"I accept."
The sll of blood and ash around seed to have dulled his ability to make sound decisions, or it could be the cries of his sister, who was being held by one of their captors.
"Ye have made the right decision, ye have chosen a path to salvation, and may our lord offer thee the strength and will to carry out his righteous command". The man paused before signaling one of his n with a wave of his hand.
Stepping forward, the signaled figure brought a parchnt that seed to emit a faint glow. It had so words written on it.
"Sign here," the man said to the kneeling jack, pointing at the bottom of the parchnt that had a place for a signature.
Jack looked at the parchnt with confusion, he couldn’t comprehend what it was or why there was a need for it to be signed. He hadn’t experienced such a thing before, nor was there any record of it anywhere for him to have perused.
’What are those words? I haven’t seen them before. A different language, perhaps? Jack thought, looking at the parchnt, which seed mystical to him. ’I don’t feel good about this, but...’ Looking back at his family, who were huddled together behind him, he couldn’t help but ask
"Is there a quill or charcoal I can sign with?" he asked, breathing heavily.
Jack, despite not seeing the man’s face, could visibly see the crease on the fabric covering his face; he was smirking, a cruel, twisted smirk like none he had ever seen. Then he replied, "Use thy blood. It gives it more aning."
Jack’s face fell as he brought his finger to his face and touched the still-bleeding injury, staining it with blood, then he signed on the parchnt.
Then he felt it...
It felt disturbing, a binding had ford, he felt it weighing on his very essence, his soul was bound to a set of rules now, ones he couldn’t escape from.
"What bloody hell was that?" Jack scread at the terrifying feeling he had.
"Ha-ha, good good. This raid hath been productive. Praise thy lord for he hath forgiven a man and given him purpose, behold ye have been made anew. Do his beading and he shall grant thee thy heart’s desire." The man said in a crazed voice.
The raiders vanished with his sister that night, leaving the rest of his family and the parchnt’s burn in Jack’s veins. By dawn, his first ’paynt’ appeared—a crate of weapons and so gold that made his n invincible...and his first target list
From that day forward, Jack slowly ca to understand the deals he had signed that day. There was no escape for him, he had regretted signing that deal. He did it in the heat of the mont, so, understandably, he would co to regret it.
Village after village, he replayed that night: fathers cut down, mothers sobbing as their gifted children were dragged away—mirrors of his damned past... All in search of talented children who could serve whatever twisted purpose those n had for them.
The oppressed now sit at the sa table as the oppressors
He had tried to simply end it, but the thought of even killing himself to free himself from this bondage brings imnse pain, not just physical, but ntal, and in his soul, stopping him from even killing himself.
Despite the promise of wealth and resources, when the ti ca, he realized that he had beco the monster that the ones swore not to be like. Those with power abuse it by taking advantage of the weak. What rotten filth I’ve beco.
He couldn’t even speak to others about the deal he had made with these foreigners. Oh, how much he wished he had the power to rip them apart, but he didn’t; he wasn’t talented enough. This was the fate of the weak and talentless in this world.
Then ca his most recent raid. It was supposed to be easy like the rest, it was estimated to end quicker than the rest, for it was a small settlent, smaller than their usual targets.
That is, until a child slipped through them into the forest, not just any child, but presumably the most talented child he would ever have the privilege of coming across.
The boy ran fast, faster than any grown man could, faster than him, a person stuck at the cusp of breaking his limiter. He ran and dodged those massive trees while receiving directions from a monkey, he seems to always learn from his mistakes as his movents beco visibly refined.
He would have gladly let the boy go, but he is bound by the contract to always chase after those who escape, or else the torture just starts again.
That brings us to the present.
Jack’s sword arm trembled. Every fiber scread to drop the blade, but the contract’s chains yanked taut. His body moved against his will—the first strike already arcing toward the boy’s throat.
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