The Lionheart_a LitRPG Novel

by Stevie Collier

Esh seemed to be the only one who noticed this graceful motion for the orphans, realizing their words were having no affect, began to throw stones.

  “Look at this piece of shit,” said a taller and fatter boy, picking up a sharp-looking stone and hurling it towards the trash picker.

  The Elder still paid them no mind and was dodging each stone with the least amount of effort and movement while picking up trash. Was he dodging? Or was it by accident?

  Finally, one of the stones reached its destination, hitting the Elder in the chin.

  “Yes! Take that shagra shit!” said the taller one picking up yet another stone.

  “Stop it!” Esh screamed with his high childish voice, making every orphan turn towards him.

  “Oy! You don’t like it? Why don’t you come here and make me stop!” said the tall kid walking towards Esh. However, he was stopped by one of his ugly comrades who pointed him towards where the Elder had been… had been… he was gone!

  Esh was shaking. He knew what was to come. He turned to run but the older orphan had gotten to him. His name was Mehch but Esh always called him “Nasty Ears” because of all the ear wax that was stuck inside them.

  Mehch gripped Esh’s shoulders so tight that it made him squeak in pain. “Look what you have done, little kid! That old fart was able to slither away on its belly because of your dumbass interruption!”

  Thirteen-year-old Mehch pushed Esh hard into the dirt and held him there with his left hand while using his right hand to rip at Esh’s shirt. With a few tugs, Esh’s back was completely exposed. Mehch bent over and Esh could feel his heavy sinister breath.

  “Soooooo,” Mehch said, shoving Esh’s face into the ash, “Why are you still alive?”

  The question sent Esh’s heart racing. Half of him did not understand the question and the other half completely understood. Why was he still alive? Why did everyone hate him? Was it because his hair was a different color?

  He started to sob.

  “That’s right, that’s right, cry you baby. You know you’ve done wrong. Your birth is a slight against us true bloods of Reah!”

  Mehch flipped Esh onto his back. He could now see into the yellow eyes of the monster before him and that’s when he noticed the flip bone-knife in Mehch’s right hand. Mehch, following his eyes, grew a very devious smile. His eyes gave away his plan.

  Esh began to shriek. He went completely delirious with fear, calling for anyone, anyone at all to come and rescue him. And people did come, oh yes, but not to help. They came to watch.

  “You aren’t one of us, you aren’t pure! You belong to the loathed!”

  Esh heard only half of what was being said, for he was concentrating on the mini bone-blade being lowered to his chest. He squirmed harder and harder to no avail as Mehch was far too strong. He felt his hands and legs being pulled apart from his body, his arms held by his fellow orphans and his legs… by adults.

  “This is long overdue, you piece of shit. You need to be marked with the sign of the loathed! The sign of the despicable!” Mehch cried, finally touching the skin under Esh’s shoulder with the fiery tip of the blade.

  The adults and orphans began to chant “Loathed! Loathed! Loathed!” which evolved into laughter as Mehch’s blade pushed deeper, making cold blood rise to the surface. Esh screamed and screamed but nothing made the pain stop. Mehch’s hand drew the blade slowly from the upper shoulder, down his chest, and to the opposite hip, filleting him wide open.

  Esh stopped screaming and his eyes stopped focusing. The adults and orphans released him and stepped back. Some even left out of boredom. He wasn’t able to lift his head but used a hand to touch his torso and trace the river that had been carved across his body. There was no pain.

  Esh had somehow always known this would come. He was despised by all and should never have been born. He deserved this, he supposed, and let himself smile. Finally, it was over.

  Mehch spit on the ground and turned his back to Esh. He flung the blade into the air over his shoulder. The bone-blade spun in the air until it stuck deep into the middle of Esh’s river in the center of his gut. Still, no pain, only cold pressure.

  He was all alone, or at least he thought he was alone. Then the hallucinations began. Some sort of animal crawled up next to him, brushing him with its hard metallic body. It began to howl or cry, Esh couldn’t tell. The beast probably wasn’t even there at all. But either way, it kept him company throughout his transition to eternal bliss or eternal suffering.

  Esh was sure that the sun would be the last thing that he saw, until a sudden darkness was over him. Had the sun finally gone out? Or had he? Were these his final moments?

  He smelled a mixture of dirty stench and alcohol. Was this what hell was like? He deserved it… he wasn’t a true Reahlic.

  2 - Land of Sin

  Flames danced around Esh’s body, leaving charred black skin that instantly dried and cracked to reveal new skin ready to go through the frying process all over again. All around him were people in the worst pain imaginable. To his left was a group of people being suspended by hooks through their abdomens. The hooks moved on their own, sticking the closest victim. If the hook had any trouble getting through the bone, it would simply back up and charge again and again into the previous hole until it forced its way through. When the victim opened his mouth to shriek, small hooks flew inside and, Esh imagined, had morbid fun inside the victim’s guts.

  To his right there was a line of people. All were nude and trembling, waiting for their turn to have their limbs attached to two giant four-legged beasts made of black energy. Without warning, the beasts would snap into a sprint and tear their victim in two. Sometimes the pull was fast and killed the client instantly or they would choose to take their time, step by step, and let the skin rip oh-so-slowly. It was sort of like tearing a shirt apart but, instead of cloth fringe, it was shreds of skin.

  In the distance was a sort of giant circular trench with a massive wheel of spikes that continuously rolled in circles on its perpetual path. Massive red circular eyes and a red smile rested on the flat side of the wheel. It had a face, a face that did not turn with the wheel itself but kept its eyes looking below as it crushed the people unlucky enough to have been dropped in. After death, the bodies would reawaken only to be put through the same death over and over again by the spiked wheel. The only sign of relief they would have from this pain was the fresh batch of bodies that were pushed into the trench by three foot black energy goblins. People pleaded with them, on their knees even, but this just made the leverage better for kicking them into the course of doom.

  The only substance that covered this land besides fire was the blood, blood that dried instantly. It gave off a smell that could easily have been worse than some forms of physical torture.

  Esh became aware that all of the torturers were the same, or at least made from the same stuff in the idea that they were all… without light. Just dark dirty clouds that took murky shapes of beasts, goblins, and hooks. These creatures often turned to black gas to move on to another form of fun because they had become bored with what they were currently doing.

  But something was wrong. As soon as Esh appeared in their realm, they turned their attention to him and only him. There must have been thousands upon thousands of sinners with their eyes long ago melted by the heat that were present and ready to be tortured, but it was Esh who the torturers wanted. He could tell by the way they looked at him with their little envious red eyes.

  Finally, it was his turn. Hooks pierced each of his shoulders, not a perfect piercing either, but through the shoulder blades. Esh opened his mouth to scream but there was no air in this land, and no air meant no scream. He was lifted into the air, higher and higher. He had the best view of this park of horror. The hooks stopped a moment and Esh could see two other people hoisted from two different parts of the park and they both headed towards him, traveling by hook. Both of these people soared towards him at an insane speed. They hit him, their cauterized bodies sticki
ng to his and leaving a large part of their flesh behind when they swung backwards.

  Esh gasped.

  Even without eyeballs and with cracked teeth, Esh knew these people. He couldn’t recognize them by their appearance but he could feel it. They were his parents.

  Before he could even reach out to touch them, he was hoisted away. He was now so high that, at some point, he couldn’t even see the land of sin anymore.

  His eyes slid open ever so slightly, letting light seep in. One figure was hunched over him and it took his eyes several minutes to adjust. However, he knew instantly by her voice that it was his fake mother. He could feel her tears plop onto his face.

  “Oh Esh! You’re awake! I thought… I thought…”

  She began to speak far too fast in Reahlic. Even others who were fluent in Reahlic probably couldn’t have understood her anyways for she had begun sobbing and trying to talk at the same time.

  He really hoped she wouldn’t start touching him for the pain had started to reach his brain now. How was he alive? Hadn’t he just been to hell? Had it all just been some crazy nightmare induced by his traumatic experience?

  He coughed up blood and it was wiped from his face, but not by the hands of his fake mother but by someone else’s. Esh summoned all his strength to turn his head and was shocked to see the trash worker sitting by his side. Before Esh could ask any questions, the man raised himself with the same graceful movement Esh had seen earlier and was out the door before two seconds had passed. Esh let his head drift back. What was he doing here?

  “Who did this to you?” asked Mother in the common language, her speech finally understandable.

  He didn’t answer, and he didn’t think Mother expected him to anyways.

  There was silence in the room for a few minutes, his fake mother still stood over him crying. He wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t a doctor in the room treating his wounds. For all he knew, one of the adults that held him down could have been a doctor.

  “I think you should know,” said Mother, “that the elderly man that just left was the one who brought you to me.” Her wrinkly face twisted as she stepped back and really took in the mess that Esh was in. It wasn’t pretty and it was highly likely he would be dragged by his feet back to the depths of sin land.

  Mother left the room and came back with a canister of compressed water. Esh shook his head, knowing how precious water was this far inland but Mother ignored him. She pressed the tip of the canister and spray wet her hands. She carefully let the water drip from her hand to his wounds. This seemed to worsen the pain.

  She added soap that she had found, an also valuable resource, and cleaned his wounds. He tried to get her to stop, for the pain was too much and he knew she would get into trouble with Korp, the headmaster.

  She finished the cleaning job and went to the worst part of all. The sewing.

  As far as Esh knew, she had no skills as a nurse but she did have skills making clothes for the children. His skin would be her fabric.

  The procedure took an hour and the pain began to make Esh convulse, his eyes often rolling back into his head. He would pass out and she would wake him up with water, stopping completely until he was awake. Oh how he wished she would just finish the job while he was mentally away.

  When the job was done, she went to clean herself up, leaving Esh alone with his sobs, dull pain, and… anger… yes, lots of anger. He was tired of the way he was treated and swore to himself that if he lived, he would get revenge on Mehch.

  Revenge would keep him alive.

  The door opened but it was not the elderly trash worker or his fake mother who entered, but the handsome Korp. His smile was always ear to ear, teeth larger than normal, and wearing a black tunic. Smoke floated from a very thick fume stick that he kept in the corner of his grinning mouth.

  Esh had just left hell and yet the devil had found him.

  “Hi, dearie,” Korp said, shutting the door behind him.

  3 - Savior

  “Poor baby… poor sweet baby, all hurt and… vulnerable…” Korp said, walking up to his bed’s side.

  “I just don’t understand who could do this to such a sweet little baby as yourself.” Korp started to rub the skin around the freshly-sewed wound, his eyes not leaving Esh’s.

  “Who did this to you? Tell me! I’ll make sure justice is served!” Korp’s fingernails began to scratch Esh’s stomach. The devil wanted him badly this sun-cycle.

  Korp had a reputation. A reputation that even made the great sculptor Mehch piss his trousers. Korp loved his adolescent boys, but loved them a little too much. Esh had heard stories of orphan boys being sent to his office for a scolding but they never returned.

  “Why don’t you wanna tell me? Do you not trust Daddy?” Korp asked, his eyes coming to angry points and his huge muscles flexing under his tunic. “Don’t fucking ignore me, shagra shit!” he hissed, slamming his fists on Esh’s bed and sending ripples through his body, tears coming to his eyes.

  “Oh, Creator, I am sassy this sun-cycle! Ignore me, son. Ignore my silly silly blunder.” Korp’s hands returned to Esh’s stomach, but much lower this time. Even the pain couldn’t mask his discomfort in this situation.

  The door opened and in walked Mother. Korp’s hands were off of him immediately.

  “What the hell happened here, Meyaderah?” Korp asked, his tone much deeper and professional.

  Meyaderah bowed with both hands out, as all the employees were expected to do and answered, “Headmaster Korp, one of our own orphans did this to Esh! They… they sliced him up!” she cried and ran up to hug him but he pushed her away.

  “How could you let this happen? How? How Meyaderah?!”

  She dropped to her knees and started to sob hysterically. Esh had already figured she blamed herself. Blamed herself for even letting him try to belong. When and if he ever healed, he would hug her and tell her it wasn’t her fault.

  Korp turned to Esh. “I assure you, my son, we will get to the bottom of this!”

  The headmaster turned on his heels and was out of the room.

  Sleep wouldn’t come. It was dark in his new cell and every time he moved on his squeaky bed the beast on his chest would awaken. He could feel something cold running down from the sides of the wound. He lifted a finger and carefully swabbed the wetness. He brought it to his nose and nearly vomited at the smell. It was the smell of death.

  He couldn’t remember what the room he was in looked like for he was pretty much delirious when he had first awoke. By the time his mind had cleared up, the room had been pitch black. There were no lights under the door and no moonlight shone through any window. The darkness began to play with his head, often morphing into strange shapes, creatures or even people he knew. He wasn’t safe behind closed lids either, the creatures of the dark found him there, too.

  He heard the door creak open. There was a pause and then he heard quiet footsteps begin towards him. Please, not Korp. Please… not Korp. Not the devil.

  Esh began to squeak and wiggle but an unfamiliar, “Shhhh,” took him by surprise.

  The figure was at his bedside in half a second.

  “You’re dying, lad,” said the stranger.

  This wasn’t news to Esh for he had already died. Or at least, he thought did.

  “Should have kept to your own damned business.”

  The young man’s eyes widened. Was this? Couldn’t be. How did he get in? What was he doing here?

  Esh tried to sit up but was instantly held down by his neck.

  “Stay down, will ya?” the stranger whispered, removing his hand to start fiddling with something in the darkness.

  Esh complied but so many questions buzzed in his head. This could be only one person, the trash worker. But why was this old man here? Who would want to visit a dying loathed?

  “You aren’t going to like how this tastes, lad. But it will save ya it will.”

  A canister was held to his lips and, before Esh could resist, the trash worker spr
ayed something foul down his throat. There was an instant wooziness that overtook him and he wanted nothing else but to spit it back up. However, the trash worker would have none of this and covered Esh’s mouth with a hard-pressed hand.

  “You need to drink, dammit. I’ve risked too much to come here for you not to cooperate,” the Elder said, applying even more pressure. “Now, I’ll let go if you promise to swallow.”

  Esh shook his head and the pressure was released. He forced himself to swallow the snot-textured sour liquid. The room began to spin.

  “This outta stop the infection and speed up the healing process.”

  Esh heard the man stand followed by footsteps headed for the door.

  “Wait,” Esh managed to say and the footsteps stopped.

  “You will see me again,” the man said.

  The door opened and closed, leaving Esh in complete darkness.

  If the healing process was sped up by the nasty medicine, Esh couldn’t tell. He was in bed for what seemed like forever and little red sores began popping up under his back side. He had no books, no games, and no company. Except, that wasn’t true for Esh did have company every moon-cycle.

  About an hour after all the sounds of the orphanage ceased as everyone fell asleep, Esh’s door would open and Korp would slither in. He wouldn’t say a word. He would just walk over to a chair in the corner and plant himself there for a very long time. He spent this time smoking fume sticks and… watching him. Esh hated how the only light in the room was his yellow eyes. They say the more yellow your eyes were the more the blood of the sun of Reah had blessed you.

  Esh never truly knew when he would fall asleep, he would just open his eyes and the sunlight would creep through the halls and into his room. Korp would not be there, not even the ash of his fume sticks.

  Sun-cycles went by slow, slower than Esh thought possible. He found himself counting seconds, minutes, seeing how long he could go before getting distracted by vermin escaping through cracks in the wall or bugs being caught by bigger bugs. And with his time alone, with this punishment for being sliced open, his anger grew. He didn’t know what, exactly, it was he wanted to do but he did know one thing, he would change. What else did he have to fear? The worst had already been done to him.