Chapter 12: The Blood Moon Over the Graveyard

She was still crouched, plucking the weeds that grew stubbornly across the grave. The rustling thunder of hooves behind her was ignored—she thought it was nothing more than the usual riders passing along the lonely cemetery path. But her graceful hands froze when a sharp, mocking voice rang out behind her.

“Ha ha ha… So this is the daughter of that bastard Kalingundil?!”

The sixteen-year-old girl, kneeling before the gravestone, turned her head. Behind her stood four horsemen in a row, dark-garbed and foul-looking. The one who had spoken rode in front, the tallest and most sinister of them all, his beard thicker and wilder than the others.

“Heh, not bad at all. She’s actually pretty,” the tall one added with a sneer. He was none other than Bergola Wungu.

“But what a waste,” said another. “That pretty little head of hers… we’ll be sending it rolling!”

“No need to rush,” said Bergola Wungu, his eyes gleaming with perverse hunger. “She might entertain me first. For all of us.”

The four erupted into crude laughter.

“You filthy, bearded apes! Who the hell are you?!” snapped the girl in the blue tunic. Her slender form rose effortlessly, one hand moving to the hilt of the sword at her waist.

“Oho! A wildcat!” said Ketut Ireng with a smirk.

“You want names, sweetheart? Fine! I’m Ketut Ireng. That tall brute is Bergola Wungu. The fat one’s Seta Inging. And this last ugly bastard with the lazy eye, Pitala Kuning. Now that you know who we are, why don’t you be polite and tell us your name?”

The four laughed again, louder and more mocking.

“You crazy bastards!” the girl growled. “Get out of my sight—unless you want to feel how sharp my blade is!”

“She’s got a mouth just like her father’s,” said Bergola Wungu, stroking his beard. “Listen carefully, girl. We came here to send your father to the grave. If there’s a grave that’ll take him, that is.”

“Too much bark, bearded monkey!” the girl spat. “Let’s see if your mouth is big enough to swallow this!”

With a shriek that sliced the still air, her sword flashed like lightning toward Bergola Wungu’s head!

Caught off guard, Bergola Wungu barely leapt off his horse in time. The blade missed his skull by a hair’s breadth. But even as his body twisted mid-air, the girl’s sword slashed again with deadly precision!

He roared, flipping in the air and narrowly dodging the strike. The blade struck his horse’s neck instead—slicing it nearly clean off. The animal screamed and thrashed, collapsing in a spray of blood. The other horses reared in panic, shrieking wildly. The three riders scrambled to leap clear as their steeds went mad, scattering into the gravestones like demons unleashed.

“Damn you, witch!” Bergola Wungu roared. “You think that pretty face of yours will make me hesitate?! I’ll hack your damn neck off!”

“Stop flapping your lips and fight!” she screamed.

Her sword slashed again—faster now, stronger. It collided with his long blade.

CLANG!

The clang of steel struck like thunder. Sparks sprayed through the air. The impact sent a tremor through Bergola Wungu’s arms. The girl staggered backward several steps, her sword nearly flying from her hands. Though she knew her opponent’s internal energy was far beyond hers, she refused to back down.

She let out a piercing scream—and her body turned into a blur of shadows. Her blade whirled like a storm, dancing in a fury around Bergola Wungu’s form. But the man was no novice. He had survived a decade as a feared outlaw. With one powerful spring of his legs, his form vanished.

Slish! Slish! Slish! Slish!

The girl cried out, leaping back. Her face burned red with fury. Her blue tunic was torn in over ten places, her once modest form now nearly exposed to the world.

“You beast!” she spat. “I’ll fight you to the death!”

Fueled by rage and shame, she lunged again. Her sword howled through the air. Bergola Wungu sidestepped coolly. The blade missed and split a gravestone in two. Again she swung—this time at his waist.

But his left arm snapped forward, striking her wrist. Her sword clattered from her hand, thrown far across the graveyard.

“Ha ha ha! That’s the end of you, daughter of Kalingundil!”

His long blade slashed through the air—once, twice, again.

Slish! Slish! Slish!

This time, it was her pants that took the blow. In less than half a breath, the girl was left almost completely exposed. Her clothing hung in tatters, barely concealing the pale skin of her chest, stomach, and thighs.

She rolled to the ground, trying desperately to escape. But Bergola Wungu’s blade was everywhere—cutting off her retreat.

Slish! Her hair was sliced at the roots.

Slish! Her pants’ waistband split. The fabric slid down, baring her fully to the cold morning air.

“Damn you! Just kill me!” she screamed. “Kill me, you coward!”

Bergola Wungu laughed wildly. “Killing’s easy! But did you know—before your father murdered my mother, he raped her? Karma comes for all!”

The girl lunged forward, trying to drive her own neck onto the blade. But Bergola Wungu twisted it aside, grabbed her by the hair, and threw her to the ground. He dove on top of her.

She fought, kicked, screamed, bit. But he was too strong. And then—

“Brothers!” he shouted. “What are you waiting for?! This girl’s for all of us!”

The other three didn’t hesitate. In a heartbeat, the four men were upon her—like rabid dogs in the graveyard. Screams, snarls, grunts, and guttural curses filled the air. They rolled and writhed like demons possessed—four men, one girl, and a nightmare beneath the cold eyes of the tombstones.