Time slowed around Akram.
The cannibals surrounding him, weapons raised, faces twisted in screams, all became slow—strangely, impossibly slow.
His body reacted before his mind. Instinct alone, adrenaline, the simple need to survive took control. Akram grabbed his last explosive chestnuts and threw them at his attackers. In the same motion, he swung the patched-up katana, triggering a chain of small explosions across the cannibals' faces.
Screams burst through the air.
So did the groans of pain.
"ARGH, MY EYES, MY EYES!! I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!!" one of them shouted, his eyeballs torn apart by the blast.
"You won't need 'em where you're going, you son of a bitch!!" yelled Akram, raising his blade.
"I fought Varog, you're nothing compared to that bastard, you ain't shit!!"
His appearance was miserable—a one-armed man, pale, staggering, holding a shaky guard. Yet his eyes were burning with a fierce, raw rage. That aura, unexpected and terrifying, made the cannibals freeze. A strange feeling swept through all of them.
Fear.
They could see behind him the shadow of a wounded animal ready to tear itself free. An aura that, despite themselves, reminded them of someone.
Varog.
Akram made them hesitate—a miracle in itself—but he knew it wouldn't last long.
The stranger, still tied to his post, watched the scene from afar. One single thought crossed his mind:
Interesting, all of this…
Then, just like before, he repeated calmly:
"Kid, free me, alright? I'll make it quick, no worries."
Akram turned his head toward him.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. I'm fired up, y'know? And that katana's mine."
Akram didn't believe him for a second.
"Yeah? Then why are you tied up here?"
The stranger clicked his tongue — little shit… — then answered, calmer:
"It's a long story… Anyway, if you don't free me, you're dead, my guy."
Akram looked around — and yeah, the stranger was right. But if he freed him and the guy ran away with the sword, it would be over. The real Game Over.
Then Maora finally spoke, her voice barely a breath.
"Please, Akram… Free him…"
She was losing too much blood.
Shit…
But the cannibals had recovered. Their pride was burning. They wouldn't let a human humiliate them. Rage rose again, thick in the air.
They launched themselves at Akram.
He had nothing left to scare them. So he played his last card — the ridiculous man in flip-flops.
Akram slammed the blade down on the rope binding the stranger's wrists.
The cannibals were only meters away.
The moment he was freed, the stranger grabbed the katana with a blistering speed — so fast Akram didn't even see it happen.
And then — everything exploded.
Arms, heads, bodies spun through the air. In a few heartbeats, the ring of cannibals was silent. Amid the bloodbath stood the stranger, wiping his surprisingly sharp blade on his embroidered poncho.
More cannibals arrived, alerted by the slaughter.
This time, they grouped up in front of him.
His ridiculous appearance in flip-flops had vanished. A devastating warrior's presence radiated from him.
"Yashyn, that's my name, kid," he called out to Akram.
Then, just as quickly as that aura came, it vanished when he rummaged through his poncho. He pulled out a small knife and tossed it to Akram, who caught it with one hand.
"Free the others, I'll hold 'em off, alright little buddy?"
Akram nodded silently and rushed to Maora.
— "Soooo… Is Varog among you guys? The kid mentioned him earlier… He's around, right?" Yashyn asked, stretching lazily.
The cannibals growled, muttered, spat insults.
Then a man stepped out of the shadows — a massive silhouette wearing a ceremonial robe, a feathered headdress, a lance in hand.
The Shaman.
"The shaman! Well well! You're not Varog… Are you…?" Yashyn asked, amused.
"You… SACRIFICE!!!" the shaman roared before charging at him.
Yashyn parried the first strikes effortlessly, but quickly realized this one was different from the rest.
"You guys are tougher, huh? You almost scare me, oh-oh!"
While freeing other prisoners, Akram watched the duel. The cannibals looked on with confidence — not a good sign.
The Vulkans had explained it:
shamans, the leaders of cannibal camps, were chosen for their erudition.
For cannibals, erudition meant the number of humans eaten.
The more they devoured, the stronger they became.
The shaman was the best of the best.
But in the end, it didn't matter.
Yashyn moved like no one Akram had ever seen: chaotic but perfect, unpredictable but precise. Flexible, fast, with an unreal dexterity.
With a single swing, the shaman's lance split in two — and so did his skull.
Silence.
Then madness.
But against all expectations, what happened next wasn't part of Yashyn's plans… nor Akram's.
The cannibals suddenly began devouring their shaman, freshly killed, tearing into his flesh raw, eating him on the spot.
Yashyn didn't understand right away, but then he remembered. Cannibals are primitive, wild, and they don't waste time thinking…
But one of their core beliefs is that if they eat someone powerful, they gain that person's strength.
The shaman had been the strongest among them — so in their minds, there was no doubt: by devouring him, they would become stronger.
Yashyn froze.
"Argh, that's disgusting, guys… Come on…"
Akram accelerated, freeing more prisoners.
When the cannibals finally lifted their bloody faces, all their "food" stood before them, ready to fight. Screams erupted, and battle resumed. Akram lifted Maora with one arm and ran.
Yashyn didn't stay. His target — Varog — wasn't there. He followed Akram.
"So kid, how w—"
"Akram. My name is Akram."
"Huh, Akram, sorry hehe… Sooo, how was it, fighting Varog? What was he like, huh?"
"Terrifying. But I don't want to talk about it, now's not the time."
They jogged through the mountains of the Great Canyon as fast as they could. Then more screams stopped them — more cannibals. The prisoners hadn't survived.
They were coming back for fresh meat.
Yashyn clicked his tongue.
"Well, Akram, I'll hold 'em off. Get outta here with your friend. In exchange, give me a meeting point and I'll come see you later so we can talk some more, sounds good?"
Akram hesitated, then gave in:
"Vulkania. That's our colony. I'll wait for you there."
"Vulkania, got it! See ya later then!"
He turned around, sat right in the middle of the canyon, and calmly waited for the pursuers.
Akram kept moving with Maora in his arms.
For a long while, he heard metallic clashes behind him, steel against steel.
Then Maora finally spoke, her voice almost gone.
"Akram… A break… I can't go on… please…"
She collapsed.