The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 110 - The Wrath to Come

The valley was quiet now, too quiet for a place that had echoed with gunfire and screams only hours ago. Smoke curled gently from burning debris. The metallic scent of blood lingered like a curse. Over a hundred Abyssinians lay dead, but many more had lived, and it was on that thin, tattered thread of survival that the army leaned.

The injured were carried to the makeshift medic station, some conscious, others groaning in pain or drifting in and out of lucidity. The medics worked without rest, their hands slick with blood, their eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. There were too many wounds, too much trauma, and not enough salves or thread to stitch it all shut.

General Mekonnen stood before his troops, the battered remains of the once-proud Abyssinian force. His uniform was torn and stained with dust, blood, and smoke, but his back was straight, and his voice thundered across the valley.

"You have seen today what these monsters are doing to our people," he began, his voice hoarse yet commanding. "There are two more camps just like this one—if not worse. These monsters broke our people. They chained them, starved them, and desecrated everything we hold dear. Remember this anger, soldiers. Our failure led to this. Carry this sin of failure with you... and show those scum the wrath of Abyssinia."

A rumble of cheers followed, growing in force until it echoed across the valley. It was raw, wounded, and desperate, but it was enough. The soldiers—some with blood-soaked bandages, others standing despite shattered ribs or grazed limbs—stood tall once more.

"Take our dead. We will bury them here, on the land they died to protect. Remember their names. Write them in your hearts, for they were our brothers."

A murmur of solemn agreement rippled through the army.

"Take the enemies’ corpses and burn them. Men like those don’t deserve a funeral. Begin collecting their supplies—medicine, food, weapons, anything of use. We will rest here. Then we march south. We will crush the remaining camps and return Abyssinia to its people."

The men got to work, bloodied hands digging graves for comrades. They sang low, mourning songs, names whispered into the soil like prayers. The pyres for the enemy burned bright on the opposite ridge—a grim warning for any who dared to follow in their footsteps.

Among the younger soldiers, murmurs of doubt and disgust rose.

"Why should we touch their weapons? I’d rather die than wield what they used on our people," one said, tossing a bloodstained rifle aside.

"Me too. You saw what they’ve done. What have we been doing to let this happen?" Another said kicking a rifle in anger.

"I want to kill them all over again. I don’t want to ever use their things, I would rather starve than eat their food. I would rather die than use their medicine." He clenched his teeth in anger.

Lieutenant Hana found them. His uniform was stiff with dried blood. His face, shadowed by a day’s worth of fighting and fury.

He motioned them aside. "I understand your frustration," he said. "I saw it too. A child stabbed his captor. A child. With a look in his eyes that no child should wear. I hold disdain for these men, just like you do. But swallow it. You might think using their weapons disgraces us—but you’re wrong."

He stepped closer. "They used those weapons to hurt our people. We’ll use them to defend our people. Let that be our strength. Turn their evil against them. Every bullet we fire from their rifles, every slice from their stolen blades, is justice. It’s war, not shame."

The soldiers fell silent, the shame on their faces giving way to grim resolve.

"Thank you for enlightening us, sir."

They saluted and returned to their tasks, hands steady now, gripping enemy rifles with new meaning.

But nothing hit harder than the medic station.

The wounded screamed. Some were just bones wrapped in skin, barely alive. One young woman, holding her infant, sobbed softly, her eyes empty.

Another woman, older, gripped the collar of a young soldier. "Please," she rasped. "Kill me. I prayed every day for death. I didn’t want salvation. I just wanted an end."

The soldier froze, tears brimming in his eyes.

"My son died in front of me. I had to eat grass to keep my baby alive. And now you’re telling me it’s over? It can’t be. It shouldn’t be. Please... let me go."

Another captive tried to grab a medic’s blade. She was stopped. She screamed. Her arms flailed. She begged. She howled like a wounded beast.

Medics wept as they held her down. One of them, a grizzled veteran, turned away, fists clenched, teeth gritted.

In the center of the camp, General Mekonnen approached the survivors. He got down on one knee. Behind him, his army stood at attention.

It stunned the crowd. Soldiers murmured in disbelief.

Mekonnen bowed his head.

"I could never understand what you went through," he said, voice trembling. "And I would never dare to pretend I do. My failure to stop this... to protect you... is my cross to bear."

He looked up, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"You have suffered. I know nothing I say can erase that. But please... do not let these monsters take your lives as well. They may have broken your bodies, but do not let them break your spirit."

A sob broke out in the crowd. Mekonnen continued.

"Let me fight them. Let us fight them. Let us purge them from our lands. I swear to you, this is the last day you will ever see their faces. Never again will their boots touch Abyssinian soil. Give us one last chance to make it right."

He stood, turned to his men. "Even if we die in battle, let it be to free Abyssinia."

The soldiers lifted their arms in salute, eyes burning with fire and pain.

The captives broke down, finally, fully. Tears streamed from hollow faces. Some fell to their knees. Others simply held each other and cried.

For the first time in months, they believed.

They could breathe again.