The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice - Chapter 87

Chapter 87: The Shattering of Innocence

The night was eerily quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves under the cold wind.

They were moving through the outskirts of the village.

The village was situated near the border of human territory.

Zareth didn’t know why, but a strange unease settled in his chest.

Maybe it was the silence, the unnatural stillness of a place that should have been brimming with life.

Then—

“AHHHHHH! PLEASE, SOMEBODY SAVE ME!”

The scream shattered the quiet.

It wasn’t just a cry of pain—it was raw, desperate.

The kind of sound that only came from someone who knew death was moments away.

Zareth’s heart pounded in his chest. He turned to Ed, only to find the other boy already looking ahead, his face unreadable. His eyes reflected the flickering light of distant flames.

They moved faster now. The scent of burning wood grew stronger.

No—this wasn’t just wood. It was flesh.

Then they saw it.

The village was in ruins.

The streets were littered with bodies, some still twitching, their wounds fresh.

Blood pooled in the dirt, turning the ground into a slick, crimson mire.

And in the center of it all—

The elves were laughing.

One of them—a tall man with emerald hair—raised his sword high before swinging down.

SLASH!

The blade cleaved effortlessly through a man’s chest, splitting him open with a sickening crunch.

Blood sprayed onto the dirt, steaming against the cold air.

The elf merely grinned.

Behind him, another elf kicked a woman onto the ground.

She crawled, sobbing, clutching the torn remains of her dress.

“Please,” she begged. “Please, I have a son—”

The elf plunged his blade into her throat.

She choked. Gurgled.

And then she stopped moving.

Zareth’s breath caught in his throat.

This wasn’t a battle. It wasn’t war.

It was pure slaughter.

And the worst part?

The guards stood there. Watching.

One of them leaned casually against a broken fence, chewing a strip of dried meat, while an elf stomped a man’s head into the ground until it burst. Another simply laughed when a severed hand rolled toward his feet.

“This… this isn’t real,” Vynesaa whispered.

Her voice trembled.

Zareth swallowed. His hands curled into fists.

His entire body shook—not from fear, but from something deeper.

This was wrong. So, so wrong.

He turned to Ed.

The boy was silent.

“Ed…” Zareth said, his voice was barely audible.

But Ed only stared ahead.

Then—

A child ran toward them.

He was barefoot, his clothes torn, stained with blood that wasn’t his own.

His tiny hands stretched out, reaching, pleading.

“Help me! Please!”

Zareth stepped forward on instinct—

But then—

An arrow tore through the air.

Straight for the boy’s head.

Zareth moved without thinking.

His arm lashed out, his fingers closing around the shaft just inches before it could pierce the child’s skull.

The force nearly knocked him off balance, but he held firm, his grip tightening around the arrow.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then—laughter.

“Hahaha,”

The elf who had fired the shot smirked.

“Tsk. Almost got him.”

Zareth’s vision blurred red.

“Help me” “Sav-ve…me”

Screams echoed through the night—raw, broken sounds, some cut off too soon, others drawn out into soul-wrenching agony.

And the elves?

The elves were laughing.

One of them—a tall man with ash-blond hair—kicked a severed human head down the street like a ball, sending it rolling into the gutter.

Another wiped his bloodstained dagger against his tunic, whistling a lighthearted tune as if he had just finished carving a piece of meat.

Zareth couldn’t breathe.

“Why?” His voice was hoarse. “Why are you doing this?”

His fingers twitched at his sides, but his body refused to move.

“Why are we doing this?” One of the younger elves, barely older than Zareth, turned to his comrade.

His voice wasn’t disgusted. Not horrified. Just curious.

The taller elf beside him smirked, twirling his bloodied blade. “Because it’s fun.”

Zareth’s stomach twisted.

Fun.

“And because these lowly humans don’t know their place.”

The words sliced into him like cold steel.

Then—

A scream tore through the night.

A woman—ragged, covered in blood, her dress torn—clutched a lifeless body in her arms.

A child.

Her child.

Her fingers trembled as she rocked the tiny corpse.

But the child was already gone.

His face was pale, eyes wide open.

The mother’s sobs were choked, broken, desperate.

Then—an elf grabbed her by the arm.

“Come now, human,” he chuckled, dragging her across the dirt. “No point in mourning dead filth.”

She thrashed in his grip. “No! Let me go! Please—he’s all I had!”

Slap!

The elf slapped her.

Her head snapped to the side, blood trickling from her split lip.

Zareth took a step forward—but stopped.

His body was frozen.

Why couldn’t he move?

Why couldn’t he stop this?

The woman screamed again as the elf threw her against a broken wall.

“No… please!”

His boot slammed into her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. She gagged, doubling over in pain.

Then, with slow, deliberate hands—

He ripped her dress apart.

Zareth’s breath caught in his throat.

The woman’s sobs turned into full-blown wails, her hands scrambling to cover herself, to fight back, to do anything.

But she was too weak.

The elf loomed over her, eyes dark with amusement. “Let’s have some real fun.”

His fingers traced down her bare skin.

Then—

“MOM!”

A boy’s voice pierced through the madness.

The boy who was saved by Zareth.

Zareth barely had time to react as the child broke free from his grasp and sprinted toward the woman.

“No!” Zareth reached out—too slow.

The boy dashed forward, tripping, stumbling, yet never stopping.

His tiny hands reached for his mother.

“Get away from her!” boy shouted.

The elf’s smile widened.

And then—

He kicked the child.

The boy’s body flew backward, landing with a sickening thud against the ground.

A choked gasp.

A twitch.

Then stillness.

Zareth’s mind shattered.

He had heard stories of brutality and of wars.

But this—this was not war.

This was hell itself.

And he did nothing.

His hands trembled. His vision blurred. His legs refused to move.

Why?

Why was he just standing here?

Then—

A voice.

Calm. Unshaken.

“So this is your law?”

Zareth jerked at the sound.

Ed.

The boy stood at his side, staring at him.

His crimson eyes held no anger —only disgust.

As if he already knew Zareth would say nothing.

As if he had already judged him.

Then—

Ed’s body blurred.

In the next moment, a sword materialized in his hand, appearing from thin air like a silver flash of death.

SHNK.

The elf—the one who had been touching the woman—froze.

His eyes widened.

A thin line of red ran down his throat.

A moment later—his head fell from his shoulders.

The laughter stopped.

Every elf in the square turned.

Their smiles faded. Their amusement vanished.

The body of their comrade hit the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

For the first time tonight—there was silence.

Then—

“Traitors.”

The word was spat with venom.

The remaining elves drew their blades.

The guards, who had been watching idly, now straightened. Their hands fell to their weapons.

And suddenly—Zareth, Ed, and Vynesaa were no longer bystanders.

They were targets.