Morgan remained silent, motionless, watching the Zorath. In his mind, a silent war raged, wondering what to do with him as the effect of the stun faded, second by second. But something broke his concentration.
He felt a slight tug on his clothes, barely perceptible, but enough to tear him from his thoughts. He slowly turned his head, and there she was: the woman, crawling like a dying animal, her body broken, shattered, covered in dirt and blood. It was the same woman who, moments earlier, had dared to stand between the Zorath and that child... and had paid the price.
Driven by an almost automatic instinct, Morgan leaned down to see her condition, but as soon as he was within reach, the woman, gathering every last drop of strength she had left, gripped his shoulders tightly, pulling him toward her face. Her eyes—two bottomless pits of indescribable pain—locked onto Morgan's, and with a voice shattered by suffering, she released a venomous whisper heavier than any scream.
"Kill him."
(She said, looking him directly in the eyes.)
Morgan froze, trapped in the gravity of that single word. The woman, with her broken voice, repeated it:
"Kill him."
The atmosphere compressed around Morgan. His body began to tremble. That look… That look. There was no human way to describe what he saw in her: it was pain, hatred, hope, and despair—all at once—melded into a face that should no longer have had the strength to feel anything.
Morgan's transformation faded. As he lifted his head, he noticed something even more terrifying: the other people who had been held captive on that farm were also watching him, motionless, in absolute silence, all with the same spectral expression. He didn't need them to speak. In his mind, their voices screamed in unison, wild and urgent, repeating the same words the woman had just begged.
"Please, sir... I beg you... I beg you to kill him."
The woman broke into tears. Her weeping was not human—it was an existential plea, a plea that didn't stop for even a second while her lips kept, almost automatically, repeating that sentence: to kill the Zorath.
And then the voices became real. Those who had only stared in silence began to raise their voices, first one, then another, until all, in a macabre chorus, repeated the same thing over and over again. It was no longer a request. It was a demand.
Overcome with panic, Morgan stood up abruptly, letting the woman's body fall to the ground like a rag. He clutched his chest; the pain intensified, his breath a chaotic gasp, each inhale a dagger. He stepped back, as if he could escape those voices, those gazes.
But he couldn't.
Those voices followed him. Those people's hands reached out—pleading, empty, like specters—seeking to grab him, drag him toward the decision he didn't want to make, while repeating like a cursed litany:
"Kill him... kill him... please... kill him."
Morgan, tears streaming down his distorted face, shook his head slowly, his voice barely a whisper drowned in anguish.
"No... I can't..."
(Morgan said with difficulty.)
Then, blindly stepping back, he felt something firm behind him. He turned and saw the Zorath's feet. He was still suffering from slight residual spasms, but now he was fully conscious. He watched the scene with a sinister smile, as if the whole macabre play were nothing more than entertainment to him.
The Zorath, stumbling over his words, turned his empty eyes to Morgan and, with a voice dripping with cynicism, said:
"What's the matter...? Won't you do it?"
(Said the Zorath, smiling.)
Morgan didn't respond. The woman, refusing to give up, began to crawl again, her body covered in dirt, blood, and tears. Her broken fingers scraped the ground as she whispered, with less and less air, her throat shredded:
"Please... you're the only one... the only one who can... kill him... I beg you... kill him... KILL HIM!"
Her strength ran out. Her body collapsed under the weight of exhaustion, falling completely to the ground. She lost consciousness. But the voices... the voices did not stop. They were no longer asking. They were demanding.
Men. Women. Even the little girl who was still breathing. All of them, in unison, in a tone that no longer belonged to this world:
"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"
And among that infernal echo, the most unexpected voice joined the chorus.
The Zorath's.
"Come on... come on... do what they tell you. What are you waiting for? Kill me, kill me, boy!"
And then, with that twisted smile, he shouted along with the rest:
"Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!"
Morgan, desperate, clutched his head, pulling at his hair, trying to drown out the voices that had become a storm in his mind. He whispered through gritted teeth, like a child who couldn't take it anymore.
"Stop... stop... please... stop... just stop..."
But the voices didn't stop. The universe shrank to a single word: "Kill him." His own thoughts dissolved, replaced by that command. And just when he thought his mind couldn't take another second, he heard something worse: his own voice—cold, distant, unrecognizable.
"Kill him."
Morgan's scream tore through the air.
"ENOUGH!"
Finally, silence. Everything froze. The people stopped shouting, motionless, their gazes fixed on him. The Zorath, still smiling, watched him, satisfied.
Empty, Morgan grabbed the Zorath by the foot and dragged him away from the stable, into the forest, as deep as his legs would take him. He let go. Took a few steps back, leaned his back against a tree, and closed his eyes.
He wanted to think. He needed to think.
"What are you doing?"
(Said the Zorath, smiling.)
Morgan turned his head toward him. He didn't answer. He just stared at him, serious, before screaming and starting to lightly bang his head against the tree trunk.
"I'm thinking."
(Said Morgan seriously.)
"And what are you thinking about?"
(Responded the Zorath with difficulty.)
"I'm thinking... about what I'm going to do with you."
(Said Morgan, still banging his head against the tree.)
The Zorath let out a broken laugh—cracked, but mocking.
"So you won't do it? You won't kill me? Even though those beasts begged you to... you won't do it?"
(Said the Zorath, between strangled laughs.)
"NO! Of course not!"
Morgan shouted, furious, punching the tree with all his strength, his knuckles bleeding. He began pacing in circles, desperate, like a caged animal.
"Maybe for you it's simple, something trivial, to take someone's life... but for me... it's not. It's not something that should be done! It's a line that shouldn't be crossed! And yet, you and they... ask me to do it like it's the most natural thing in the world... but dammit, I can't! I just can't!"
(Said Morgan, with pain and fury.)
"I'm not a killer! I'M NOT A KILLER!"
(Morgan screamed, through tears of rage and desperation.)
The Zorath's smile finally faded. Now his face showed nothing but disappointment.
"Let me give you a piece of advice, boy. I don't know what you're trying to do... or what your purpose is... but in this life, everything comes down to two simple things: actions and consequences. One day, decisions like this... will catch up to you. And believe me... your fragile spirit won't bear the weight of the consequences.
If you want to survive in this world, you must be willing to do whatever is necessary. To pay whatever price it takes. Look at where I am... everything I did, every act, every choice, brought me here. To this exact moment, where I suffer the consequences of my actions. And you know what? I regret nothing. In fact, if I could... I'd do it all again.
But tell me, boy... when the day comes that the consequences of your decisions catch up to you... will you be able to accept them? Will you be able to embrace them with the responsibility they deserve? Think about it."
Morgan froze. Unable to speak. Unable to move.
At that moment, the Zorath began to make strange noises with his mouth. Then, slowly, he opened it, revealing a small capsule clenched tightly between his teeth.
"Hey... what are you doing?"
(Said Morgan, surprised.)
The Zorath gave one last smile.
"Remember this, kid: actions... and consequences."
And without hesitation, he bit down on the capsule.
Morgan lunged forward, trying to stop him. But it was too late. The Zorath began to convulse, his smile still intact, as if death were his final triumph.
The scene that followed was a grotesque nightmare: his skin melted, his blood evaporated into the air, his flesh decayed at an unnatural speed, until all that remained was his skeleton, leaning against the base of the tree.
And even then—even when his body was gone—that smile remained. That expression that seemed to whisper: "Ahh... I'm satisfied."
Morgan stood still, trapped in the image, feeling his soul being torn apart.
Without saying a word, he began walking back, alone, his thoughts burning in his mind. Reliving every second of every minute since he arrived in this world—every glance, every plea, every scream.
This was his new world.
And it was only the beginning.
End of Chapter.
Next chapter: This world must change.