The burning night

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Sparks of flame fly through the dark night's cold air, thick plumes of smoke billow into the atmosphere above the roaring huts of the tribe while unflinching bodies litter the blackened grass. In amongst the pain and fire, a young infant sits terrified in the centre of it all. It cradles its mother in its arms as it rocks slowly back and forth.

Due to the noise of the fire and grief, it does not seem to hear the slow footsteps approaching. Behind it, stand two dark figures, shrouded in mystery and shadow; engulfed in darkness.

"There's another one here. Looks like a child" the first shadow whispers to the other tap.

"You know what we must do. Child or not."

The second shadow steps forward and snaps a branch under its heavy foot, causing the infant to turn immediately. It is both shocked and scared.

"Aslo! Cammena tu-" it whispers in a weak, panicked and pathetic voice.

"Too late, insect" thinks the mysterious figure, with tuneless apathy.

Weakly, it reaches up to sheild its face and places its other hand on the chest of its mother. It scrambles for an innocent thought, it knows that death is approaching and these two figures are the harbringers of its life. Before the infant can even utter another word, inside him his organs begin to bulge and the pain causes him to grit his teeth. In an attempt to escape, the child quickly jumps and tries to run. A few steps are taken before its skin begins to swell, its flesh inflates, the teeth pop from its gums and the nails pop from the fingers. Then, the body bulges into a large mass and explodes.

Brown blood splatters onto the body of the female that was once a mother and wet scraps of black skin decorate the floor.

The figure wipes of the blood on its skin and steps toward the female body on the ground, kneels and with one sudden flick, decapitates the head from its neck. The chop is clean and straight without flaw as the blood oozes and leaks into a large puddle at the stub. The figure shows no remorse or pride. It is simple procedure. Nothing more. Who cares about the death of vermin? He has done what he must and after another comb of the burnt tribe, he and his freind will leave.

No tears will be shed. But this is still not an occasion for celebration. There is no smile shared between the two.

With the decapitated head in one hand and using a device in its arm, the head of the female is held up and bathed in a blue glow before being tossed back onto the ground and kicked away by the shadow.

"The ones here seem less developed than the last. I am sure that, if it not for you, I would have been fooled easily if I had journeyed here alone." says the shadow that watched the other kill the child.

"Maybe, but with our work combined, we will eradicate them before they ever do more harm than already done"

The figures then sulk back into the darkness again like great demons from those areas that even the light of the moon is too fearful to touch.

"I still don't know if i'm completely used to this yet..." Whispers the second shadow to his ally.

"You will be. You'll lose yourself but the sacrifice is worthwhile" replies the other.

After this, the figures disappear into the night and all, but the flames on burning wooden shelters, is silent. The silver shards of sun seems to shine in tribute in the dark night sky. Whether this is for the loss of those that have lost their lives, or for the mysterious figure that has already begun the journey of self-loss, is not known.

A female lays looking up at these shards of silver, her mouth agape. Her chuka beats drastically and she breathes deeply. She lays on a ledge of rock with a large hole cut at the edge for her to sit over. Hidden a few yards behind her, a male watches her both sympathetically, cautiously and joyfully. The event in which she was going through would mean a great change to the clan and his family. The female's life would be better now, he was certain.

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