The morning of Beshaar's execution dawned heavy with an unnatural stillness. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as the people of the West were herded toward the central arena. The Eastern soldiers, clad in gleaming armor and armed to the teeth, barked orders at the Westerners, forcing them to gather in the massive square. The tension in the air was palpable—a volatile mix of fear, anger, and despair.
Dragged Like Filth
Inside the prison, Beshaar sat in a dark corner, his body battered from days of torment. The heavy iron door creaked open, and two Eastern guards stormed in, yanking him to his feet.
"You're finally going to meet your maker, filth," one of them sneered, his grip bruising Beshaar's arm.
Beshaar said nothing. His eyes, sunken but burning with defiance, stared straight ahead as they dragged him out. Shackles clinked around his wrists and ankles, and his ragged clothes barely clung to his frame.
The guards hauled him through the ghetto streets, parading him like a trophy. The Westerners lining the path watched in grim silence. Some wept, others clenched their fists, but none dared to speak. Beshaar's gaze, unwavering, met theirs, and for a fleeting moment, hope flickered in their eyes.
As they entered the arena, the sight was overwhelming. Thousands had gathered—Westerners packed together in fear and Easterners standing guard, weapons ready. The General sat on a raised dais at the far end, his face twisted in a smirk of cruel satisfaction.
The Gallows
The gallows stood in the center of the arena, a crude wooden structure with a single noose swaying in the breeze. Beshaar was forced to climb the steps, every movement accompanied by jeers and shouts from the Eastern soldiers.
"Look at your hero now!" one soldier called out mockingly.
The executioner, a burly man with a cold expression, tightened the noose around Beshaar's neck. The crowd held its breath as a drumroll began to play, its deep, ominous rhythm echoing through the arena.
The General rose from his seat, raising a hand to silence the crowd. "This," he announced, his voice booming, "is the price of rebellion. Let this serve as a warning to all who dare defy the East!"
Drenak's Distraction
Among the crowd stood Drenak, the trusted guardsman who had secretly conspired with Beshaar. His heart pounded as he waited for the signal. The Westerners around him, armed with concealed weapons, glanced his way, their faces tense but resolute.
Drenak had prepared a distraction, one that would throw the Eastern soldiers into chaos. As the General finished his speech, Drenak discreetly lit a small fuse attached to an explosive hidden beneath a cart of supplies. The cart, filled with barrels of oil, was positioned near a cluster of Eastern soldiers.
The fuse burned silently, its sparks hidden beneath the noise of the arena. The moment the General motioned for the execution to proceed, the cart erupted in a deafening explosion.
Chaos Erupts
The blast sent a shockwave through the arena, flames leaping into the sky and smoke billowing in every direction. Eastern soldiers shouted in panic, scrambling to contain the fire. The explosion served as the Westerners' signal.
From within the crowd, hidden weapons were drawn. Guns fired, daggers flashed, and the Westerners surged forward like a tidal wave.
Beshaar's Escape
On the gallows, the explosion jolted the executioner, giving Beshaar the moment he needed. With a well-timed kick, he sent the man tumbling off the platform. A Western rebel climbed the gallows and cut the ropes binding Beshaar's hands.
Grabbing a dagger from the fallen executioner, Beshaar leaped off the platform, landing amidst the chaos. He spotted the General retreating toward the fortified dais, surrounded by soldiers. Without hesitation, Beshaar plunged into the fray, cutting down anyone who stood in his path.
The General's Retreat
The General barked orders, trying to restore order, but the rebellion spread like wildfire. The Westerners fought with desperation, their anger turning them into formidable foes.
Drenak, leading a small group of rebels, targeted the soldiers guarding the General. As the guards fell, Beshaar closed in. The General's confident smirk was gone, replaced by a mask of fear.
"Your reign ends today," Beshaar growled, his voice steady despite the chaos around him.
The General, realizing he was outmatched, fled toward a hidden tunnel beneath the dais. Beshaar pursued him, the clash of swords and the cries of battle echoing behind him.
The Turning Tide
As the General disappeared into the tunnel, the Westerners gained the upper hand in the arena. The Eastern soldiers, overwhelmed and disorganized, began to retreat. The Westerners, united by their shared fury and hope, pushed forward, reclaiming their city one step at a time.
The day that began as one of despair ended as the first victory in a rebellion that would change the course of history. And at the heart of it all was Beshaar, the man who had been dragged like filth to his execution but had risen to lead his people to freedom.