What you’re about to read is (loosely) based off a true story. This scene includes violence. Reader discretion is advised.
I was in beautiful part of Morocco on a beautiful peak with a beautiful group of people watching from a distance as the sun set on an ancient and beautiful city.
We bantered, giggled, and took many pictures that would soon accrue many likes.
When all of a sudden, from out of nowhere, a flock of children appeared.
They were roughly twenty in number, and none older than thirteen. How cute! our cute red headed Irish companion said.
Some approached with timid apprehension - likely never having seen a group with our phenotypic variability before.
One gestured for water. We offered some. Food? Gestured another. We tossed some snacks. Another motioned for money. We tossed coins of insignificant value.
The mood was light and playful. Fun was being had by all.
Except me. I was hesitant.
Where others saw youthful innocence I saw bare feet, ragged clothes, and hungry gazes from protein deficient eyes. I heard rumblings from empty bellies and giggles more mischievous than innocent. I saw numbers - their twenty to our five. I saw no parental figures.
And then I stepped back to gauge our surroundings. I noticed something deeply concerning - the terrain. From all sides we were flanked by perilous heights.
To make it back home we had to go through them. We were bottlenecked. The Rubik's cube in my mind accelerates and settles on a horrifying truth.
It was a trap.
As soon as I pieced it together I lock eyes with the alpha in their group.
He knows that I know.
At that moment he screeches a pre-pubescent battle cry. At once the children become demons and charge.
First they go after the Irish girl. They piranha-swarm her and rip her to shreds. She had no chance.
They swarm the others. They're like a blitzkrieg shocked Britain - barely holding on for dear life.
The strongest come for me, obviously. They claw and scratch and kick and bite - trying to overwhelm me with their numbers. They almost take me down.
Almost.
Now, let me digress for a moment. Those who know me will attest that I am but a kind and gentle soul who wouldn't harm a fly.
But these were no flies.
What these kids had become....was something else. After watching them shred that poor Irish girl....and hearing the cries of my comrades desperately calling my name for help.
It broke my heart. Inside me ignited an incandescent rage.
I went berserk.
The first kid - rest his soul - never stood a chance. I wind up an uppercut and send him soaring. He kissed the sky, but the sky did not excuse him.
I punt the next one. Someone far off in the distance throws their arms up to signal a good field goal.
I'm fucking Donkey Kong throwing feral street Pickachus off Hyrule Castle.
I cannot be stopped.
I power punch the next one. His body disintegrates. I down-B ground and pound the next until he becomes soil for hungry plants. I gorilla launch one after the other off the cliff. I hear screams, but no splats.
To end the carnage I know what I must do. I find the alpha - that tiny teenaged Night King and yell Get over here! in my best Mortal Kombat voice.
I pick him up by his neck. We lock eyes once more. His filled with fire and fury. Mine with sadness and grief as to what's about to happen. I rip his soul out of his body and fling him into the ash heap of history.
The remaining kinderdemons look on with horror. I've broken their will. They revert to children and scurry off to the holes whence they came.
It is done. I am victorious.
I beat my chest and let the world know YOU COME AT THE KING YOU BETTER NOT MISS. It’s a lesson some have to find out the hard way unfortunately.
I go back to my fallen comrades. They’re battered and bruised, but not broken. I go to the Irish girl, hover my hand over her lifeless body and muster all the energy I have left. She rises.
With a whistle I summon a heard of camels and together we ride off into the distance to live and die another day.
Hiyah!
Great read!