[CHAPTER-2] The sorrow

He ate quickly—stale bread and water, but it tasted like a king’s feast. He fixed his hair with his fingers, tightened his shirt, then stood before the door. His hand shook a little, but not from fear. From excitement.

He locked the door of his crooked shack and almost laughed at himself. The place had nothing worth stealing. The walls leaned like drunk men, the roof leaked, the floor creaked with every step. Still, rituals mattered. He wanted today to be perfect.

The streets were already awake. Smoke rose from chimneys, merchants lifted crates, kids chased each other in the mud. It almost looked normal—until people saw him.

Every step he took made the air colder. Men narrowed their eyes. Women grabbed their children. The crowd split to let him through as if he carried plague.

“There he is.”

“The cursed one.”

“Death Crawler.” 

The whispers were sharp, louder than they thought. Timmy kept his head high, smile still stuck on his lips like Armor. Once, these words would’ve crushed him. Not today. Today, none of them mattered.

The sky darkened. Clouds gathered heavy and black. The sun’s light bled away, leaving the streets in a strange half-dark. Wind scraped along the stones, tugging at clothes, rattling shutters.

It felt like the world itself was warning him.

But he didn’t stop. His heart beat too strong to hear anything else.

Yui’s house finally came into sight. His chest lifted. His smile grew. He hurried his steps— Then he froze.

Smoke.

Black smoke climbing into the sky from her roof. Thick, heavy, choking. His smile cracked. His feet stumbled forward. 

“No…” Closer. The air stank of burning wood and something worse—meat. 

Closer. The fire roared. The house was gone, swallowed whole by flames that moved like hungry beasts, tearing and biting at the walls.

And outside, waiting for him, stood horror. Wooden spikes. On top of them, heads.

Her parents.

Their faces slack, skin blistered, eyes ripped from their sockets. One crow tore at an empty hole, its beak wet with what had been an eye. Another bird tugged at hair, making it sway in the cold wind like strings on a puppet. Blood had dried on their cheeks, black and thick. Their mouths hung open as if still screaming. 

Timmy’s body failed him. His knees shook. His hands shook. Sweat ran down his face though the air bit with winter cold.

He could taste it. Burnt flesh. Rotten blood. Death. It coated his tongue like poison.

Voices. He heard them. The villagers stood watching, faces filled with cruel delight.

“They worshipped the devil. They got what they deserved.”

“The witch will burned soon.

Timmy’s chest caved. His lips moved, but no sound came. His smile was gone.

He turned and ran.

Through alleys, through streets, through laughter. His breath tore at his throat. His legs burned. But the voices followed him, like claws digging into his ears.

The square.

He reached it. The world became a nightmare. 

Banners waved. Drums pounded. People danced and laughed. Children sat on shoulders, clapping with joy. Voices screamed together, rising like thunder:

“Burn the witch!”

“Kill the devil’s spawn!”

At the altar, tied to a wooden pole, was Yui.

Her face was streaked with tears. Her lips were raw from screaming. She twisted against the ropes, wrists bleeding, skin tearing. Her eyes searched desperately—and found him.

Timmy’s heart shattered.

Father Edward stood before her. His robe swayed, his eyes glowed with cold fire, and his mouth twisted into a smile that reeked of rot. He raised his hands.

Timmy shoved forward, screaming until his throat bled.

“She’s innocent! Stop! Kill me instead! I am the devil—burn me!”  Father Edward’s hands lit with fire.

The flames leapt.

Yui screamed.

Her body was devoured. Her dress caught, her hair blazed, her skin bubbled and peeled. She kicked the ground, legs thrashing, ropes tearing into her bleeding wrists.

She slammed her head back, slammed her knees down, slammed everything she could in blind panic.

Her screams didn’t stop. Every breath was a howl. The fire cooked her alive but refused to kill her. Timmy dropped to the dirt, grabbing his head, pulling at his hair. His mind spiraled into black. The crowd roared, laughing, clapping, dancing as her body burned.

Boots crushed his back. Hands shoved him down. The festival of death stomped on him as if he were nothing but mud.

And then— Silence split.

A scream of steel tore the air. A giant axe ripped through the crowd. Flesh exploded. Twelve people gone in one swing—some cut in half, some headless, their insides spilling across the square. Blood sprayed the walls. Intestines slid across the dirt. Children shrieked.

The air grew heavy. From the storm, it came.

A giant figure, taller than any man, darker than the night. Its eyes burned red. Its steps shook the ground.

The Supreme Devil.

Ravens burst from the sky, Demons. They slashed their blades, tore chunks of flesh, their claws ripped through skulls. They dove into the crowd, feasting. A woman’s face was torn open. A child was lifted screaming before his head snapped off in black beaks. Skulls cracked. Spines were pulled out, dripping, held high like trophies.

The square drowned in screams.

Men ran, trampling their wives. Mothers threw their children aside to save themselves.

Father Edward’s face turned white. His holy smile shattered. He fled, his followers scrambling after him.

The devil’s laughter rolled with the thunder. The massacre spread. Flesh ripped. Blood ran in rivers. The square became a slaughterhouse.

Timmy crawled to a pillar, blood streaming from his head. His body barely held him. He was shaking, broken, dying. But his lips curved.

He smiled.

Humanity was filth. Every scream was justice. Every tear was payment. He whispered through broken teeth, curses and vows, promising blood, promising to kill them all, promising to drown this world in red.

His eyes blurred. His body sank. Darkness wrapped him.

The witch was gone.

Something else was born that day….