God’s blessing remained!
No one was here.
No gang eyes watching, no rats lurking, no soldiers.
Just me and the endless desert.
Well, not entirely empty.
There were others here, but they weren’t breathing.
Right.
I had made it.
No Man’s Land.
The world here was different from any that I had seen.
A Hell on Fam Iblis.
The bodies came into view quickly.
The first one, sprawled on his back, looked as though a pack of jackals had toyed with him for sport.
His stomach was torn open, bloodied organs spilled onto the sand like overripe fruit crushed underfoot. Flies buzzed around his intestines, their hum the only sound in this forsaken place.
His face—what was left of it—was frozen in some final scream, his lips pulled back to expose teeth coated in sand and dried blood.
“F-Fuck.”
I choked, bile rising in my throat.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to keep moving.
There were more bodies… more chances of finding something.
Some were half-buried in the sand, but most were piled together.
Nearly all had been hacked apart, limbs scattered.
It appeared that some of the soldiers had bled out slowly, their fingers clawing deep grooves into the sand.
Broken swords still rested in dead grips. Bows were snapped, quivers emptied.
The sand beneath them was dark, blackened with dried blood.
It was horrible.
And yet, as horrible as it was, I didn’t come here to mourn them.
I came here to take from them and that was what I was about to do.
Quietly, carefully, I moved through the carnage, my eyes scanning for anything worth salvaging.
Battlefields were treasure troves for the desperate but, unfortunately, this one seemed to have been emptied.
My findings wouldn’t have been worth anything.
A rusted dagger, its edge chipped from too many desperate swings.
A broken spear, its wooden shaft cracked in two.
A torn tunic, soaked in blood.
A cracked bronze shield, still bearing the crest of some nameless warrior who had likely died screaming beneath it.
A leather waterskin, punctured and drained.
A sandal, half-melted by the Shams.
A severed hand curled into a fist.
I pulled his fingers open, breaking them and revealing…
A small piece of paper.
On it were a few words to his loved ones.
Words written in blood.
{Baba misses you.}
‘…’
I threw it away.
I flipped bodies, patted down pockets, ignored the sickening squelch of flesh giving way under my grip.
My hands trembled. My stomach clenched. But I kept moving. I had to.
Yet, no matter how many bodies I searched, I found nothing.
My luck had run out.
Not a single copper coin, not even a trinket that I could trade.
These men had already been stripped clean.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
The thought of giving up crossed my mind, but it did not stay.
I had come too far. I had sunk too deep.
Fshh! Fssshhh!
A sound. Feet dragging through sand, distant but growing closer.
I froze.
My breath caught in my throat.
Whoever it was, they weren’t here to offer kindness.
They were either scavengers like me or something worse.
My body screamed at me to run, but failure kept me still for one agonizing moment.
I had come here to kill my guilt, to silence my shame.
I was ready to die when I left that city wall. But…
But not like this. Not for nothing.
I turned and ran.
Soon, the Shams began to dip low, and I found myself at the city walls, using their massive shadow as cover.
My chest kept heaving.
My limbs kept shaking.
My body, my bones, my very soul begged for rest.
But my mind, despite everything, was clear.
I had to make the impossible possible.
Because I would not return empty-handed.
Not again.
So I slept, and the next day arrived.
I repeated the cycle of yesterday.
I failed.
I tried again.
Then again. Then again.
Days bled into weeks.
Weeks bled into months.
The hunger never left, only dulled, a constant gnawing at my insides.
Still, I didn’t stop.
At first, I always went alone to No Man’s Land.
Then others followed.
More desperate men like me.
I was startled when they first appeared, fearing they might rob me, kill me for the nothingness I possessed. But over time, I grew used to them.
Not that it mattered. They didn’t last long.
Some died in the wastes, bodies crumpling, their mouths left open, tongues blackened, eyes glassy. Others gave up, muttering that it was hopeless, that the gangs had already taken everything, that No Man’s Land had nothing left to give.
Perhaps they were right.
Perhaps that was why the gangs didn’t care to watch over the dead anymore—because there was nothing left to guard.
Still, I went.
Every day. Searching. Digging. Peeling corpses apart, feeling stiff flesh against my fingertips, breaking brittle bones, tearing through dried entrails just to find something. Anything.
When the Shams began to dip, I’d return to the city, scavenging whatever scraps the gangs left behind.
The food was always rotten. Mold crawled across stale bread like moss on old stone.
Meat, if it could even be called that, was gray and slick with slime.
The water—oh, the water—reeked of filth, thick with a taste so bitter it clung to my throat, refusing to leave.
But I ate. I drank. I had to.
Sometimes my stomach rejected it.
I’d retch, my body shivering as vomit splattered onto the sand.
But I swallowed it back down.
Pride had long since died.
Yet, all things must come to an end. Even misery.
One day, there were no scraps left.
Nothing.
I searched the streets, but the gutters were dry, the bones were picked clean, the last crumbs already devoured by those quicker than me.
The next day, I prayed.
Still, nothing.
By the third, my vision blurred, my breath came in ragged gasps, my limbs felt heavier than the weight of my sins. My body was no longer my own, only an empty husk stumbling forward, dragging itself through the sands.
Then, when night came, I saw them.
The same men that always lounged at the ‘door.’
Their leader stood at the front, his pouch heavy on his belt, his teeth flashing.
The others walked beside him, laughing and drinking.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I staggered towards them, arms outstretched, my voice hoarse.
“Food… please…”
Laughter.
It was loud, but I could barely perceive it.
A few at the back talked about some sort of bet.
I barely picked up a few words, but those were enough.
I understood what they did… what I was to them.
Entertainment.
Crack!
Before I could say anything back, a burst of pain invaded my mind.
My skull rattled. My vision spun.
I tasted blood.
…I fell.
The sand rushed up to meet me, coarse and hot against my skin.
I blinked, disoriented, trying to push myself up, but my limbs betrayed me.
The taste of blood coated my tongue, rich… intoxicating.
I swallowed.
My body turned.
My eyes rolled upward, staring at the sky.
Staring at the Twelve Moons.
‘How beautiful…’
‘…’
‘…’