Broken Anomaly

“Our people are already pretty organized,” Stella said with a bit of snark. “It’s your people who just attacked one of ours.”

Lydia frowned. “They’re desperate, if you can’t understand—”

“We can understand them, but that doesn’t mean we have to tolerate their behavior. Even now, we have people running the dungeon to get food for your people. We have people bringing food for your people. You see how we're doing everything for you?”

Before Lydia could respond, highlighting the fact that they had just arrived and that they hadn’t yet had the opportunity to contribute and loosen the burden of those who had extended their hands, a loud crash was heard from outside.

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He didn’t know who had whispered in his ear, in fact, he didn’t even remember it happening. The more he thought about it, the more the memory faded until eventually it disappeared. He then noticed the knife in his hand, unaware of when he had acquired it. Once again, his mind came up blank, providing no information.

He lifted his head, looking directly at the supply storage. It was where they stored all their food. No, it was where they kept it so that they didn’t have to give any to him or to the others. Selfish bastards. Share your food. Your food? My food. Give me my food.

Foreign thoughts crept into his mind, seamlessly integrating as if they were his own. Slowly, they increased in intensity. The drive they provided increasing each time.

At first, he tried to ignore them, but they began to make sense. He was finally seeing things for what they truly were. They weren’t here seeking help; no, they were here to take what was theirs. No, not ours, MINE.

He observed as the workers inside the supply storage moved from one end to the other at a brisk pace. They were arranging supplies in the best location for rapid use. They defrosted meat, vegetables, and anything else that had been taken out of the freezers from within the kitchen.

Behind the supply storage, they had hastily made a wood stove out of several metal trash cans. The cooks moved about, replacing one pot with another, never wasting the heat. An older-looking woman directed them, who, while stern, appeared to be nice about it.

He shifted his gaze toward the security guarding both those who were cooking outside and those who were inside, arranging the ingredients. That’s when he noticed it—an opening. It didn’t seem like one, but he knew it was. It’s my opening, all mine.

He began to creep forward, hidden by the crowd. He pressed the knife against his leg, still conscious enough to know that if it was seen, it would cause the crowd to panic.

His current facial expression normally would have been enough for people to notice that there was something wrong with him, but the situation allowed him to go unnoticed, as most just assumed he was just hungry or perhaps delirious.

Only a few paces away from both the cooking area and the supply storage, he glanced at the nearby guard, who seemed distracted by something in the air. My opening, he repeated to himself.

He reached for the opening in the supply storage and yanked himself up. There were three people inside, all distracted, each focused on their own tasks. He turned to the only man there, who was currently approaching him, not seeing where he was going as he carried a box big enough to cover whatever was in front. Mine!

He tightened his grip on the knife and thrust it forward, stabbing the man in the side. The man couldn’t even react, he didn’t know what was happening. He even considered shaking it off, thinking that it could have been an accident. But it wasn’t.

He became deeply aware that it wasn’t an accident when he was stabbed again, and again, until he finally dropped the box, causing the two women who were with him to turn around and see what was happening.

The man collapsed to the floor, bleeding out. The women screamed in both terror and horror: terror at the knife-wielding madman and horror at what happened to their friend.

The people surrounding the storage turned at the sound of screaming, at first they failed to see anything out of the ordinary, but that soon changed.

The madman turned to face the screaming women. They tried to defend themselves. They had no combat knowledge or skills, but they should be at a higher level than most, if not all, of the refugees from the city. However, the madman easily overpowered them. He pushed the first one he reached against the edge of the opening and stabbed her for all to see.

As he did, he screamed, “MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE!”

The guards that were nearest to the storage were slow to react, oddly so, while those that were furthest rushed toward the scene. But they were too late, the remaining woman fell as the madman stabbed her in the neck.

The madman jumped out toward the front of the dungeon, making the crowd back away in fear. “ITS MINE! BACK AWAY!” he screamed, his eyes matching the insanity of his words and actions.

The guards who arrived the quickest tried to hold back when attacking and instead contain him, but the strength the madman possessed was inhuman. The guards were thrown away, as if they were nothing more than rags. The guards that arrived last shifted their focus to their wounded comrades.

The crowd directly in front of the madman parted, allowing eight people to emerge. At the front were Lydia and Sam, who assumed that it was one of theirs who was causing the commotion.

Upon inspecting the man in front of them, they both quickly realized that neither of them recognized him. Lydia turned to Connor, who just shook his head, also not having recognized the man.

The others recognized the looks that Lydia and Connor exchanged. Stella took the initiative and walked forward, separating herself from the crowd, with only Alex backing her up.

“We just want to talk,” Stella said in a calm and steady tone, trying to keep the madman from doing something impulsive.

The madman gave no answer. However, as soon as Stella crossed a certain line that only existed in his mind, he lunged at her. Stella didn’t want to harm the man, so she didn’t prepare a fireball beforehand, nor did she conjure up one the moment she saw the man move, she didn’t have to, she trusted Alex.

Alex reached for the man’s arm, easily catching it well before he got anyway near Stella. He yanked the madman to his side and tried to grab the other arm, so that he could restrain him more easily. However, when he reached for the other arm, he noticed it was a fist. Confident that it wouldn't do anything to him, Alex continued and tried to grab his arm.

Suddenly, Alex found himself pushed back toward the crowd and gasping for air as he hit the ground. The madman was faster than Alex had anticipated and far stronger too. Stella retreated almost immediately upon seeing Alex being flung back.

Eric made a small frown. He knew why this was happening. Not why the man was strong enough to push Alex back, not why the man kept screaming, “Mine! Mine! Mine.” No, he knew why this was taking so long. They were afraid, they didn’t want to harm the man.

A chuckle escaped his lips as a thought came to his mind: Didn’t we kill two sentient creatures last week? He noticed the same cautious attitude in everyone around him. Anna and Marcus turned to him, having heard his chuckle.

Amidst the crowd to the madman’s right, someone reached for their weapon, ready to emerge and save the day. Unfortunately for them, today was not their day as Eric walked forward.

Eric shook his head lightly and advanced, reaching for Anna’s sword. He felt an unnatural resistance as he forcefully tore it from her grip. Emerging from the crowd, he walked at a steady pace. As he crossed the same invisible line that Stella had, the madman lunged at him.

Eric still hadn’t developed the sword mastery skill, and Mental focus wasn’t much help, as like with the spear, the movements were simple, and he learned little having nothing to reference. Instead, he would rely entirely on brute force.

He grabbed the hilt of the sword firmly with both hands and raised it at an angle. As the madman entered what he considered a “sure strike” zone, he swung the sword down, and using all his strength, he cut the man’s outstretched hand off.

The madman didn’t even flinch when he lost his hand, instead, he reached for the knife, only to lose his other hand as Eric brought the sword down once more. The madman lunged at Eric, this time clearly aiming to bite his throat.

Eric’s objective from the beginning was to disarm the man, not kill him. It wasn’t out of some inability to do so, or him valuing human life enough to risk his own. No, he did it out of respect for his friends, who clearly didn’t want to kill the man. However, the man was leaving him with no options.

Eric dodged to the side, kicked his leg, and when the madman hit the floor, he pierced his thigh, driving the sword deep into the ground.

You have developed the skill: Sword mastery level 1

From within the crowd, someone clicked their tongue, annoyance written all over their face.

Eric took a quick glance around, ultimately setting his sights on one of the downed guards. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the madman. “Find somewhere to lock him up,” he said in a commanding tone.

Then he noticed how the crowd had gathered and finally quieted down. Recognizing this might be his only opportunity, he turned to the supply storage and lifted his gaze toward its roof.

Eric ignored as his friends called out to him. He approached the supply storage and jumped, grabbing the edge of the roof. He lifted himself with ease and stood, immediately catching everyone’s attention.

Gathering his strength, he clapped his hands together. The sound wasn’t so loud that his clap could’ve overpowered the noise of a rowdy crowd, but luckily the crowd had gotten silent ever since he cut off the man’s hands.

“Let me make this very clear,” Eric said with a tone barely higher than his regular one, yet somehow everyone could hear him clearly, and he somehow knew that. “We’re not some charity that’s here to help you,” he continued, his words growing more imposing. “We’re survivors, just like you are.”

As he spoke, his tone shifted into something he didn’t recognize, not only his tone, but even his posture went through a subtle change, drawing from experiences that weren’t his.

“Which is why,” his voice grew colder, now with a hint of danger, “if you don’t start pulling your weight...” His gaze darkened, and everyone in the crowd felt as if he was somehow looking directly at them, and only them. “I will remove you myself.”

Eric jumped down and walked toward the workshop, the crowd parting as he advanced. His friends followed closely behind, seemingly having been the only ones unaffected by his brief speech.

Most hadn’t even seen him before now. Since their arrival, those from the city had only seen Stella and Alex, assuming they were the leaders. Even Sam and Lydia had been fooled by their group dynamic. Sure, the group of friends had claimed Eric was the leader, but they thought they had been joking.

As the group of five entered the workshop, mutterings could be heard from the crowd, each focusing on different aspects of what had just happened.

Some focused on how intimidating Eric was during his brief speech, which could easily be described as a warning. Others focused on how they felt, and the certainty that he would follow through on his words.

But slowly, the conversation began to shift. It was no longer about just Eric; it was about his group. Up until this point, most of them had been too hungry and preoccupied with said hunger to really process what had happened earlier in the day.

Some were conscious when the group fought the trolls. They took this chance to tell those who weren’t how easily they had taken care of them. Hearing this conversation, those who had been here since the gym told the tale of the two giant monsters that they had killed previously.

The tales became greater and greater with each new participant. And just like that, the refugees from the city no longer felt like outsiders, nor were they seen as such anymore.

Very few noticed how strange it was that Eric, the leader of what could be their new home, had basically threatened them—contribute or else—but instead of feeling fear, they felt motivated. His words had sparked something within them, igniting a new surge of energy.

Even those who had been here since before felt that same energy. Eric’s speech had given them a new sense of purpose, chasing away the shadows that had recently taken root in their lives.

Lydia, Sam, and Connor, among the few who noticed the oddity of the situation, exchanged glances. They didn’t know how to feel about this situation. On one hand, this made everything easier; on the other, there was someone who could influence such a large number of people with such ease that it scared them.

As they stood there, the three were asked to move to the side as a group of guards passed by, dragging the now-bound madman, whose eyes still burned with madness, even though he had stopped speaking.

The madman’s stumps were secured with cloth, string, and wire, to both stop the bleeding and ensure he didn’t escape.

A man who they vaguely recognized grabbed the sword, which had been removed from the madman’s thigh, and headed to the workshop.

A few moments later, someone arrived with a wheelbarrow. They, along with three others, loaded up the three deceased people and headed southward, with some friends and loved ones following in tow.

Suddenly, five people emerged from the forest, each pushing a wheelbarrow full of fruits and vegetables. People broke away from the gathered crowd, and instead of attacking or trying to take whatever they could, they helped them. Some had already headed into the supply cabin and begun to clean up.