The moon reached the zenith of the sky.

  "...Waaaaaaaahhh!"

  Everyone jolted awake. It wasn't an ordinary scream; it was a wail of pure agony. Mary patted Alison’s shoulder. "I’ll look through the window; it must be a small accident." Mary rushed to the kitchen's lone window and peered out. She didn't move; she didn't speak. Alison followed, standing beside her, and stared out as well.

  Men in western clothing, stained with rust and draped in furs, were attacking the villagers—striking them down, binding them, and dragging them toward the village center. Harold followed, standing with great difficulty. He leaned over Mary and Alison to look out the window. He saw massive men clad in bear skins, brandishing rusted but lethal swords. They were storming the huts like cyclones, dragging men by their hair and shackling women with heavy iron chains that rang with a funeral chime against the blood-stained snow.

  The three of them watched the scene—a symphony of the same tragedies humans have created since ancient times: the weak crushed while the strong laugh. Harold’s face remained calm, but his jaw tightened until his teeth groaned under the pressure. Holding the wide knife in his only hand, he stepped outside. Mary noticed and followed; Alison trailed behind them, stopping at the hut’s threshold.

  Harold fought with ferocity. He swung the knife, striking one attacker in the head and severing the leg of another. But they quickly overwhelmed him, throwing him to the ground and binding him. Harold looked at his family in utter defeat. The attackers turned toward Mary and Alison. Mary tried to shove her daughter back inside, but the assault was too swift.

  Mary lunged at one of the men, landing a punch that sent one of his teeth flying, but they were too many and too strong. Mother and daughter were snatched away by force. Mary and Alison resisted, striking at the gang members in a desperate bid for freedom. Harold struggled against his ropes, but it was in vain.

  The gang marched Mary and Harold, bound, to the village square. They had gathered the villagers and, under the threat of whips, forced them to dig a narrow, deep trench near the assembly point. Tears and lamentations filled the air. Fathers looked at their imprisoned children—among them were the very children who had called Alison a failure. Alison was shoved into a rusted cage beside the trench, alongside the other village children. The villagers were forced to toss massive amounts of firewood and dry branches into the prepared pit.

  "Take care of yourself, my little one! Forgive me, I failed you!" Harold shouted, his sharp voice piercing the square's din, directed at Alison in the cage.

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  "Shut up!" a gang member barked, pressing down on Harold’s left shoulder.

  Harold turned to Mary and whispered, "I'm sorry. I failed you too."

  "You didn't fail me. I know you tried," Mary sobbed.

  The gang chose Harold and Mary to be the first to "inaugurate" the trench. The fire in the pit was lit. Flames erupted with terrifying speed. Harold and Mary were led harshly to the edge. The heat slapped their faces and singed Mary’s golden hair. The family exchanged looks—the look of a lover to a lover at the end of their final meeting.

  "Alison, I love you! Be strong and live!" Mary screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Mary and Harold turned their heads and stared into the pit. In an instant, the gang members gave a final, forceful shove, sending Mary and Harold tumbling into the trench.

  Time seemed to slow down. Alison’s eyes saw the last tear fall from Mary’s eye and the perfect smile Harold wore the moment the fire touched his skin. The flames devoured them. A massive black cloud and towering tongues of fire rose. Alison watched the cloud ascend; the black soot choked her breath. She was inhaling the remains of her burning parents.

  The gang members cheered. After their roars, a silence followed that felt, to Alison, like an eternity. Her eyes remained fixed on the trench for a long time, tears streaming down her face. The side of her body facing the pit was searing hot, while her other side remained freezing cold. More villagers were pushed in, and the gang's cheering continued.

  Once the last villager had been thrown into the pit and all the children were shoved into the cage, the gang set up their tables in the village square, amidst the stench of burning human flesh and charred wood. They didn't stop at slaughtering the livestock; they devoured the meat half-raw, blood trickling down their chins filled with filth and lice. They laughed with coarse, grating voices, gulping foul liquids from old leather skins that seized their senses and hurled them into a vortex of madness; they would vomit on their clothes, then continue eating without a care.

  They pulled some children out of the cage and made them stand before them. The children’s bodies trembled, their tears soaking the ground beneath them.

  "We’re going to play a game," a massive gang member said, drawing his whip and cracking it in the air. "We’ll swing the whip, and you have to dodge it. Understood?"

  The children couldn't dodge the strikes; every blow found its mark. Their screams rose, but the gang’s laughter was louder.

  "Alright, that’s enough. Put them back in their cage," the leader commanded.

  One of them tossed a broken bone covered in grease toward the children's cage, shouting in a hoarse voice, "Eat, you dogs! Nyaha-nyaha-nyaha!"

  They tore the looted clothes of the villagers to wipe the filth from their mouths, then tossed them into the mud beneath their feet. Alison, from behind the bars of her rusted cage, watched the faces of these human monsters, realizing how sane human beings could be worse than animals, even worse than the monsters of the forest.

  At dawn, the bearded leader rose, wiped the blade of his sword with a piece of moldy bread, and swallowed it. "Burn what remains," he said coldly, looking toward the horizon. "Take these and sell them in the slave market," he gestured to some of his followers. "The rest of us, back to the base."

  The village turned into a storm of fire. Alison stared at the scene, sufficing herself with silence.