The announcement of the Selection, XX/XX/1874

  “Good day, citizens. I am the representative of the Board, or, your most trustworthy Central Government. I am the Mayor of Tuckerion, a good day to every soul out there. Our sacred land of States is a land of blessings, a land of miracles that has sustained for countless years. Our people, the people of freedom and hardship. We have fought many wars, many tragedies, many crises, to earn the freedom, the right to live in this sacred land.

  Now, I would like to go into the topic. The Fallen Star of the West. As far as you have known, we have lost four parts of our whole, and even more of our loved ones, relatives, and families. There exists a devil, or as I should name, a Demon Lord on the other side. It’s true that many attempts have turned into failures. My condolence to all of the loss we have suffered. I felt it was as if I had lost a part of my soul.

  However! We shall not back down! All of our effort shall not be proved meaningless! We shall face the devil, the terror that threatens our land with a futile effort! We will not let all of the sacrifices be rendered meaningless!

  I will begin a program. A Selection. I will gather eighteen individuals of utmost talent, power and bravery! These warriors will march towards the West, and claim the head of the Demon Lord! The one to announce victory, will receive a prize. The prize will be “Guaranteed Exemption from Law”.

  Such is not strange! It is a fitting prize for the hero of our land! Our hope! The mightiest!

  I will send the Tickets of the Selection to eighteen individuals of potential. After confirming the delivery of all Tickets, we will begin the seven-day deadline for the Ticket holders to gather here, Regemea!

  As long as you have the Ticket with you, we mind not your identity.

  Good luck, and with my heart, I bless the great States.

  Thank you.”

  Words were engraved on newspaper and wind. In just a day, the world was notified. Eighteen tickets, and only seven days to gather.

  --

  Deep within a prison cell, a frail man bound in chains and belts stirred awake. His messy hair was silver with a tint of purple, trailing down long enough to cover his eyes, but not his smile.

  Within this space, the only sounds were the dripping water on the wall, the croaking bugs under the brick tiles, and a verse.

  Proverb 3:12

  “For the Lord reproves him whom he loves, as a father the son in whom he delights."

  --

  The underground prison, Cristus Frustra Facility, of unknown land, somewhere in the center of the landmass.

  This prison was considered one of the most secure and brutal facilities of all the States, where almost every death row inmate was contained. Established by the infamous President of the States himself fourteen years ago, this underground body confided itself in its perfect concealment, protection, and apathy.

  The complex consisted of five sections: one for the management team, three in-between layers of isolation, and ninety cells that were put together two hundred and fifty feet deep into the ground, surrounded by mazes of traps and surveillance.

  There had never been an attempt to escape or to intrude, as they had successfully constructed a fully detached society within these cells.

  Prisoners were free to walk anywhere as they pleased and free to murder or attack each other as long as they were still within this system. Such would be outrageous only if the outside world were to know. There would’ve been countless arguments on how the government had burned resources on such an elaborate containment.

  To the government, these measures were necessary to keep them out of the sunlight.

  --

  Within the deepest floor of section five. Cell number, thirteen.

  The man sat on the hard surface of what could be a bed, looking down to the ground as he giggled to himself and to the other person on the other side of the bars. The outside world was covered behind a veil of shadow. The silence, then, was broken by a malicious voice.

  “Hey. Long time no see.”

  “…”

  He tilted his head left and right, like a playful, curious child. Receiving not an answer, he pouted.

  “Not gonna answer me? Boring…”

  His hair bounced up and down, revealing the nametag on his chest. "Pyromaniac."

  Pyromaniac, or what they had called a man who was responsible for burning up three consecutive towns in a single week seven years ago. He was captured not long after the massacre had been discovered by the local force, as he willingly surrendered himself.

  After many diagnoses and tests, the authority confirmed his psychopathic nature and an obsession with heat and burning. A classic monster, in the deepest den of the labyrinth.

  Though he was trapped in the cage, he still showed no sign of lament, fear, or guilt. Anything else, it would be pleasure and excitement he craved.

  “Come on, old man. Talk to me.”

  The hidden man didn't bother to look at him as he continued chanting a lyric.

  “The wise will inherit honor, but fools get disgrace…

  …Amen.”

  The soft sound of a book closing and a deep breath from an old voice brought a wider smile to his face.

  “Finally over?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Finally, you’re talking to me, old boy scout.”

  On the other side, the looming figure put aside the book on his lap as he was sitting, facing the Pyromaniac. He crossed his fingers, adjusting his posture to fully look at the prisoner directly. Their eyes met through an invisible barrier that separated the two worlds.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “On that side of the world. The other side... of these bars.”

  "Boring and crappy, obviously? And-“

  His hand raised, stopping the Pyromaniac’s words.

  “I would love for you to withhold your lack of manners."

  “Wow, that’s a lot to ask from me…

  ...O great righteous Father.”

  The light outside of the cell flickered, casting light upon an old Priest in a sleek black uniform with his coat draped over his right shoulder. His hair and beard were grey, and a burn mark was present on his right eye. Unlike any normal priest, his toned and muscular body under the fabric exuded a powerful aura, yet his gentle posture and calm voice suggested otherwise. A holy paradox.

  A servant of the Lord.

  “Hmm.”

  In response to the mocking voice of the prisoner, all he spoke of was a low hum.

  “Still boring as usual, huh? Like, when was the last time? Last week? Haha!”

  “Hmm… Allow me to ask you then.”

  The laughing man leaned forward, perking his ears. The question then came as silently as possible.

  “For you who will face execution in a matter of days, how do you feel?”

  “Ah. My execution. That’s what you’re asking?”

  “Yes.”

  Head tilted, the Pyromaniac answered.

  “It was fun.”

  “Fun, hmm?”

  “Yeah, like, hella fun! So much fun happened! So I don’t really care if it ends or nah! The world was a playground! I burned so many things! Why would I be sad? The only regret I have is being unable to burn more!”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The old Priest sighed, followed by the grinning prisoner’s question.

  “Are you angry that you couldn’t exact vengeance? In… the name of God?"

  “Vengeance, as captivating as it is, I do not condemn such an act."

  “Well, what would your crispy lil maiden say about it?”

  Just as those words were uttered from his mouth, the air around the Priest stood still completely. The monstrous pressure and the gaze from the Priest strangled the Pyromaniac’s breathing and heartbeat without a single word or movement. Yet, seeing the guillotine hovering above his neck, the prisoner’s mouth only grew wider, moving his neck towards the tip of the blade.

  “Come at it, old man. Open the door, and walk over to my world.”

  An obvious provocation from a madman.

  The only thing that was stopping them was merely the thin barrier separating the two worlds.

  To step over was to abandon something of oneself.

  “Hmm.”

  With another hum, the strangling force in the atmosphere dissipated.

  “Well, that’s too bad. I’ve always wanted to fight you, old man.”

  “Such is obvious.”

  “Right?”

  Another roaring laugh. Then he added.

  “I heard you’re going to fight something-something Demon Lord, huh?”

  “Impressive. It has only been a day since the announcement.”

  “Yeah! News spread fast, even in here, old man.”

  Another giggle as he rocked back and forth, and then an idea popped up in his mind.

  “What? Do you want me to get in that crappy bullcrap? That would be crazy, huh? I mean, you even delayed my execution countless times. Don’t want me to die, or is it a new way of torture?”

  “I need you to keep breathing until I can see through it.”

  “Grand words again. Talking to you feels like talking to some old people. Oh wait, you are old!”

  As the Pyromaniac pouted in a playful fashion, the old Priest held the cross hanging on his chest tightly, as if he were praying to the Lord. The grip was strong and forceful, with veins rising visibly on his arm. Unbothered by such intensity, the Pyromaniac then continued.

  “Eh, but you really got the guts, huh? You got the ticket from bootlicking your lovely Mayor, maybe, yeah. But for ya to be down here…”

  The broken lightbulbs flickered again. In the depth of darkness, thirty men armed with knives and axes had surrounded the only cell with lights. Despite the number of people and weapons, it was dead silent. A pack of predators, hiding from the sight of a single prey animal. A meticulous ambush.

  “The announcement didn’t say anything about stealing the tickets, right?”

  All of these intruders were sentenced to death for their atrocities and genocides. Each one was an urban legend, scattered around the States. Beneath their feet are hundreds of corpses of innocent men, women, and children.

  “You know that ticket in your hand is the key to goddamn paradise, right?”

  The bound man giggled and then added.

  “Do you need my help? Old man? Are you scared? Your pants wet-“

  “Silence.”

  The Priest shushed him with a raised finger, his voice and manner unfazed in spite of the lurking monsters. His command didn't chase away the grin on the madman's face, instead, it only grew wider.

  “Fine. Then…”

  The Pyromaniac closed his eyes. All of his senses relocated to his ears.

  In darkness, he could hear the screaming, the charging voice of the thirty men.

  “Get him!”

  Afterwards, arose the sound of weapons clashing against metal, the footsteps, the constant yelling, and the rough breathing. He felt the ground beneath him shake violently like a small earthquake and the nonstop movement in the air. Among the chaos, the first gunshot echoed throughout the room. The sizzling sound of a poison grenade being deployed.

  Yet he still calmly kept his eyes closed, humming to the grotesque clash, rocking back and forth like a child listening to a song.

  Thereupon, the scene abruptly shifted.

  First, the sound of a broken bone, piercing through flesh. The violent crash of a body to the ground and the metal fence. The snapping sound of metal and bullet shells dropping to the ground. The impact force that sent shockwaves and winds across his face, blowing his hair back. The crumbling noise of debris hitting the walls and the ceiling. The creaking sound of the rusty chains and lights atop it. The screams changed to a frantic one, void of the prior adrenaline.

  Again. Again. And yet, again.

  Until it faded away into a complete silence.

  --

  The bound Pyromaniac opened his eyes slowly. In his sight, the Priest had already composed himself on the chair, facing the cell.

  The Priest calmly cleaned the blood on his hand and some drops that got to his face with a handkerchief. Outside of the stain on his body, the Priest was completely untouched. There was not a scratch, bruise, or speck of dust on him.

  The lights behind him glimmered again, illuminating the outline of what was left of the thirty infamous criminals. All of their legs were twisted backward, and their arms were nailed to the nearest surface with steel pipes.

  Nevertheless, they were all breathing, groaning in pain, for none of them could find the strength to scream.

  Despite the man-made horror in front of him, the Pyromaniac paid no attention to the Priest instead.

  “So, back at it. You seriously going over there?”

  “Curious about my work?”

  “Hell yeah. It will be so boring if ya drop dead.”

  The Priest wiped off the last bloodstain on his collar, then gently put the handkerchief back into his pocket. He stood up, holding the book with him, and turned around.

  “If such were my destiny, I shall accept it.”

  The Pyromaniac sulked at the Priest’s preparing to leave. Quickly, he asked.

  “Boring… Anyways, why’s the whole messy layout? They don’t care who they’re sending? The mighty and powerful Central Government.”

  “Ah. An inquiry out of curiosity?”

  He scoffed.

  “Heh, yeah.”

  With a final nod, the Priest turned to face him.

  “Hmm… then-“

  To both of their surprise, the Priest’s answer was cut short by ringing footsteps moving towards them. The footsteps grew louder and bolder with each pace, such was ever strange in a prison where one could be killed over noise.

  The next words were those of a woman.

  “The answer is understaffing.”

  --

  The voice continued as the footsteps echoed within the chamber. Creaked open, the door then closed with a banging drum.

  “After dealing with the northern slaves and expending over six hundred men in order to investigate the cause, the Central Government simply had no more spare resources, accounting for the taxes, even. They still need enough budget to uphold public order and diplomatic relationships with other nations, therefore, they cannot carelessly ask for help, nor can they waste any more resources as it would impair national defense and risk another war, civil or not.”

  Stepping into the scene of floodlights, over the subdued men on the ground, was a red-haired woman in military high boots, a short skirt, and a leather jacket with a red cross symbol on the chest pocket. She adjusted her glasses, her other hand gripping a large suitcase.

  As she stepped into the Pyromaniac’s view, the bound man tilted his head with a hint of interest, peeking out to get a glance at the new face.

  “And who are you?”

  “The answer varies, based on who you are. But I'm just a Nurse.”

  The Pyromaniac's nose twitched as he sniffed the air. What came after was his note of excitement.

  “This smell… no doubt. Another young maiden? Ah! I see! You’re the so-called merciful angel of the Central Government!! Their favorite lapdog! You returned all the way from the North?! Don’t tell me! You’re one of the eighteen?”

  She glared intensely at his response, and her expression grew furious. Her stare alone ran a chill down the Pyromaniac’s spine, which confirmed his speculation. She then quickly looked away, sighing loudly with even more irritation showing on her face.

  The Priest calmly nodded at her arrival, replying with a hard frown.

  “I’m grateful for your effort, Madam Nurse.”

  “I’m not that old yet. So who’s this guy… nevermind. Probably a personal question, hmm?”

  She pointed towards the Pyromaniac, her voice forceful and fuming. Seeing her apparent temper, the Priest bowed his head respectfully.

  “I apologize, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

  “So? Asking your soon-to-be enemy to be here just to treat who? These guys?”

  She pointed accusingly at the groaning bodies around her. She wasn't upset at the injured men, but at the work she would have to do.

  “I have higher priorities than this, just for you to know.”

  “About that… it was originally for the worst outcome, where I couldn’t withhold my own emotion.”

  He answered as he looked towards the Pyromaniac. Then he added.

  “But it seemed that it went well. Again, I offer you my gratitude for having arrived as a humble ticket holder.”

  “Huh. You really trust me, someone who’s under the wing of the Central Government? What if they ask me to get rid of you during this… crappy nonsense war?”

  “Then I shall welcome it.”

  He then stepped past her towards the exit, still giving her a courteous nod.

  “Pardon me. I will take my leave. If you don’t mind, please return these men’s condition to their wellness. Even if we clash in the upcoming conflict, I hope for the best for us.”

  She shrugged her shoulders hearing his words.

  “Sure. These will be done in no more than five minutes.”

  --

  As they were speaking, in the other corner of the room lay a prisoner who was hiding himself under an unconscious body. Exploiting the golden moment, when the duo’s attention was being pulled away, the man slowly grabbed the revolver from the hand of another prisoner.

  “Damn you all… pigs…!”

  The gunshot rang out, alerting the entire space.

  The bullet flew through the Nurse’s collarbone and towards the head of the Priest.

  The next sound wasn’t the sound of flesh but the sound of the metal clashing and the clanking noise of the bullet dropping to the ground.

  The bullet had bounced off the Priest, like a paper plane hitting against the wall. The bullet rolled on the ground, wholly deformed.

  The Priest looked down at the bullet as if nothing happened, then at the prisoner across the room.

  “Such an act was unwise, I must warn.”

  “Hah, at least I got-“

  Before the prisoner could utter another word, a scalpel flew to his shoulder and impaled him. In an instant, he convulsed violently, screaming and crying. His other hand was clutching the wound like an anchor.

  At that moment, the Pyromaniac had dropped his smile. Not because of the screaming man outside, but because of the Nurse.

  He was sure the Nurse had been shot near the jugular vein on her neck. Such would be a near-fatal shot, and the girl’s right arm wouldn’t be usable anymore, and she would die in a matter of seconds. Yet as he blinked, her injury had disappeared completely, leaving only a mess of bloody clothes and a hole in her uniform.

  He laughed in disbelief. Once he had thought he was the pinnacle of predators, along with the monsters trapped down here. Only the Priest he had only acknowledged as his greatest nemesis, a wall to overcome. He realized, unbeknownst to them, as they were trapped away like a frog in a well, the world above had given birth to something outrageous, something that could trample over them like ants.

  The woman stepped towards the wailing prisoner, cleaning the blood on her shoulder.

  “Hah, what a waste of clothes. I need to report this to the higher-ups… and you. I merely hit one of your ‘painful’ spots. Cut it out. I’ll treat you once you’re done screaming.”

  She then turned to the Priest, waving him off.

  “Just go. I’ll deal with things here, now that they made it personal.”

  The Priest nodded once more, turning to leave.

  “Thank you.”

  As the door swung open, the Pyromaniac only laughed louder, echoing through the vast hallway and blending with the strangled scream of the prisoner. The Priest continued walking through the corridor of shadow, for the noise behind dissipated into the abyss.

  Such manners didn’t last long, until.

  In front of him, a little girl, he saw.

  He stopped. He didn't dare to breathe, or to move a muscle. All of his body tensed up like a wall of stone.

  It was a blurry image of a young girl no older than six, her mouth opened and closed with no voice, as if she wanted to tell him something. Her presence struck into his mind, untold memories replayed themselves. A sensation of pain and burning glowed from his only wound, cutting into his right eye.

  “Papa.”

  He didn’t flinch, nor did he mutter a word, for he had seen this image a thousand times before. For the first time, his body relaxed with both shoulders lowered. Smiling, he grabbed his fedora and gave the girl a polite bow like a magician.

  “My sweetheart. Allow me to atone for my sins…

  … I promise. Just this time. One more time. Once the evil has vanished…

  … I shall listen to your story for as long as you want.”

  Finally, he stepped past her into the eternal darkness.