"Argh... Shit..."
A man slumped his back up against a tree in a woodland, and the smell of blood clung to his nose, hanging heavily in the air. His eyes became unfocused and blind in the pitch-black darkness.
The man appeared to be in his mid-twenties, based on his young appearance, which was growing paler by the second.
His face wrinkled in agony as he clutched the side of his abdomen, attempting to hold back the open wound that continued to overflow with his blood.
The hot, searing pain from it throbbed inside his mind nonstop, telling him to seek medical attention. He gently tilted his hand and took a curious peek at it.
It was a bullet wound caused by a 9mm bullet. He then gave a shaky sigh before glancing at his clothes.
His attire consists of a dark navy blue suit, a white buttoned-up shirt with two of its top buttons popped off, a black tie, dark blue pants to go with the suit, and some brown leather shoes.
A set of clothes custom-tailored to him by his kind female tailor. An elderly woman reaching her sixties. The suit she had prepared for him for a political meeting, however, was now stained and wrinkled in his blood.
"Heh... Sorry, Grace... Seems like I couldn't keep it tidy after all..." He panted heavily, a reluctant smile on his face. The young man then raised his head to admire the moon in the night sky.
The trees in his peripheral vision, the contrasting colour of the black sky, and the dazzling white moon created a magnificent image in his thoughts.
Swoosh...
The gentle breeze passed through and around the trees, caressed his sweat-drenched black hair, and blew it to the side.
The crisp sound of the dried autumn leaves beneath him echoed in his ears as he shifted around to find a more comfortable sitting position. After doing that, he rested the back of his head against the tree he decided was going to be his tombstone.
"What did I do to deserve this?" He expressed his thoughts outwardly. His chest rose as he inhaled the earthy air. The feeling of his body losing strength continued to be a reminder in his mind.
Everything was going great. The political meeting resulted in his side winning. So why...?
"Oh, right... I remember now... It's because I ate that brownie."
He recalled the sequence of events that led to his current situation. Just before everyone had left, he was able to sneak by and steal the triple chocolate brownie sitting on a white porcelain plate.
But it appears that someone else was vying for it as well, and out of a petty attempt to make him pay for it, they sent their bodyguards after him.
'What a pathetic reason.' He thought.
"Those bastards... Just because they keep losing every few years, do they have to use some petty reason? It is THEIR fault for forming another party that no one cares about." He said with a hint of disdain.
'It's not even a good excuse at that. I would've at least died with more of my dignity if it was a better one.'
His vision then suddenly became blurry. The beautiful moon's appearance then began to duplicate and overlap each other.
"Such a pathetic way to go out..."
He reached into his pocket, grabbed his weapon's familiar handle, and fiddled with it. He pulled it out and inspected it.
It was a .44 Colt Magnum Pistol. The gun's metallic body shined under the moon's glow into his eyes. Its polished and wooden handle felt nice and comforting to his hands.
"I was only able to use this once... And that time I missed..." He said with a tiny chuckle, a little disappointed at the fact he may never use it again. He pushed out the cylinder and tilted it upside down—he then watched the bullet casing fulling out from it.
It softly landed on the ground. Its smooth surface reflected into his saddened eyes.
"THERE HE IS!"
His ears twitched at the voice. He quickly pushed back in the cylinders, hid his gun back into his pocket, and placed both his hands over his wound, hoping it was the police coming to rescue him.
He slowly turned his head to the side, noticing two beams of light shining on his pitiful figure. 'Is it them...?' He thought with a bit of hope in his eyes.
Following that, two enormous figures stood over him, casting a shadow on him.
His eyes tried their hardest to see their face, and unfortunately, they succeeded in adjusting to the point where he could even describe how they looked with near-perfect accuracy.
"Oh~? Looks like you guys have finally caught up to poor little 'ol me." The young man said with a self-deprecating smile. It wasn't the police but instead...
'Looks like I'm dead...'
Were the bodyguards that chased after him, albeit only two, for some reason? He gazed at the weapons they held in their hands; it was a 9mm pistol.
"Yes, Yes, we did!" A lady approached them from behind and squeezed herself between them. She had a short stature with a rotund body. She resembled a dwarf more than a human.
Especially a male one, given the "high-class" animal fur she has adorned and sewn onto her clothes, causing her to have something resembling a beard.
"I must say, though! Damien, for a wounded animal like yourself, you can certainly run far." She raised her hand to her mouth and gave a haughty laugh—mocking Damien's attempt at getting away.
"Well, what can I say? We animals are simply more athletic than you 'humans', Miss Sharon." He finished by mocking her physique with a chuckle.
"Oughrrr! How dare you!"
SNAP!
She snapped her fingers and was handed a black leather riding crop.
Damien narrowed his eyes on it. Although its slender and thin appearance was a bit difficult to make out, he was sure about what it was.
"Oh~ is that the infamous whip you used to terrorise those poor little animals you have back home~" He then shook his head in disappointment, "It's people like you that are the reason why our country gets a bad name."
A nasty rumour was released into the public about her abusing her pets at home with this particular whip. She had obviously denied such an accusation.
Any attempts for her arrest were all unsuccessful, for the police had no evidence to arrest her since the animals always seemed to have nothing visibly wrong with them.
SLAP!
His face snapped to the side. The blow from her whip caused his cheek to redden. The sharp pain spread throughout his face before fading. He could feel the blood under his skin rushing to their and causing it to rise and make it swollen.
"For someone who's on the verge, you have some nerves to be talking back to someone who can save you," Sharon said coldly but also hinted at the fact that he could be saved.
Damien then swirled the saliva in his mouth before spitting it at her.
"PTUI!"
Unfortunately, the bodyguard to her left reached out and blocked it. He then glanced at it and gave a look of disgust. The other guard then pulled out a packet of tissues for him to use.
Sharon ignored the silent exchange between guards and approached Damien—delivering yet another strike to his face.
"HOW DARE YOU!" She roared as the whip connected with his face, causing his head to snap to the other side.
This act of abuse carried on for several minutes.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
Both sides of his face bled from the cuts caused by the strikes. The pain caused by these lacerations felt no different to papercuts. The numbing effect from adrenaline had already dulled the blistering pain coming from them.
What worried him the most was...
'Blood... I'm running out...' Due to how much he's lost, the subtle fogginess in his mind has increased exponentially.
'I don't have much time left...' He thought with a tinge of regret. The thoughts of his two kids and his wife flashed in his mind, and so did his life.
The happy memories of him hanging out with his closest friends, the faces his parents made when he told them they could retire and leave it up to him—brought tears to his eyes.
Sharon stared at his slumped body with a hint of disgust before raising her whip once more.
She swung once more, putting forward all the strength her little body and do, and the whip sliced through the air and made it to his body.
Damien stared at the incoming whip; he felt ready to go; his family had enough money to keep him well-fed and sheltered for a lifetime.
'That's fine by me...' He thought before a sense of pride rose inside him. He didn't want to go without a fight.
Just as the whip neared his face once more, he shot his hand towards it and caught it with his pale hand—his arm shaking weakly.
He stared up at her, his black eyes piercing through the veil caused by his hair falling over his eyes.
Memories of him missing his shot passed through his mind.
"But at least this time..." He steadily but quickly reached into his pocket, pulled out his gun, and aimed it at her. The hollow inside of his barrel stared at the gap between her brows.
"I won't miss..." He said calmly, a psychotic smile appearing on his face as he felt the world becoming slower. He pressed down on the hammer and heard it click and rotated the cylinders.
His eyes then watched as the guards hurriedly raised their guns and aimed them at him, noting how their fingers were already on the trigger; he wasted no time in doing the same.
He then gave Sharon one last mischievous look. His tears that clung to the corner of his eyes finally broke free and flowed like a dam.
"I'll see you in Hell, Miss Sharon."
"W-Wait—!"
BANG! x 3
Three bullets shot out of their respective guns. Two were aimed at one injured man, and the other aimed at a detestable obese and short woman.
Damien's pierced the woman's skull and went through the opposite side, killing her instantly.
However, his fate wasn't much different, for he too was killed as the bullets fired at him pierced through his heart and stomach. But in the last few seconds, he had to spend in the world of the living.
"Hahaha..."
He laughed… A laughter a victor would have despite losing something they gave little value to.
Damien didn't place much value on his life. That was the job of the people to decide. All he cared about was taking care of those around him, which he succeeded in spectacularly.
Before he felt himself slip away, one thought emerged inside his mind, 'Ah... How lucky I am to have such a non-boring way to go out...'
*
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"Kehehe..." A decrepit man's giggling echoed throughout a large, open room. Large amounts of rubble littered and decorated the stone floor. The grey mossy walls were damaged and appeared to be about to collapse if not for the pillars that lined either side of the room and supported the ceilings.
It was damaged, just like everything else in the room. Holes were poked through it, and several of its bricks and materials were tilted down, almost as if something had broken through it at breakneck speeds.
The room was divided in the middle by a damaged red carpet with gold accents and an insignia depicting a beast's maw. It led towards the stairs leading to the platform with a throne on top.
On the throne sat someone dressed in rusted armour. Except for its head, which had not even a morsel of flesh on it for a bird to nibble on, no part of it was left exposed from its feet to its chest and arms.
The one sitting on the throne was a skeleton. The remains of someone potentially significant now lay alone on its throne.
With its body tilted to the side, its elbow resting on the simple yet complex throne, and the side of its head resting against its fist, it made an awe-inspiring yet terrifying impression on those who looked at it.
The ragged red cape attached to the pauldrons of its armour carelessly fell over the throne's armrests. Its once vibrant colour had faded over time, and the edges indicated that parts had been torn off.
Despite experiencing loneliness and losing its essence in life, it was still able to express contempt for the one before it.
An elderly man with a hunched, shaky back and a dirty brown cloak stood in front of the skeleton. In his decrepit hands was a long, black wooden staff with a glowing red gem at its tip.
The man's wrinkled lips formed an excited grin.
His dry lips cracked, but he was so focused on what he saw that the subtle pain was completely ignored. "Kekeke...!" The elderly man cackled before shakily waving his staff in front of the skeleton.
The red glowing illuminates its skeletal features. Its empty eyesockets stared at the man, and while it was unable to express any emotions, one could tell it was refusing what the old man was about to do to it.
"KEKEKEKE! Rise, you ancient skeleton!" The old man's screechy voice echoed throughout the room, followed by a significantly bright light emanating from the red gem...