The air was quiet. Neither of them made a sound. They just stared at each other intently, waiting for the other to make a move, until one of them finally did. The beast watched as the foreign man unsheathed his sword from its scabbard and pointed it toward him. The beast smiled at this, dropped his metal pipe, and unsheathed the long dagger hidden at his waist. They stared at each other, trying to find the perfect opportunity to strike first. Then the beast took it. He slashed first, but the man blocked. That attack, however, was just a distraction. The beast dropped a hidden dagger from his sleeve and tried to stab the man through the eye. Luckily for the man, he responded quickly, moving his head out of the way and kicking the beast back. It quickly recovered and swiftly launched a fury of quick slashes, all meant to overwhelm the man. But the man was not fazed at all. He evaded and blocked the slashes, and as soon as he saw an opening he slashed forward. But the beast evaded, leaving the man wide open for an attack. The beast did not waste the opportunity. He readjusted his grip on one of his daggers and thrust it forward, trying to stab the man through the base of the neck. The beast thought he had won. The man was wide open, with no way to block or counter. In the end he would just end up like all the others: dead. But the beast was wrong. The man let go of his sword with one hand and struck the beast with a punch to the face, sending it flying backward. Seizing the opportunity, the man slashed forward again, hoping to split the beast in two. Though stunned, the beast managed to block with his dagger. However, this left its blade badly chipped, but it still slashed forward relentlessly, until the chipped blade finally broke, presenting a fraction of a second of opening. Then the beast used his other dagger to stab forward, hoping to kill the man before the man killed him. Before the blade could reach his neck, the man swung his sword in a curve and cut the beast's arm off. The severed hand, still holding its dagger, flew to the wall, blood spraying everywhere. Before the beast could process what had just happened, the man thrust his sword into the beast's abdomen. Blood leaked profusely from the wound as the beast's only remaining hand went limp. Eventually his whole body went limp, and he fell to the ground, vomiting his own blood. The man stood over him, his expression blank. The same could not be said for the beast. He grinned at the man as he clutched his wound with his remaining hand. Then he began to laugh, but the laughter was distorted by the blood coming out of his mouth, creating the unpleasant sound of a man drowning in his own blood.
"If you think you have killed me, you are mistaken," the beast said, coughing up blood profusely.
"I will never die. …I will never die. …As long as this burning fire still burns in my soul, I shall never meet death. I will live on in all of my brothers and sisters, just as they lived in me, until the day finally comes. …Oh, I can see it. I can see our god, Lual Arok Dengor, climbing. He is climbing, vanquishing every obstacle, defeating every enemy who has hindered our ascension. I see his brilliant golden light as he stands at the edge of existence. I…I can see it all," the beast said, blood flowing from his nose like a raging river.
As he continued to bleed out, creating an ocean of blood around him, he stared up into the sky, but he wasn't looking at the sky. He was seeing something else. Golden light burst through the clouds, blessing the environment with its radiance. At the very center, where the light was strongest, stood a magnificent castle, magnificent in both size and structure; there were no words in the human language that could possibly describe its beauty. The castle acted as a sort of mirror, reflecting the light that descended upon it toward one particular person. A man with long golden hair that flowed down his back. His hair radiated the same golden light as the sky, and combined with his brown skin and above-average height, the light made him seem godlike, above all things that could be described as beautiful and heavenly. The beast could not see the man's face, because it was obscured by the light, but by the man's naked body he could tell he bore the resemblance of a young man. But the beast knew that was not true; there could not possibly be anything young about this godlike man. Then suddenly the man turned to the beast, and the light radiating from his face was immense, so bright that it completely obscured the beast's vision in golden light. At the very center of that light was the man's head, its structure mapped by the golden light. As the beast stared longer into the light, he felt a sense of peace and comfort wash over him, believing that one day the dream he and his brothers and sisters all shared would finally be born into existence. And as he lay in a pool of his own blood, he raised his hand, trying to reach the light he so desperately wanted to be embraced by, but before he could reach it, the remaining light faded from his eyes. His hand dropped, splashing in the pool of blood. His body lay in it, dead, unmoving, as a single tear slid from his eye and dripped into the pool of blood: a single tear signifying his peace and utmost belief that one day his dream, and so many others' dreams, would become reality.
The man stared down at the dead man lying on the ground. His face was absent of emotion as he knelt down and closed the dead man's eyes. Suddenly a face flashed in his mind, a face he had not seen since that day. Then he recognized the man who lay dead before him.
"Is this what your dream led you to become?" he said, taking a second to mourn the dead man before getting up and walking out of the alleyway. He didn't even look back; he had no right to. That man, and so many others, had died because of what he had failed to do all those years ago. But now he would do what he could not do then. He would carry the burden of all those screaming souls and die with them. But first he needed to make sure no one else died because of him. He had finally made up his mind. He would do it, as long as it could bring them all salvation.
Hours later
Her eyes blinked open slowly as she gained consciousness, staring up at the ceiling in a daze, unsure of what had happened and where she was. Then the memories rushed back to her, from the corpses to the man who had chased her and Akeer. It all came back so fast her mind had trouble processing it. Nyangdeng shot up, desperately trying to regain the air that had escaped her lungs. It was as if each breath she took immediately dissipated, leaving her gasping for more. She tried to get out of bed, but as soon as she stood on the cold floor, the pain in her bandaged knee resurfaced, and she fell to the ground. With each passing second the pain in her knee pulsed with more ferocity, and so did her creeping headache. She managed to ignore the pain and stand up on a single leg, with the support of a wall. Gathering every ounce of strength in her body, she began to sidestep along the wall and out the door, trying her best not to rely too much on her other leg. As she entered the hallway, she began to hear faint voices, distorted by the walls. Where am I? Nyangdeng wondered. For a split second she thought of the possibility that the people who had rescued her were no better than the man who had caused her pain. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. However, she quickly dismissed it; if their intentions weren't pure, she would be tied to the bed, and besides, she wouldn't get far with that knee of hers. As she got closer to the origin of the voices, she began to recognize one of them. Is that…Uncle Micheal? she thought. Nyangdeng had never actually seen her uncle. Her mother had told her he was a very busy military man and had last seen them at a time she didn't remember. But every Sunday, regardless of the time of day, he always managed to call and ask how they were doing. He also made great efforts to make them laugh, though he wasn't a funny person, whether with silly jokes or a silly story from his childhood that Nyangdeng suspected to be mostly made up or exaggerated. Still, Nyangdeng always enjoyed his stories. Eventually she found herself longing to meet this uncle of hers. She wondered how tall he was, how old he looked, whether he was a bald man or a man kissed by youth. All of these wonders contributed to her excitement. Was he one of the men who saved me? she thought, increasing the speed of her sidestepping. The pain in her knee grew louder by the second, but she ignored it. In her mind, the pain would immediately fade as soon as she put her arms around her uncle and hugged him as tightly as she possibly could. Now at the door, Nyangdeng was about to turn the handle when she suddenly stopped.
"Micheal, you should know that this is all our fault."
"What are you talking about? There was no way we could have known that any of this would happen."
There was a brief pause before the unknown voice continued.
"Today I saw Issac. For the first time in over ten years. …The same kind Issac we both knew. …Now turned into a monster. …I didn't even recognize him at first," the unknown voice said, chuckling before continuing.
"He should have died long ago. But he was alive."
"So what if he should have died all those years ago? Lual saved him. And how are you even sure it's really him? There are plenty of people with the same—"
"When will you stop lying to yourself? Wake up, Micheal! I know you still remember what he said to us all those years back. Stop pretending you don't."
Micheal went quiet. He did not want to believe it. He didn't want to believe that the same Lual he had loved as an older brother was the one who had burned and killed so many people, even his sister, all for the sake of a foolish dream he had spat out during a moment of hysteria. There is no way, he told himself.
"I am not denying that he saved people. But I am denying the belief that those people should have been saved."
"What?"
"Those people and our comrades were destined to die that day. …And in a way, they did die. But Lual brought them all back from hell. With each broken soldier he cared for and prayed over, a soul was resurrected. However, they did not crawl out of that abyss the same as they were in life. They were all corrupted by his dreams and beliefs, and because of that corruption they became the world. …And to free them from the chains that bind them so tightly, I must…I must…I must take their lives."
Chills ran down Nyangdeng's back as she heard those last few words: I must take their lives. The man said it with a sternness that erased all illusions of deceit or uncertainty. Nyangdeng knew this man was serious. He really was going to kill people.
"Let's say that you are right, and killing them would indeed bring them salvation. Are you prepared for that? I know you are not so foolish that you have forgotten what the cost of taking a life is. And in this case, multiple lives. And you have already reaped your fair share of human lives. Are you sure that adding more weight to your soul would be wise?"
"I am fine. I—"
"No, you are not fine, Alek. Who are you trying to fool? I can see the hundreds of souls eating away at your soul."
"It doesn't matter. I don't care if it's hundreds or thousands of souls, or even millions. I will carry them all. I will live the rest of my life being tormented by their rage, their hatred, and their cries of suffering, and I will live the rest of my life knowing that I have ended thousands, if not millions, of dreams that would never be born into reality. I will carry them all. …As long as no one else—"
As Nyangdeng listened to the two worn-out men's conversation, she noticed her leg had gone numb. Looking down, she saw blood flowing down her leg and onto the floor. She stepped back in panic, slipped, and fell onto the hard floor. Immediately she heard the two men rushing to investigate. But by the time her uncle swung open the door, she was already unconscious on the cold floor.