered and violated her— tearing her apart piece by piece, while relentlessly thrusting in-and-out of her holes. Blood soaked the wooden floor— pooling beneath her as the goblins descended into a frenzy of violence and lust.

Her body twitched, then went still, her eyes wide and unseeing. The boy bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, his hands trembling uncontrollably as tears streamed down his face. He tried to close his eyes, tried to shut out the nightmare unfolding before him, but he couldn't tear his gaze away.

The sister who had loved him, who had kept him safe, was gone— consumed in a storm of brutality and blood.


He blinked, and the scene shifted to another dark memory.


The air in the cave was cold and damp, the kind of chill that sunk into your bones. Darkness pressed in from all sides, suffocating in its weight. The boy stood alone, his back straight, fists clenched at his sides. His heart hammered in his chest, and though he tried to control his breathing, each exhale came out in shaky bursts. The stench of mildew and rot clung to the air, making his stomach churn.

Somewhere in the shadows, his mentor lurked.

A faint, rasping laugh echoed from the depths of the cave, the sound bouncing off the jagged walls. "You're trembling, boy. Can't even keep your hands steady." The voice was low and mocking, filled with malice. "Do you think goblins care if you're scared? Think they'll show you mercy, just because your heart's about to beat out of your chest?"

The boy swallowed hard, his throat dry. He kept his eyes forward, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement, but it was impossible to see anything in the thick darkness. His body was tense, every muscle coiled, ready for whatever was coming. But it was hard to think, hard to focus with those words gnawing at the back of his mind.

"You were useless then, and you're useless now," the voice sneered. "Couldn't save your precious sister, could you? They tore her apart while you cowered like a worm!"

The boy's breath caught in his throat, panic surging up inside him. He gritted his teeth, his nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. 'Stay calm, stay calm,' he tried telling himself, but his mind was spiraling— the images of that night flashing before his eyes. The screams, the blood, the way they had ripped her to pieces.

He couldn't save her.

"And she deserved it," the voice hissed, cruel and sharp. "Deserved to be taken by goblins, to be ruined and slaughtered…"

"… It should have been you too, shouldn't it have?"

The boy's chest tightened, and his vision blurred with rage and grief. He knew it was a trap, knew the Rhea was trying to break him, but the words hit too close to the truth he already feared. His lips trembled, but he said nothing, standing there frozen in place.

From above, a sudden movement. Too fast to react to.

A dagger sliced through the air— whistling as it fell. He barely had time to look up before it buried itself into his shoulder, the blade sinking deep into flesh and muscle. Pain exploded through him, sharp and blinding, and he gasped, stumbling back. His hand shot up to the wound, blood seeping between his fingers as he struggled to stay on his feet.

A cruel laugh echoed again, this time closer, as Burglar dropped down from the ceiling, landing just out of reach. The Rhea's twisted grin was illuminated by the dim light, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He was small, hunched, but there was a menace to the way he moved, each step calculated, predatory.

"You can't even dodge that?" Burglar mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Pathetic. You're lucky I'm the one training you. You wouldn't survive a second out there on your own."

The boy staggered, gritting his teeth against the pain, trying to stay upright. His vision swam, the edges of the cave seeming to tilt, but he forced himself to stay standing. Blood dripped from the wound, warm and sticky against his skin, but he didn't dare pull the dagger out.

Burglar moved closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You think you'll survive long enough to kill goblins? If you can't even handle a knife, you might as well just stand still and let me finish you off. It'd be a mercy killing." He leaned in, his breath hot and foul. "Better to die by my hand than to end up like her— torn apart piece by piece, because just like her, you're nothing but a sniveling, worthless piece of SHIT!"

The boy's chest heaved, his breath ragged, the pain and panic twisting together inside him. His vision blurred again, but this time with tears that he refused to let fall. The horror of that night, his helplessness, it all pressed down on him, suffocating. He could feel himself shaking, the weight of the dagger pulling at his shoulder, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.

Burglar cackled, stepping back into the shadows, watching him like a predator stalking its prey. "Go on, fall. Give up. It'd save us both some time. Or stand there and let me kill you— it's the only thing you're good for: dying."


Goblin Slayer's breath quickened, his chest tightening as those words fused with the gruesome images of his sister's death. His body ached, his mind fractured.


"You… You need help, Mr. Ashta— more than you need to put that sword to good use…"


Suddenly, the horse beneath him neighed loudly— rearing up on its hind legs, startled by something unseen. Goblin Slayer, too weak to hold on, felt himself slipping.

His grip on the reins faltered, and before he could react, the world tilted. He fell backward with a hard thud— the impact knocking the wind out of him as he crashed into the ground.

The horse galloped away, its frantic hooves kicking up sand as it abandoned him. Goblin Slayer lay there, gasping for air, his chest heaving as he scrambled to regain his bearings. But the ground beneath him wasn't solid anymore.

He felt the sand shifting, pulling him toward something enormous.

He twisted his neck and saw it— rising from the ground, a massive mammoth scarab. Sand and rocks cascaded from its enormous shell as its six thick legs surfaced, towering over him like a living nightmare. The creature was easily thirty feet long, its mandibles clicking menacingly as it eyed him with ancient, soulless hunger.

Half-awake, half-delirious, Goblin Slayer felt a twisted sense of déjà vu. The words of the hooded, bandaged woman who had spoken to him earlier echoed in his head.

"Ah, misfortune— its web, tangled and wide, ensnares the fool and the brave alike. But despair... Despair is different…"

"… It's a gift, you see— not born of failure, but realization. Realization that your struggle was never a contest, but a foregone conclusion…"

"… Despair is the clarity of knowing the universe has long since decided your fate, and yet we persist…"

"… Why do you think that is?"

'That couldn't have been a coincidence… She must know what I've been through— it had to be that… It had to.'

His mind screamed at him to flee, but his body refused to listen. Instead, he stood, gripping his tomahawk— feeling the weight of his exhaustion dragging him down. His legs wobbled, and he coughed as dust and sand filled his lungs, but his resolve remained unbroken.

'Misfortune… My whole life's been nothing but misfortunate— even before she was taken from me, things were already hard on me. On us… She always knew how to make it better though— despite circumstances.'

The mammoth scarab lunged at him, its massive mandibles snapping as it charged. Goblin Slayer sidestepped, barely avoiding the creature's attack as his tomahawk swung up and bit into its armored horn that was protruding from its face. The blade skidded across the tough exoskeleton, and with the dwindling amount of stamina he had, Goblin Slayer leaped up onto the monster's massive head— using the tomahawk to frantically scale up its head, until he climbed over and onto its neck.

With each strike, he pondered the question more and more— dwelling on it, as though the hooded woman was somehow able to read his own unhinged thoughts.

'The universe has long since decided my fate, she said…'

'Was that all it was? Were the tragedies of my life truly all just predestined? Is this my fate? Was I born, just to suffer?'

'And if so… Why? What have I done to deserve that? To deserve any of this?'

His tomahawk slammed into the scarab's neck again, each swing more desperate than the last. The creature roared, rearing back as his weapon finally pierced its thick hide. Blood, thick and dark, spilled onto the sand, but Goblin Slayer kept chopping— kept fighting— through the haze of pain and madness that consumed him.

The scarab thrashed, trying to shake him off, but he clung to its neck with a death grip, his tomahawk buried deep in its flesh.

Again and again, he hacked at the monster, every swing fueled by the memories of his sister, the endless pain, the hopelessness of his life. He struck with fury, until finally, with a sickening crunch, the scarab's neck gave way, and its head fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

The rest of its massive body collapsed— its legs twitching as it went still.

Goblin Slayer, barely conscious, fell with it. He tumbled from the creature's corpse, crashing twelve feet to the ground below. The impact knocked the wind out of him again, and he lay there, his chest heaving as he stared up at the blinding sun.

His body was limp, his limbs unresponsive, his breath shallow. Every part of him throbbed in agony.

Goblin Slayer groaned as he tried to roll onto his back— his body feeling like dead weight. The moment his chest hit the ground, a sharp, searing pain tore through him, making him gasp.

He clenched his teeth, suppressing a scream as every breath sent a spike of agony up his ribs. It felt as though they were broken, fractured from the fall. His lungs, punctured by fragments of his own body, strained with every shallow breath.

Each inhalation felt like breathing through a pinhole— dust and sand scraped at the raw tissue inside his chest, filling him with a constant sense of suffocation. He coughed, sputtering as the air never seemed to reach his lungs. It was asphyxiation—slow, brutal suffocation. No matter how hard he tried to pull in air, it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges of his sight.

With sheer force of will, Goblin Slayer pressed his palms into the hot sand. His arms shook as he dragged his mutilated body forward. His left arm, torn and blistered from the battle, barely responded. The skin was beginning to bubble under the relentless heat of the sun, and his fingers twitched uselessly.


Time lost all meaning as he crawled through the desert. His belly scraped across the hot sand, the rough grit grinding against his armor and torn flesh. His legs were numb; he had lost feeling in them hours ago. He wasn't even sure if he was still moving. The world around him was fading into a blur of heat and pain, the horizon warping in the distance as the day dragged on.

The sky above began to turn orange, the first sign that the sun was setting. But to him, it was just another color— another blur in the haze of his suffering. He kept his eyes half-open, though his mind was barely aware of the world around him. The vultures that had been trailing him for so long were no longer just circling. He felt the weight of their talons on his back as they landed on him, prodding at his limp body.

One of the vultures pecked at his arm— its sharp beak tearing at the blistered skin. Goblin Slayer barely reacted.

He couldn't feel it anymore.

His senses were numb, his nerves dulled by the endless agony. All that remained was the faint sensation of movement, the vultures feasting on his still-living body as if he were already dead.

His vision flickered, the horizon swimming before him, but something caught his attention— a faint smell. Smoke. He could taste it too, acrid and bitter, burning the back of his throat. Slowly, painfully, he craned his neck to see. Over the horizon, he saw a distant stack of black smoke rising into the sky, a dark column twisting in the orange light of the setting sun.

He stared at it, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as the vultures continued to tear at his flesh. His hearing began to fade, the sound of the birds' squawking turning into distant, hollow echoes. His vision blurred, darkening around the edges.

And as the world faded into black, his last thoughts were of his older sister— vivid memories of when he was cradling the head of her decapitated corpse, before being forced to abandon her scattered remains.