Death

The rain pounded on the roof of the hut, creating a deafening roar that drowned out all other sounds. Darryl struggled against the ropes that bound him, screaming as he watched a hooded figure dance around a large, ornate drum. 

The drumbeat grew louder and louder, until it was all Darryl could hear. The figure stopped dancing and turned to face Darryl, his expression hidden by the hood. Then, with a single swift motion, the figure drew a curved knife and brought it down on Darryl's wife, who was kneeling before him.

As Darryl watched in horror, the hooded figure beheaded his wife with a single clean stroke of the knife. The sound of the blade slicing through flesh was sickening, but not nearly as sickening as the sight of his wife's lifeless body falling to the ground.

In a rage, Darryl threw himself against the ropes that bound him, desperate to break free and avenge his wife. But the ropes were too strong, and he could only watch helplessly as the hooded figure walked away, leaving him alone with his grief and rage.

As Darryl watched the hooded figure disappear into the darkness, the crowd around him grew restless. Suddenly, a stone flew through the air and struck Darryl in the head. More stones followed, as the crowd, whipped into a frenzy by the spectacle they had just witnessed, turned on Darryl. The accusations they had heard about his wife's crimes were now directed at him. Darryl knew that his wife had been innocent, but the people didn't want to hear his pleas.

Darryl lay on the ground, the stones raining down on him, as the crowd's anger turned to apathy. One by one, they turned and left, until Darryl was alone in the darkness. He lay there, bleeding and broken, wondering how his life had come to this. He had done nothing wrong, and yet he was being punished as if he were a criminal. Darryl closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.

Darryl was a tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing green eyes and a strong jaw. His features were sharp and defined, giving him an air of confidence and strength. He had once been a proud man, but now he was a broken shadow of his former self, his proud bearing destroyed by the injustice that had been done to him. But even in his despair, he could not deny that there was still a spark of defiance in his eyes, a reminder of the man he had once been.

After lying on the ground for what seemed like an eternity, Darryl finally managed to pull himself to his feet. He was bruised and bleeding, but he was determined to survive. With gritted teeth, he began to crawl toward the house he shared with his wife, swearing to get revenge on those who had wronged him.

When he reached his home, he gathered his belongings and packed a bag. Then, he started to train, punching a straw dummy until his knuckles bled and his arms ached. His determination was unbreakable, and he would not stop until he had gotten his revenge.

After his brutal training session, Darryl went into the kitchen and prepared a simple meal of bread and water. As he ate, he laid out a plan to get his revenge.

The next day, he would go to the center of the city, where the higher ups of the system were located. He would confront them and demand justice for what had been done to him and his wife. 

In preparation for this, he gathered weapons that he had hidden away, ready to fight if necessary. His mind was clear and focused, his purpose unwavering. Nothing would stop him from getting what he wanted.

Darryl's sleep was fitful, his dreams filled with visions of his wife and the injustice that had been done to them. But eventually, he drifted into a deep sleep, exhausted from the events of the day. 

He was awoken by the sound of birdsong outside his window, a soft and soothing melody that filled him with hope. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and Darryl knew it was time to begin his journey. He dressed and gathered his weapons, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

•••

In a dimly lit room, three people sat around a table, whispering conspiratorially. 

The room was shrouded in shadows, with only a single candle to illuminate the faces of the three conspirators. The walls were covered in tapestries depicting scenes of battle and conquest, and a large map of the world hung on the wall behind them.

A large wooden table sat in the center of the room, covered in documents and books. There was a sense of foreboding in the air, as if something dark and sinister was lurking just out of sight. The three people in the room seemed oblivious to this, their eyes focused only on each other and the plan they had executed.

Their names were Ava, Tristan, and Milo, and they were high-ranking members of the system. They were discussing the events of the previous day, congratulating themselves on a plan well executed. 

"It was a brilliant idea to pin the blame on Darryl's wife," Ava said. "No one will ever suspect that we were behind it." Tristan nodded in agreement, but Milo seemed uneasy. "Are you sure we did the right thing?" he asked.

"Of course we did the right thing," Ava replied, her voice cold and calculating. "Darryl was becoming too powerful, and his ideas were a threat to the system. His wife was an easy target, and no one will suspect us. This is for the greater good. Darryl's increase in his cultivation may end up." But Milo still seemed unconvinced. 

"I don't know," he said, his voice wavering. "I have a bad feeling about this. What if someone finds out what we did?" Ava glared at him, her eyes hard as ice. 

"Don't be a fool," she said.

Suddenly, the three conspirators heard a noise outside the door, a voice calling out for help. They froze, listening intently as the voice grew louder. 

It was a man's voice, rough and strained, but unmistakably Darryl's. "Help me!" he cried. "Please, someone, help me!" The three people in the room looked at each other, fear and panic in their eyes. Milo took a step towards the door, but Ava grabbed his arm. 

"Don't be a fool," she hissed. "We can't let him get to us." But Milo's face was set. Milo was scared regretting he joined hands with them. But, Milo was the one that suggested this idea. 

He shook off Ava's hand and ran to the door, wrenching it open. Outside, Darryl stood in the shadows, his face pale and gaunt, his clothes in tatters. 

"Please," he pleaded, his voice hoarse. "They're coming for me. They'll kill me!" Before the others could respond, a group of men emerged from the darkness, their faces covered by masks. They surrounded Darryl, grabbing him and pulling him away. "No!" Milo shouted, but it was too late. Darryl was gone, and the men disappeared into the night.

The men dragged Darryl into a clearing, away from the prying eyes of the city. They threw him to the ground, his body landing with a dull thud. 

One of the men stepped forward, a gleaming knife in his hand. "This is for defying the system," he said, his voice deep and menacing. Before Darryl could react, the man brought the knife down, plunging it into Darryl's chest. Darryl let out a strangled cry, but it was soon silenced by the hands of the other men, who held him down as he struggled. He was gone already with tears cascading from his eyeballs, the men covered his eye. 

As the men stood over Darryl's body, the sky darkened and the clouds began to swirl above them. A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and the first drops of rain began to fall. The rain grew heavier and heavier, turning the ground to mud and soaking the men to the bone. 

They looked around in fear, the thunder echoing in their ears. Something was coming, something unnatural and terrifying. They had to get out of there, but they couldn't leave Darryl's body behind. What should they do?

As the thunder grew louder and the rain poured down, the men tried to pick up Darryl's body. But as they touched him, a bolt of lightning struck the ground nearby, sending a shockwave through the earth. 

The men fell back, stunned and disoriented. The thunder grew even louder, and a deep rumble seemed to come from the very ground beneath them. They scrambled to their feet, knowing they had to get away from Darryl's body, but it was too late. A flash of lightning illuminated the clearing, and then everything went dark.

As the men lay dazed and battered on the ground, Milo felt the guilt of what they had done weighing heavily on him. He had been the one to suggest taking such drastic measures against Darryl, and now he had to live with the consequences. 

The rain continued to fall, and the thunder seemed to be getting closer. Milo looked up at the sky, the rain running down his face. He thought of Darryl, and wondered if he had ever truly understood what he was fighting for. Was it worth all this? Was it worth the destruction and death?

As the men lay in the mud, stunned and silent, a figure emerged from the shadows. She was an old woman, her hair long and white, her face lined with age. Her eyes glowed with an eerie light, and her voice was like a whip crack as she spoke. 

"You fools," she said. "You have brought a curse upon this land. The man you have killed will come back, and he will be filled with hatred and vengeance. He will destroy everything you hold dear, and you will have no one to blame but yourselves.

"If you ever see this man again," the old woman said, her voice full of authority, "you must not try to fight him. You must appeal to him, beg him for mercy. Only then can you hope to stop the destruction he will bring. Warn your descendants of this, and pray that he will show them mercy. For you have brought this upon yourselves, and there is no escaping the consequences of your actions." With that, the old woman turned and disappeared into the darkness. The men were left alone, the rain still falling around them.

"We Are Doomed!" Milo said, his voice trembling with fear.