"Die, you bastard!!!"
Twack!
A stone smashed against the side of the young man's head, sending him sprawling to the blood-soaked earth.
Red rivulets trailed down his cheeks, dripping from his chin and staining the collar of his torn tunic. Metal clinked as the chains around his arms and legs pulled taut.
He lay still for a moment, dazed, staring at the dusty ground as his vision blurred. A haze of pain clouded his mind. Then another stone.
And another.
The crowd had gathered, not to witness justice, but to indulge in cruelty.
Strangers spat on him.
Merchants leaned from their stalls, children pointed and laughed, and even noblewomen threw flowerpots and cursed his name.
Some had never met him before. Others only knew his name through twisted rumors. But the truth didn't matter.
It never had—not when it came to hatred.
From windows, wagons, balconies, and streets, the people hurled judgment.
"Scum!"
"Rapist!"
"Murderer!"
"Filth of the gods!"
The labels echoed, each word hitting harder than the stones. His head sagged under their weight.
"Get your ass up."
A soldier yanked the chain from atop a black mare, dragging the young man to his feet. The chains bit into his wrists. Blood dripped onto the cobblestones.
Behind him marched four more soldiers, spears lowered. None of them spoke.
He didn't resist.
The thought of escape never once crossed his mind.
As he walked, the mob followed. Spitting. Jeering. Throwing rotten food and curses alike.
Their words cut deeper than blades ever could.
Ashen Grimblade. That was his name.
And this was his end.
Town Square – Execution Grounds
He was dragged into the open square in front of the main castle, where a stage had been erected for spectacle. Rows of nobles, priests, and townsfolk stood in anticipation.
At the center stood the altar, a wooden platform stained dark from years of bloodletting.
The execution device—a massive guillotine with an iron blade—gleamed under the sun.
Ashen was forced to kneel, his head pressed beneath the blade.
A hush fell over the crowd as a herald stepped forward.
"The accused," the man began, his voice booming from the platform, "Ashen Grimblade, stands guilty of violating the sacred body of Sister Elira, handmaiden of the Church of Virtue, and of slaying three temple guards during his escape. Such a vile man cannot live amongst us; the Cortex Lord has given the permission for his death."
Gasps.
Murmurs.
Eyes full of hatred locked onto Ashen.
And yet—
It was a lie.
The truth had long been buried beneath the weight of the god's authority.
Elira had been the one violated. Not by Ashen, but by Lord Cortex, the so-called divine reincarnation of the gods.
Ashen, a fellow worker at the church, had walked in by chance, hearing the muffled cries, and tried to stop it—only to be caught in a web of divine politics.
He had struck Cortex once.
A single punch, a punch that he could not even land successfully.
And for that, the world had decided he must die.
Even Elira, bruised and bleeding, had remained silent. Convincing herself it was all in devotion. All for the gods.
She was in the crowd now, eyes low.
Not crying.
Not defending him.
Just watching.
Just like the rest.
Ashen lifted his head.
On the tower balcony above, Cortex Lord stood, smiling faintly as he sipped wine.
The crowd erupted into chants.
"Kill him!"
"Kill the heretic!"
Ashen said nothing.
But his eyes burned with hatred.
'To hell with your gods. If I had my way, I'd wipe every last one of you off the face of this world.'
His expression twisted. Rage, pain, and betrayal were etched deep into his face.
Enough to unnerve even those who condemned him.
"The execution shall now begin," the herald declared.
The lever was pulled.
A single flash of steel—
And silence.
Then—
Cheers.
Ashen Grimblade was dead.
Somewhere Beyond Death—The White Fog
Or so it should have been.
Ashen gasped, blinking hard.
He was no longer beneath the guillotine.
No longer bleeding.
He sat in the center of a vast, white fog—an endless space without walls, sky, or ground. Only stillness.
'What…?'
He looked down.
His body was intact.
His head, still connected.
He touched his neck—smooth.
'I was executed. I saw it happen. So how…?'
Before he could make sense of it, a blinding sphere of light shimmered into view. The fog around it twisted gently, as though bowing in reverence.
A voice echoed in his mind, calm, ancient, and unmistakably divine.
[Welcome, Ashen Grimblade, to my realm.]
Ashen jumped, startled. He tried to step back—but realized he was seated at the end of a massive table, its surface stretching far into the mist.
He hadn't noticed it before.
"How—what is this?" he muttered to himself.
And then, he turned his attention to the light at the end of the table.
[This is not the afterlife, if that's what you're thinking,] the voice replied.
[This is my sanctuary.]
A pause.
[I am the God of Life. And I have come to offer you another chance.]
Ashen's jaw clenched. "Another chance? For what?"
[For life. Rebirth. But nothing is free. In exchange, you must complete a goal I cannot reveal—because destiny has already chosen you to fulfill it.]
Ashen didn't respond. He just stared at the light, eyes cold.
[The other gods will despise you. You will carry the burden of my sins. And the moment you awaken, your life will be hunted by divine decree. Fear not, my powers will be yours to use as you please.]
Silence.
Then, Ashen spoke.
"I never cared for the gods. Not before. And certainly not now. One of your kind set me up to die, and the rest of you watched in silence."
A bitter smile touched his lips.
"I don't need your mercy. If you give me your powers, i'll take them, but not because I want to serve you. I will be the new god instead."
[HAHAHA!]
The divine laughter was like rolling thunder.
[Even better than I expected. Very well. Kill the gods, if that is your desire. I will not stop you.]
[Because I shall be your first victim.]