Dystopian World

This world appears peaceful, a civilization that at a glance reflects tranquility and prosperity. The sun shines, the wind blows gently, and the fertile land sustains life. However, reality is far more cruel than it seems. Beneath this calm facade, something lurks, something that cannot be explained by mere logic.

In this dystopian world, death can come at any moment in the most absurd and sudden ways. Blood is the source of life, yet in this world, it is also the harbinger of death. A single scratch is enough to turn someone into a being that no longer recognizes itself. They never know when death will claim them, for danger lurks everywhere. It can be carried by the wind as a dust of death, hidden within an ordinary tree branch concealing an unseen enemy, or even lying beneath their feet, ready to explode with unimaginable horror.

There is no truly safe place. No food can be consumed without caution. What appears to be a delicious meal may hide something sinister within. Even the very ground they walk on could turn into a stage of death without warning.

In a small village, under the scorching midday sun, an old man lay on a wooden bench, trying to rest after working in the fields. His breath was heavy as he drifted into slumber, disturbed only by a mosquito that landed on his cheek. With a lazy slap, he crushed it, leaving a small smear of blood on his wrinkled skin. Nothing unusual, just as it should be.

But from that tiny stain, black smoke slithered out, creeping like a living entity awakened from a long slumber. In eerie silence, it crawled across the old man's body, seeping into every pore. His muscles tensed, his body writhed, but he did not wake, not until the darkness had completely consumed him.

When his eyes finally opened, there was no trace of human consciousness left, only an insatiable hunger, a thirst for the blood that flowed through this world.

in the stillness of the night, a group of men dressed in black walked in silence, dragging ten large sacks to the top of a hill behind a grand mansion. They opened the sacks, revealing fresh corpses. Without saying much, they began their work. A sharp blade sliced across the throats of the dead, letting the blood flow freely into the earth. The metallic scent filled the air, seeping into the ground. Without looking back, they walked away, leaving their offering to something unseen by ordinary eyes.

Not far from there, inside the mansion, laughter echoed as the noble family enjoyed their meal in false happiness. They had no idea that in just a few moments, their walls would be breached by creatures capable of shifting from solid to liquid form. The warmth of their evening would soon be replaced by sheer terror. Laughter would turn into screams, then into silence that would never be broken again.

In a crowded eatery, a man sat happily, savoring a bowl of warm soup. Every spoonful was delicious, allowing him a brief escape from the harsh world outside. But without his knowledge, something had already infiltrated his body, a tiny creature hidden within the food, waiting for the right moment to take control.

Seconds later, his body froze. His eyes widened in panic. An unbearable pain tore through him from within. With one final scream, his body split open, and from inside him, something emerged, something no longer human. A horrifying shriek filled the air before everything fell silent, leaving only chaos and the scattered remains of his flesh.

Deep within a dense forest, a group of lumberjacks worked tirelessly. One of them let his guard down, and a massive tree they had just cut down came crashing toward another worker. There was no time to escape. His legs were crushed under the weight, blood pouring onto the ground. His fellows rushed to help, but before they could do anything, something even more terrifying happened.

The blood that mixed with the earth gave birth to new life, a blood curse creature emerged at an unimaginable speed. The other workers screamed, dropping everything in their hands. Panic overtook them, and they ran, leaving the unfortunate man to his doomed fate.

At the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast, tranquil lake, a man in a black-and-white hooded cloak sat at the cliff, peeling an apple. His face was hidden in the shadows, deep in thought.

Above him, two crows fought fiercely, and in the struggle, one of them plummeted to the ground, dying instantly not far from where he sat. He flinched, startled, and in that brief moment, his knife slipped, slicing his own fingers. His blood dripped onto the earth, mingling with the dead crow’s body.

Nothing happened to the carcass, as it should be in this world. The man let his blood flow onto the ground, and soon after, black smoke emerged. Slowly, he rose to his feet, watching as a creature began to take shape before him.

In an instant, the creature lunged, monstrous hands creeping forward, reaching to strangle him.

The man remained calm. He stepped back a few paces as if dancing elegantly. From his right hand, a crimson light emerged, and with a simple motion, he directed it toward the creature. Instantly, the creature was overcome by tremendous vertical pressure, forced to kneel before him. He stepped closer, staring at the trembling entity under his pressure. His gaze shifted momentarily to the dead raven before returning to the figure before him.

"You turned a sentient being into a mindless one. You are wrong, yet you are also right. The mindless are the purest in this world," he said in a flat tone.

He sighed, looking at the creature he had just subdued. That monster, a writhing mass of black blood struggling within his grasp, seemed to fight back despite its helplessness.

The hooded man stood at the edge of the cliff, gazing upon the breathtaking scenery before him—the clear lake reflecting the hues of dawn, the dense forest appearing serene, and the gentle breeze carrying the scent of damp earth. Yet his eyes remained cold, unmoved by such beauty.

"The beauty of this world is deceiving," he muttered, his voice carrying an unfathomable depth. "This should be the world's true identity. But how unfortunate, Mother Earth has ungrateful children who do not know how to be thankful."

He lowered his head slightly, his fingers toying with a small dagger glistening under the dim light. "I do not intend to judge them, for I am one of them. I am just like them, sinful, flawed, and complicit in destroying what we should have protected." His voice dropped, as if confessing the guilt etched deep within him.

The wind blew stronger, rustling the edges of his cloak, yet he remained standing firm, unwavering. "Mother Earth, like any mother, does not reveal her suffering to her children. She has fought for far too long against a disease that continues to devour her, one that grows more vicious by the day."

He gripped the dagger tighter, as if reaffirming his resolve. "What I can do is devote myself to her. Not just to heal her wounds, but to uproot the disease entirely. So that Mother Earth may smile once more... and still be proud of her children."

Behind him, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed.

Light footsteps echoed behind him. A young woman, appearing tomboyish yet graceful in her own way, approached with a playful smirk. "Your words are truly beautiful, my prince," she teased, her eyes gleaming with intrigue.

A man followed behind her, his stride firm, arms crossed over his chest. "Time to exterminate some pests, big bro," he said casually, though there was a dangerous edge to his voice.

"I’d be disappointed if the pests were just Crancrse," another voice chimed in, dripping with sarcasm. "We traveled all the way back there, and if all we get are a few bugs? That’s not efficient."

"You know, that city has been a breeding ground for disease for far too long," another man chimed in. "They’ve taken root there, clinging on like parasites sucking the world's blood. Isn’t it time we weed out this garden?"

"Did you just compare the world to a garden?" One of them chuckled. "Gods, this is the first time I’ve heard a killer talk philosophy about farming."

"We’re not killers," a man who seemed to be talking too seriously. "We are the cure. We cleanse what has rotted, erase what has been infected. That city is just the beginning. This world is filled with filth that needs to be wiped clean."

"So we're janitors now?" The sarcastic man let out a low laugh. "Well, at least this time, our job feels... nobler."

"So, when do we start?" a cheerful voice piped up from behind. "I’m tired of waiting. That city must be ready to welcome us with open arms by now."

Another woman added, "Well, I hope we’re just overestimating things."

The man peeling an apple finally spoke again, glancing at him briefly before returning his gaze to the horizon. "Nothing is excessive if it’s for healing the world."

"Ah, I love that serious tone," a woman murmured with a small smile. "You really make all of this sound like a tale of heroism, my prince."

Another woman, only her long black hair visible, walked closest to the hooded man. She didn’t say much, merely giving him a brief glance before speaking in a calm tone, "Yeah, but before that, I want you to stop being reckless again." With a gentle motion, she wrapped him in a dark black cloth, as if it were a habit she had repeated countless times.

From the very back, a deep and authoritative voice echoed. The oldest man among them stood with his arms crossed. "Are you ready, Sakti?" he asked, his voice carrying a meaning far deeper than a simple question.

Sakti, the hooded man, gave a faint smile. He raised his hand, and without touching it, the writhing monster was lifted into the air, as if crushed by an invisible force. In the blink of an eye, the creature was hurled into the sky like a falling star, shattering into formless fragments of blood.

Yet Sakti only let out a light sigh. "Even so, that won’t kill you," he muttered, his tone almost playful.

Then, without hesitation, he stepped forward and leaped off the cliff with a grace almost impossible for an ordinary human. One by one, his fellows followed, soaring through the air as if the wind itself guided them.

As his body neared the lake’s surface below, Sakti extended his hand. A faint vibration rippled through the air, and in an instant, the water beneath him stirred into strange patterns, as if something unseen was manipulating its currents. In the blink of an eye, the lake’s surface transformed into an invisible path, forming a solid landing beneath them.

He landed lightly on the water, his feet remaining completely dry. Red and orange maple leaves, carried by the wind from the trees lining the lake, drifted down slowly, coming to rest on the unseen surface as if unwilling to touch the water.

His fellows followed, their steps steady upon the path only they could perceive. The golden light of the rising sun reflected off the gently rippling lake, enveloping them in a warm, radiant glow. The crisp autumn air lingered, mingling with the scent of damp leaves.

Sakti lifted his head, gazing at the horizon where the sun slowly crept upward, chasing away the remnants of mist clinging between the trees. A faint smile formed on his lips before he spoke, his voice carried by the cool morning breeze.

"Wait for me, my past."

Their silhouettes gradually faded into the golden light, their footsteps blending with the ceaseless murmur of flowing water, carrying the fallen maple leaves to an unknown destination.

In this world, no one could escape the lurking horrors. Every step was a gamble, every breath a fleeting stroke of luck. Those who survived today might simply be waiting for their turn to die tomorrow. Life in this world was like walking on a fragile suspension bridge, one misstep, and it would collapse, dragging anyone down into the abyss of death waiting below.

"Will the protagonist find the best solution for this dystopian world?"