[Zeraphin Apollo Rotbaron III] Walk on until you are numb.

[Zaraki]

Walk on until you are numb.

And the world is tinted red.

The 17th century was certainly not the best time to be born – especially when the Thirty Years' War was still raging over all of Europe. Though neither death nor life could be stopped.

It was at the Southern part of Austria, just where the border of Carinthia kissed Italy, where this story starts.

328 feet on the Karnische Alpen, 16 feet away from Hohe Warte was a small needle-tree forest. Pointed needles that were diamond shaped in cross section, attached to the twig with wooden pegs and whorled around the branch. Spruces. It was a spruce forest roughly 29 square-feet in size, fetched out in front of a stone cliff that reached 16 feet in height. At the Southern edge of the forest a small, wooden cottage was located, seemingly overlooking Carinthia. To the left of the cottage, a little stream was running slowly towards the Austrian province, as if it was fleeing from Italy.

It was late evening on a freezing November day, snow was falling on the already covered ground – like it was just too usual for this time of the year. The silhouettes of two men could hardly be made out in the darkness that had settled over the mountain, though it was obvious what their goal was.
The cottage.
Slowly the two men, one much taller than the other – though both above average, forced their way through he snow, which easily met their chests. It was certainly no weather to be outside, but today was different – the taller man, Alfred, had to fetch a doctor.
The baby was coming.

At times like these it was annoying that they had to live so far away from the small mountain village, though his wife's exotic looks were just too much trouble when trying to live in that village. Red hair... still nobody accepted redheads. Alfred hurried his steps even more, the three layers of cloth and fur luckily sheltering from the biting cold. And the excitement... it was pushing him forward, pulling the doctor behind him to make them go even faster. They had to make it on time, they just had to.

Finally he could make out the light shining through the frozen windows of their small cottage. Candles have been set up and lit in front of them before he had made himself on his way – to make their home light up even brighter. Alfred tightened his grip on the other male's sleeve more and fastened his steps, forcing his way through the heavy snow with his tall body and determination – making it look easy.

Then they finally reached the two front stairs leading onto their porch, both things hidden by the snow, though by now Alfred knew where to place his feet and without slipping once they made it safely in front of the rough looking, wooden door. Once reached Alfred immediately pushed it open, his brown orbs instantly glancing over at the far right corner of their cottage, where the single bed of his wife was located. Before he could take in the sight of her sweaty body he already felt a poke in his side. Instinctively he made room for the doctor, who stepped into the cottage and immediately let his heavy, brown fur-coat slide onto the floor – Alfred following the gesture and letting his own slip onto the floor – the sudden heat would otherwise make them faint. His brown eyes followed the smaller man's back, who made his way over to the small counter, filling a pot with water which he then placed over the stove. It needed to be warm. All the time the doctor did not send the woman on the bed a single glance. Of course not. Alfred huffed before stepping over to his wife with wide steps, with his size of 7'6” it took him only three to cross the room completely. Once he was next to her small bed he kneed down, glancing at her face as she gave him a meek smile and grabbed her hand softly between his large ones.

“I am here, my Love.” he said, his voice rough and deep. The woman's smile grew a little wider, before it disappeared behind a wince again. Even now, she was nothing but beautiful to his eyes. Her flaming red hair was glowing even more in the firelight, which tinted the whole room a soft orange. Her eyes, usually so pale, were striking... she was determined to fight for their child.

“It is going to be alright.” he murmured and held her hand just a little tighter as she gave him a nod. Then movement could finally be heard behind them again. The doctor had fetched the pot with the luke-warm water off the stove and was coming towards them, soft cloth draped over his right arm.

“Get out of the way, Alfred. You are useless here.” the doctor said harshly, his green eyes set onto the woman laying in so much pain. Immediately the tall man complied and hurried backwards, until his back connected with the wall. There he set in silence, knees pulled up to his chest and eyes fixed onto his wife, who was once more wincing in pain.
She was doing great.

“Anna.” he called her softly after the other man had laid down the cloth on the bed and placed the pot onto the floor, pulling her legs widely apart. “Anna.” Alfred called her again and finally turned her head away from the doctor and settled her eyes onto her husband.

“It hurts.” she breathed out, a slight sob in her voice.
“I know.” he murmured before he swallowed heavily. He could not stand seeing her in so much pain.
The woman merely chuckled though, closing her dove-like eyes for a tiny moment to shake her head. “No you don't.” she corrected him amused before her eyebrows knitted together at another surge of pain.
Like always his wife had a point. He knew the pain his job brought with him, cutting wood was certainly not an easy task, and he knew the pain of burning himself... but giving birth?

“It is going to be alright.” he whispered again, though this time he did not know who he was trying to convince.

…

Two hours. He sat there for two hours, his bottom had turned numb after the first one already, before his wife gave a final shriek and then... then nothing could be heard beside her panting. Slowly Alfred sat up straighter, his curious eyes fixed onto the doctor who held a tiny being against his chest, giving the thing a light slap on the back before... wailing. A baby was wailing. Alfred swallowed heavily watching the other man wrap it into the cloths before he finally acknowledged the husband in the room again.

“Congratulation.” the man said. “It is a boy.”

Alfred felt how a sob built up in the back of his throat and his eyes became teary. Then he quickly leaned his body forwards and crawled up to his wife's side, brushing over her sweaty forehead.

“Did you hear that, Anna? You presented us with a boy. A wonderful boy.”
Again she smiled up at him, though her eyes looked so tired – the light was gone from them. “Yes.” she said, her voice just above a whisper.
“What are we going to call him?”
“M...Michael.” [http://www.nordicnames.de/Aussprache.html < press the arrow next to the name Michael to get the accurate pronunciation.]
“Like the archangel?”
Her smile became larger as she nodded. “Yes.” she confirmed.
Alfred too, nodded, a silly smile spread over his lips. “Michael it is then.”

Then he finally turned to the small bundle still located in the doctor's arms. “His name is Michael.” he told the man, forgetting that he had most likely heard them already. Though in this moment he could not act any differently. He was so full of joy. “He is going to be a wonderful boy.”

“No.” the doctor answered, the man's old face holding a sneer.
Confused Alfred blinked. “Wh...why not? How can you say that? How dare you.” he said harshly, only calming once he felt his wife's gentle hand on his left lower arm.
“Alfred.” she said softly.
The doctor said nothing though, but pushed the tiny bundle into Alfred's arms which had opened immediately.

That was when he saw it.

Red hair. His son too, had that cursed red hair.
Alfred's eyes closed tiredly, his expression showing utter defeat as he held the boy close to him.

Oh Lord, why were you testing us like that?

[Zaraki]

Going to school at these times was unthinkable. Michael sighed heavily as a pout formed on his lips. It was uncommon for a child at his age to want to go to school, but even though he was only seven he could think of nothing more exciting.
It was certainly better than working on the fields or helping in the forest.

Michael sighed again as he leaned forward, placing his head onto his palms – his elbows settled on his knees as he was sitting on the front porch to their cottage. It was summer and even though it was usually colder on the mountains it was still hot enough for him to wear a sleeveless shirt, which was hanging loosely over his brown pants. Both clothes made out of cheap linen, covered in holes and dirt. His family had no money to buy nicer clothes. Nobody had money for anything anymore.

The young boy lifted his left arm, brushing his fingers under the brown cap, which sheltered his hair from view, and scratched his scalp. Yeah, the pout on his lips became even bigger, he had chosen the worst of times to be born.

“Michael!” he heard his father shout and immediately the boy sat up straighter. “Your break is over. Come back and help me.”

The boy nodded, unaware that nobody could see him anyway. “Of course, papa.” he chirped before jumping off the porch and running towards the tall man.

&&&

Michael sighed heavily as he grabbed the wooden handle of his saw even tighter before he continued to saw the tree trunk. He hated this job. He loathed this job. Though what else was there to do? By now the people were so poor that just the tiniest bite of food was a blessing. Almost nothing could be gained out of the harvest anymore and the little they had they had to share with their animals, otherwise those would become just too weak to survive.

Politics. Politics had them come this far down and then they called it the Lord's punishment. Why would he punish those who had nothing to begin with? Michael huffed as he directed all his frustration into his task. Church and politics. And of course, it was so easy to lead the stupid ones... the uneducated ones. No wonder they banned the schools They rather had the people work like mindless slaves on the fields. Europe was going down the drain, and he was right in the middle of it.

“Michael, my dear. You have been working all morning now.” he heard his mother say as the petite woman slowly walked towards him, attentive of the wood laying on the path. “You should take a break, my boy.”

Michael sighed once more, felt how the frustration left him as he let go of the rough handle and turned around to glance at his mother.
She was cursed like him.

“It's alright, mother.” he murmured, even with his tender ten years he already reached her shoulders. Size was the only thing he inherited from his father.

She shook her head while glancing at him worriedly. “You should not work yourself to death, Michael. We'll manage.” she said gently, but the boy only scoffed.

Manage? How did she think they'd manage?
Fights had broken out, because the hunger had become too much. Every village on the mountainside was on a war-path with the other.
It had cost his father's life last year. Now they were alone – no... how did the woman intend to keep them alive if he was not working?
No village liked to help the widow and her son and certainly no village wanted to do so when already suffering.
And helping those who looked like the devil? They had to work for their own now, could not trust anybody to help them.
His mother needed to wake up.

“I am not hungry.” he said as he turned around, not sparing a single glance for the basket she had brought along. “I will work until the sun is down. Maybe you can talk with the elders again.”

Though he was not sure if he really liked that. The elders... they were too much politics... were too much church. They already disliked his mother for her appearance, though had got used to her. They loathed him. He had heard them trying to convince her to drown him in the mountain lake.
Of course she had refused, still... putting those ideas into her head... he did worry what they might do with her.

“But Michael...” she started, trying to reach out and place a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“You should just leave.” the boy said again, his voice void of any emotion as he wrapped his fingers around the handle once more. “Besides, Peter will be over soon. He said he'll help me.”

He heard the woman sigh before she picked up the basket once more, turned around and left slowly.
Good.
Michael started with his task again.

He had said the truth, Peter really would come over soon. Though Peter was five and certainly of no help at all. The boy's parents also were not too fond of the idea of their little darling helping the redhead.

“Greetings, Michael.” he heard the small boy chirp behind him. “Greetings, Peter.” Michael muttered, not even turning around or sparing the small boy a glance. “What should I do?” the boy asked innocently while stepping to the bigger one's side, glancing up at the stern face. He liked helping Michael, because Michael was unique. In all his short life he had never seen anybody look like him.
Well, besides the other's mother... but he liked Michael more.

“Go and clean the forest ground. We'll need every wood we can get for this winter.” the taller boy muttered, though Peter ignored what was said, instead he continued to stare up at Michael's face until the bigger boy's crimson eyebrow started to twitch in annoyance. “What is it?” he muttered, still not glancing at the brown haired child though.

“Why don't you ever put off your cap, Michael?” the boy asked curiously.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because you are special.”
“Old farmers don't like special people. I rather leave the cap on.”
“But... but it looks so cool. And with the sun you look...look like a fireball.” The boy giggled. “You look like the sun, Michael.”
Finally the redhead stopped every movement completely and glanced down at the curious face peeking up at him. “You... you really think so?” he asked, a slight blush of embarrassment tinting his cheeks red.
The other boy nodded eagerly. “Of course I do!”
Michael could not help himself, but smile widely down at Peter. “Thank you.” he said happily, which the other answered with a nod of his head and an innocent smile of his own.

…

The two boys had been occupied for two hours. Peter was cleaning the forest ground and Michael switching between saw and ax to cut down the trees, when they suddenly heard a pair of angry footsteps coming their way. Scarred Peter looked towards Michael, who had his eyes set into the distance as he placed down the tiny ax he used to chop off the branches from the trunk and stood up straight.

“Your father is coming, Peter.” Michael murmured and immediately the boy's soft green eyes lit up. He turned around quickly to glance at his father, though the wide smile was wiped off his face as he saw the man's angry march towards them.

“Fa...fath...?” Before Peter could finish his question though a loud slap rang through the forest, the tiny boy laying on the hard forest ground holding his burning cheek as tears rolled down his face.

“I... I am..”

“I told you... I ordered you not to help those kind of people.” the black haired man barked, his wild beard huffing as he spit out his words. “Especially not that devil brat.”

Michael shook his head as he jumped off the trunk, walking carelessly towards the tall man. “Now, now Martin.” he murmured. “Was that really necessary? It rather makes you look like the devil.”

Slap.
Michael could feel how his ears rang at the impact and his head snapped to his side, though the impact itself? – Nothing. Again he felt nothing, like so many times before. Therefore he merely blinked with bored, pale-orange eyes at the tall man, who looked even angrier at the lack of reaction to his slap.

“You son of a whore.”
Michael sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I can guarantee you that my mother is not a whore. Though you might want to watch out what your wife is doing in her freetime.”

A wild roar could be heard before a wide body slammed itself against his lean frame, throwing the boy against the forest floor as punches rained down on his body.

Ridiculous.

He could feel the touch of the other man's first, could feel how the warm blood was running out of his nose, over his bleeding lips and down his chin. Though nothing else. There was nothing.

Martin continued to let out his frustration until he was too tired to raise his first again, panting heavily he looked down at the boy's bored face. A ten-year-old should not wear such an expression and with that red hair that was visible now that the cap had fallen off... too surreal, too wrong... the boy should never have been allowed to live. They should have sent him right back to hell.

Growling Martin showed his teeth, which contrasted with his black beard, while tightening his grip on the boy's throat – stealing his breath and for the first time he could see a flash of fear in the spawn's eyes. Good. Again the man growled as he picked up a wider branch, holding it like a hammer over his head. He'll free them all from this curse. Then, ignoring his son's shocked scream, did he bring it down on Michael's head. He was delighted once he saw the wide gash that appeared on the boy's forehead. Though he could hear nothing. The boy did not scream, did not cry... and the bored look was back. Did that devil not feel any kind of pain? Feeling once more frustrated Martin intended to bring the branch down once more, when his hand was suddenly gripped. Surprised he turned his head, looking up at the witch of all people.

“What do you want?” he spit out.
“You are hurting my son.” the woman said coldly, an angry glimmer in her own pale-orange eyes.
“Hurting? Hurting?” Martin asked, his voice mocking before he nodded down at the redhead. “Does he look like he is hurting? That freak.”
Anna's eyebrows knitted together in confusion before she too, looked down at Michael. A long gash was running down his forehead, bleeding heavily, nose and lips were bleeding too, purple bruises already appearing on his visible skin. Though those eyes... so detached, so careless...
What was this thing?

&&&

Michael growled as a second male came over, holding him down as he tried to kick the first guy in the chin with his right leg. His eyes glimmered angrily, his cap had fallen off long ago and a long tear was parting his shirt now. They had suddenly attacked, out of the blue. He had no clue why or how – they did not even look like people from the mountain. They looked like people from the city... smelled like people from the city.

Why... why were they here?
He punched a third man in the nose before his hand was held down by a forth.
Why was his mother just watching from the porch?

“Mo...Mother!” he called out as they bound his hands behind his back, two others tying his feet together. “Help me!”

“We paid her a months income for you. She won't help you.” the first man said before lifting the lean body up and throwing him over his shoulder.

Wide-eyed Michael continued to look at his mother as they carried him away. “Mother!” he called out again.

Though nothing... calmly she looked at him... or was there a sign of distress on her face?
Though what did it change? She was not coming for him. She was not helping him.

"MOTHER!!! Mother please! Please mother! Help me!"

Two.
The love of a mother was worth two Schilling.