"...I am a sinner."
When others are in trouble, I put on a blindfold.
"Hu... hu... huh... hu!" A man runs, breath ragged, shoes slapping against damp concrete, chased through a narrow alley.
When others struggle, I laugh at them.
"Fuck—fuck!" He stumbles around trash bins, dodging broken crates and flickering lights overhead.
Irony.
"Arghhhh!" A shot cracks through the alley. His left arm jerks back—blood splatters the brick wall. He screams, collapsing, writhing in pain as he clutches his arm.
For someone like me to even act like this...
This moment... I start to remember the gods, start to remember all my sins.
The man looks at the person pointing a gun at him.
"That's enough, Arthur. Everyone who fails will eventually die."
Never thought I'd say this...
But—
Gods, please give me one last chance.
The man in the black vest slowly begins pulling the trigger at our protagonist.
"See you in hell, Arthur," said the man before he shot him—Arthur Lionheart, our so-called protagonist.
He fired multiple rounds, each one tearing into Arthur's body. He looked down at the corpse with disgust. The stench came instantly—foul, rotting, unnatural. Worms swarmed the remains, as if even the gods rejected the man named Arthur.
"Looks like we know who's really going to hell. Ah, time to head home—my wife's cooking," the man said cheerfully, walking away and leaving Arthur's body behind.
The end of prologue.