The world was nothing like it had once been. It was a hollow thing now, a place where nothing lived in the way it once had, where even hope seemed to shrink under the heavy grip of fear. The Great One had seen to that. His rules were simple. Follow them, or die. Those who still remained, a small fraction of humanity, obeyed. They had no choice.
The last remnants of rebellion had died with the first few defiant souls. They were struck down quickly, their bodies left to rot in the dirt as a message. No one else dared to fight. Not anymore.
Lucas had been one of the lucky ones—or unlucky, depending on how you saw it. He had survived the first wave of The Great One's wrath, when half of humanity was wiped out in a terrifying, inexplicable manner. The Great One had made no speeches. No declarations. The skies had torn open, blackened with unnatural clouds, and the people had screamed. They screamed for mercy. They begged. Then they died. They didn't even know what had happened to them. They just ceased to exist.
Now, only 1% of the world remained, and they obeyed.
The Great One's enforcers were everywhere, towering figures that walked with a quiet command. They wore the same oppressive silence that hung over the land. Nobody dared speak against them. Lucas hadn't spoken against them. He had learned not to.
But today, as he walked through the crumbling remains of the city, a thought began to twist in his mind. It had been there for a while, like a seed buried deep. The Great One's rules were suffocating. The obedience that everyone had to follow—it ate at him. It was wrong, so wrong. The Great One was not a god. He was a tyrant, a parasite that fed on the world's misery. And as much as he hated to admit it, the thought of living under his rule forever made him sick. Something inside Lucas snapped.
"Enough," he muttered under his breath.
He didn't know why. Maybe it was the years of silence. Maybe it was the thought of living out his life in this new world, a place where humanity was nothing but slaves. But today, he decided that he would not obey anymore.
He didn't have a plan. He didn't know what he could do. But he couldn't keep going like this. Not another day.
There was no turning back.
He walked toward the center of the city, where the towering figure of The Great One's statue stood. It had been there for as long as he could remember, a monument to an entity no one could truly comprehend. The Great One's influence spread out from here, from the heart of the city, to the ends of the earth. The enforcers patrolled the streets, silent and immovable, like statues themselves.
Lucas had seen them strike down those who had dared to speak against the rules. But now, there was nothing left but silence. The streets felt deserted, like a tomb.
"Do it. Just do it," Lucas whispered to himself.
His legs moved of their own accord, driven by something beyond thought. He didn't look at the enforcers as he passed them. He couldn't. If he looked, if he let himself see them, the fear would come back. The fear that had crushed him when he first saw what The Great One could do. The fear that had stopped him from even thinking of rebellion before.
He reached the base of the statue, standing tall and cold, its eyes unblinking, its presence suffocating. He didn't know what he expected to happen. For a moment, he wondered if he would even get close before the enforcers caught him, but something pushed him forward. The statue loomed over him, the stone carving of The Great One looking down on humanity with an air of supreme judgment.
Lucas reached up, his hand trembling, and touched the cold surface of the statue. The instant his fingers brushed the stone, the air around him seemed to tremble.
A sound, like a distant thunderclap, rumbled from the ground beneath him. The sky above him darkened. It wasn't the natural darkening of clouds, but something deeper, more oppressive. The ground shook, and for a moment, Lucas thought he might collapse. His heart pounded in his chest as the rumbling grew louder.
From the shadows, two enforcers appeared. Silent, unblinking. They moved toward him with a speed that didn't seem possible, their long limbs reaching for him. Lucas stumbled back, panic surging through him. His mind screamed for him to run, but his body wouldn't move. He was paralyzed with fear.
One of the enforcers raised a hand. The air around him seemed to warp as it formed into a violent burst. Lucas gasped as the ground cracked beneath him, and he was thrown backward, his body slamming against the statue's base. The force knocked the wind out of him, but he managed to crawl to his feet. His heart beat faster, faster, as he pushed himself up, staring at the enforcers who were closing in on him.
"No!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "I won't do this anymore!"
The enforcers didn't respond. They didn't need to.
Without a word, the first enforcer reached down and seized Lucas by the throat, lifting him off the ground with a terrifying ease. His body flailed uselessly, his hands scrabbling at the grip on his neck. The air around him felt thick, suffocating, as if the world itself had turned against him. He could see the other enforcer standing by, still, unmoving, as if it were waiting for something.
"You… you can't… kill… me," Lucas gasped out. The words felt weak, pathetic.
The enforcer didn't answer. Its grip tightened, and the last breath left Lucas's body in a rush. His vision swam, darkening at the edges. His body felt like it was being crushed, every inch of him breaking down, every piece of his will being sucked away. He could feel the life draining out of him, a slow and steady pull. The world began to fade, but not in the way he expected. There was no peace in it. No release.
It was like being devoured, piece by piece.
With a final snap, Lucas's body gave out. His chest ceased to rise. His eyes were wide open, but there was no longer any comprehension in them. His body hung limp in the enforcer's grasp, lifeless.
The second enforcer stepped forward. Its large hand reached out, pressing a symbol on Lucas's forehead, marking him. The mark spread across his skin, a sickly black ink that seemed to pulse with its own life. It was the mark of submission, the brand that showed a person had been broken. It was not just a death sentence—it was a reminder. A warning. The Great One did not tolerate resistance.
And there was no escape.
The enforcer dropped Lucas's body to the ground, his once vibrant form now just another discarded thing. The other enforcer stepped back, and without another glance, they turned and left, their footsteps quiet, like they had never even been there.
No one would mourn him.
No one would remember him.
Because The Great One was always watching. And rebellion would never be allowed again.