Chapter 172: Scenes Of A Dying World 6!
The line shuffled forward in a hushed, oppressive silence. Anthony Huse, third in line, clenched his fists, his knuckles white from the tension. Before him was the woman with the gun and ahead was a man being attended to.
The stench of sweat and fear hung thick in the air as each desperate soul ahead of him approached the table where the blood pact was being signed. The agents watched coldly, their rifles slung across their chests, ready to enforce compliance.
Anthony's stomach churned with hunger. His mind raced, torn between survival and the remnants of his moral compass. 'If I don't eat, I'll die anyway. This one life… what does it even mean anymore?' He glanced down at his trembling hands. 'I might as well do what it takes to survive'.
Before him, a faint rustling sound caught his attention. The gaunt woman clutching a concealed gun in her right jean pocket shifted her weight from foot to foot, her eyes darting around like a cornered animal. Her face was a mask of desperation, her lips moving in silent calculation. Anthony knew what was coming.
Suddenly, as the man ahead of her finished signing his pact, the woman lunged forward. She whipped out her gun and fired. The sharp, deafening cracks of gunfire echoed through the makeshift camp. Chaos erupted.
The first volley of bullets struck true. Four agents crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath them. The man conducting the blood pact fell lifeless, his hand still clutching the quill. Panic rippled through the crowd, some screaming, others frozen in place. But not Anthony.
Without a second thought, Anthony sprang into action. He darted towards the massive food drum like a leopard on the hunt, his body fueled by sheer adrenaline. He snatched a discarded container from the ground, scooped a heaping load of rice and meat, and bolted.
Behind him, pandemonium reigned. The woman, her rebellion short-lived, was gunned down by the remaining agents. But her sacrifice ignited a spark in the crowd.
"They can bleed!" someone shouted.
The mob surged forward, a tidal wave of human desperation. Gunfire rang out, cutting down several, but it wasn't enough to stem the tide. For every person that fell, two more took their place, driven by hunger and rage.
Anthony paused at a safe distance, his breath ragged, eyes wide as he watched the horrific scene unfold. The agents were quickly overwhelmed. They screamed and thrashed as the mob tore into them with savage fury. One by one, they fell, their bodies ripped apart by the frenzied crowd.
Blood soaked the ground, mixing with the spilled food. Anthony shivered, clutching his container tightly. The world had gone mad.
Is this what survival means now? he thought, staring at the carnage with hollow eyes. The price of life had become grotesque.
From the shadows, he retreated further, his back pressing against the cold steel of an abandoned truck. He dug into the food with his bare hands, the warm, greasy texture barely registering as he stuffed his mouth. Each bite was a bitter reminder of the lengths he had gone to.
But he couldn't stop. Not now. Not ever.
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Western Continent — Torhaven Country — Inla City
On the topmost floor of a three-story house that bore the scars of time, its walls cracked and roof sagging, a woman knelt in the dim glow of a single candle.
The flickering light cast wavering shadows across the peeling wallpaper and exposed wooden beams. Before her, propped against a makeshift altar, was a grainy photograph clipped from a newspaper. It depicted a young woman mid-battle, her figure illuminated by the radiant power of the moon.
It was Tessa, or as the people of Torhaven knew her—the Moon Goddess. The image captured a rare and fleeting moment when she had been seen in public.
In the photograph, Tessa wielded the celestial power with divine fury, her eyes glowing with unearthly light as she delivered a deathblow to a Rhemon Agent. Her expression was one of unrelenting justice, a god descending to enact retribution.
The kneeling woman was Angaali Patel. At 28, she had lived her entire life in Inla City, a place she both loved and hated. The city's familiar cobbled streets and modest homes had been her world. Yet now, they stood as a reminder of the devastation wrought by the Rhemon forces.
Angaali had always been a fervent believer in Tessa. She'd grown up hearing the tales of the Moon Goddess, watching her rise as a beacon of hope. When Tessa's heroics graced the headlines, Angaali's faith only deepened. Yet, nine months ago, Tessa had vanished. The rescues stopped, the celestial light no longer pierced the darkness, and many had given up hope. They whispered that the Moon Goddess was gone, defeated, or perhaps dead.
Not Angaali. She clung to her faith with a fervor that bordered on obsession. Every night, she knelt before the image of Tessa, her lips moving in silent prayer. But as time passed, her prayers remained unanswered.
Inla City, though relatively peaceful compared to the rest of Torhaven, was not immune to the creeping shadow of famine and chaos. The parasite—an insidious blight that destroyed crops and poisoned the land—had spread slowly, giving Inla's citizens time to prepare. They stockpiled food, fortified their homes, and prayed for deliverance. For a time, it seemed they might endure.
But their hope was betrayed.
Within the city walls, an informant worked in secret for the Rhemon Agency. This traitor undermined their efforts, feeding critical information to the enemy. When the Rhemon forces finally struck, they did so with ruthless precision. They stormed the city's storerooms, seized the provisions, and left Inla's people to starve.
The city descended into chaos. Families turned on each other, desperation breeding violence. Angaali's own life was shattered when her husband and only son took up arms against the invaders. They fought valiantly but were cut down in the streets. Their deaths left her alone and afraid, her world reduced to ashes.
Even in her grief, Angaali's faith in Tessa did not waver. She cried out for vengeance, beseeching the Moon Goddess to return and smite their oppressors. But the skies remained silent, and the moon's light offered no answers.
Angaali stared at the photograph, her tears carving paths through the dirt on her face. Her voice, hoarse from days of chanting, rose again.
"Tessa, Moon Goddess, if you can hear me—answer. My family, my city, we are dying. Where are you?"
The candle flickered, its light guttering as if struggling against an unseen force. Angaali's heart raced. Was it a sign? She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms.
Her voice broke into a whisper, laced with both hope and despair.
"Please… don't let this be the end."