Chapter 2.5

While heading to the next village, I decided to take a little detour to a place I knew all too well - ASMA, the Altruistic Society for the Mental and Abandoned. Anyway, in my former life, this was the place I was kept in after the coup. Day by day, I was tormented in the most gruesome ways imaginable. Well, actually, some can't even begin to imagine what they did to me. Each and every single day, when I thought it couldn't get worse, they'd show me how wrong I was. And before I knew it, every day became a scream fest. I mean, they made me fucking kill myself. Of course, they gotta be bad.

Why am I here? You may ask. Well, it's to cut off old ties. I have something I need to do here first before I can actually continue on with my journey. Section C6, I believe, was where I was when I died. Hmm, fuck it. I'll just go around till I find the place.

While walking around, I kept thinking of how I'll go about my mission to overthrow the government. My uncle advised me to find more people, and find more people I will. On my way here, I bought (with the money I took from the soldiers) a cigarette, an apple, and a shitload of liquid explosives. Why? Because I came with a mission I wish to accomplish. The facility is already in sight, and I begin walking towards the main gate like I own the place.

I keep walking till I reach the main gate, and encounter the gate's security. He begins to ask me questions, and since I'm in a hurry, I casually tell him to fuck off. He raises his left arm in an attempt to slap me, while saying, "Why, you little twat–". But before he knows it, I cut off that very same arm. He's about to scream in agony when he realizes what just happened to him, but I slit his throat and silence him for good.

I think he mutters the word "wanker" at me before he dies, but who gives a fuck? I walk away, saying out loud, "That's one down, a hundred more shitheads to go."

Anyway, I head into the land surrounding the facility, and as I head in, I discover more guards were stationed outside. One of them immediately sees me and is like, "Oi, what are you doing here?" "What am I doing here? That's your question, not who or what I am, not even how did you get through the first security?" I say all this, trying to stall for time because I discovered my rush skill needs to charge for a bit before use.

Answer me, what are you doing here? Well, I'm here to kill you all. I think that part's scarily obvious at this point for you guys, and I plan to do it in five. I begin a countdown. Four, they begin to ready themselves. Three, I remove my jacket, and they are still waiting for me to count to one, seeing as they're ready. Two, before I remove my jacket, I use my rush skill, charging at them full throttle. And before I know it, I have already killed about four of them - two by beheading, one by multiple slashes, and the last by a quick stab in the Adam's apple, or whatever. I just knew I was aiming for the dangly thing up above. And then my speed decreased greatly.

The guard in front of me tries punching me, but I dodge. It's my own turn now, and as I raise my fist at him, he blocks it before I even land it. And he unexpectedly gets hit in the leg by me - that was all just part of my plan. The punch was a distraction from my real attack, and while he gently falls backward, I quickly behead him. Then, just when I think I'm done, another guard comes charging at me with his sword. And as he slashes at me, I strike back at that same sword with my own sword, which instantly does more than block - it cuts through the guard's sword. And as that happens, nothing is left to protect the guard, so immediately my sword cuts through his face, and then he falls to the ground and dies.

While walking away again, I say, while also cleaning my sword, "We just began, yet the chances of you guys winning are narrowly slim. Good luck, guys. Just kidding, I mean bad luck."

A/N: The reaction time for the last two killed was 4.752 seconds. Imagine that.

Ten minutes later, I had already killed every guard, security personnel, and staff member in the facility. The only person left was a man standing by, clinging to his sword planted in the ground. He was beaten up, bloodied, bruised, and in a very half-dead state (emphasis on the very). He was trembling and could barely stand. I decided to taunt him, "What's the matter, little boy wonder? Had enough?" He glared at me, and I sneered, "Want to have a go at me? But in that state, am I coming for you or are you coming at me?" He immediately unholstered his sword from the ground and charged at me. And then, just like that

Five point something seconds later

I've now killed literally everyone except the prisoners in this Facility. I continued my walk around the facility, hoping to find what I was looking for. I had killed everyone except the prisoners, and as I passed by their cells, I heard their pleas and begging. But I ignored them, focused on my mission. One of the prisoners managed to grab me, but I forcefully hit his arm, breaking the bone.

After 13 minutes of searching, I finally found what I was looking for - the corpse of my former body. It was mostly bones, with little bits of flesh. Seeing it filled me with a mix of emotions. I realized that life was vanity, and everything comes to an end. The people I held dear were dead, killed during the coup by Silas Montgomery. He had made sure that my dad and I suffered before killing us. But I didn't make it to hell; instead, I ended up here.

All my possessions were now owned by someone else. My body, which I once loved for its handsome face, perfect physique, and extra-large cock, was now a pile of bones and rotten flesh. It was a stark reminder that everything is impermanent.

With my mission accomplished, I began pouring liquid explosives around the facility. As I finished, a notification appeared: *Player: Jericho Ackerman* [Does player wish to level up? YES/NO]. I chose yes, and my level increased to 4. My class was Assassin, and my title was Slayer. My HP was 650, MP was 60, and my stats were:

- Strength: 31

- Speed: 31

- Agility: 31

- Senses: 31

- Resistance: 31

- Intelligence: 31

My skills included Analysis (Level 4), Accuracy (Level 4), and Rush (Level 4). I was then asked to choose an element to control - fire, water, air, earth, lightning, blood, or neutral. I chose lightning and felt a surge of power. After a brief glow, I returned to normal. Another notification asked if I wanted to test my control over lightning. I agreed and went to a safe distance from the facility, where I had left a trail of explosives.

With a smirk, I snapped my fingers and emitted lightning from my thumb, index, and middle fingers. I touched the explosives with my lightning-imbued fingers, and a massive explosion followed.

That place was a haunting reminder of my dark past, a constant obstacle to my peace. As long as it stood, I couldn't move forward with my new life. It was a relic of a world I sought to leave behind, a world that had brought me only pain and suffering. In my new world, there are only two options: embrace the future or perish in the past. The facility chose the latter, and now it's nothing but a smoldering ruin. Anyone who dares stand in my way will meet the same fate. I'll show no mercy, for I know that's what's required to achieve my goals.

As I walk away from the inferno, the screams of the prisoners still echo in my ears. They were criminals, guilty of unspeakable crimes, and their fate is a testament to my unwavering commitment to justice. I won't be swayed by the whims of a flawed system; I'll take matters into my own hands, no matter how harsh the consequences may seem. This is my new world, and I'll shape it according to my own rules.

Now to the next town

As I wandered through the streets, I couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. Had I really been walking for an hour, or was I just going in circles? The town seemed to have changed so much since my death, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

Eventually, exhaustion got the better of me, and I stumbled upon an expensive inn. The doorman tried to sweet-talk me, but I cut him off, tossing him a small bag of stolen coins. "How many nights will this get me?" I asked gruffly. He smiled, counting the coins. "At least seven days." I nodded, handing him the bag. "Good. Don't disturb me until day two."

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a comfortable bed, feeling like I'd slept for a week. I checked the clock and groaned - it was almost midnight. I stumbled out of bed and made my way to the inn's bar, where the smell of ale and laughter drew me in like a magnet.

I spotted an empty stool and made a beeline for it, but a stranger was already sitting there, sipping a mug of ale. I hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Mind if I join you?" He looked up, startled, and I added, "Just trying to be polite, since we're meeting for the first time."

He smiled wryly and gestured for me to sit down. I ordered two cups of ale and turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "You're not from around here, are you?" He shook his head, and I continued, "Me neither. I've been walking for hours, and I still can't find my way around this damn town."

The bartender serves me while telling me the ale is"best there is in town"

"Whoa really you don't say, this has to be the third 'best in town ale' I'm having since I arrived"

The guy I'm sitting next to can't help but laugh "you don't have to say it to their faces"

"If not their faces then where, it's the best place to".

I see a signboard outside announcing the king's latest benevolent act. I say, "Bullshit," in unison with the guy next to me. We take a swig of ale, sharing a look of disgust.

"You also despise the king?" I ask

"Very much so yes, hated him before his amalgamation and even more" he said with his expression now laced with anger and hatred

Reason being

"He's an ass who'd burn down this whole country just so he could rule what's left of it, i mean why else did we name him the king of ashes"

The bartender decides to get involved "the king isn't all that bad, I mean sometimes he helps the people and we just can't assume he got where he was today through–"

The guy cuts off of the bartender "the powerful prey in the powerless that's how they become powerful in the first place, before his family began to rule they already supplied more than halg the entire kingdom with food and cattles, good and cattles being paid for at jacked up prices making the poor who need them poorer and they who have in excess richer but we all forget this and all the other messed up shit the Montgomery family's done don't we.

This guy just maybe onto something and again he may be just exactly what I'm looking for, I'll examine him later and ask if he's interested in a rebellion against the royal family.

As the guy prepared to leave, I approached him at the door. "So, why exactly do you hate the Montgomery family?" I asked again, seeking a truthful answer. He replied, "None of your business." I pressed on, "Are you interested in something I've been thinking about?" He raised an eyebrow, and I continued, "A rebellion against the king."

We began walking, and I shared my plan. He listened intently, asking pointed questions. I asked him about the Montgomery family's rule, and he replied, "About seven years now." I sensed a deep-seated hatred in him and wondered what personal tragedy had driven him to despise the royal family so intensely.

As we walked, I asked him about his name, but he refused to share it, saying it wasn't on a need-to-know basis. I shared mine, "My name is Jericho, Jericho Ackerman," hoping he would reciprocate, but he didn't.

We walked in silence until we reached a gruesome scene - piles of dead bodies, some skeletal, others rotting. He said, "You're not the first to think of rebellion, and many have failed. But if you're willing to take the risk, I won't stop you." He showed me the extent of the carnage, and I realized the gravity of our conversation.

He warned me, "If you wish to continue after seeing this, fine, but at your own risk. Count me out." With that, he walked away. I shouted, "Least tell me your name!" He raised his middle finger, and I responded, "Asshole!" We went our separate ways, each lost in our own thoughts.

Writers P.O.V

Jericho wandered the town, lost in thought about what the man at the bar had told him. His musings were abruptly interrupted when he came across a soldier trying to force himself on a young woman.

"I already said no! Just leave me alone!" she shouted.

"You know I can't do that," the soldier replied with a leering grin.

"You'll have to, or I might just shout."

"And you think that'll do anything?"

"I've had enough of this," she said, trying to walk away. But the soldier grabbed her arm.

Suddenly, the soldier felt a cold hand on his shoulder, followed by an even colder voice. "She said no."

The soldier, in his arrogance, tried to turn and punch the newcomer. But he was too slow. Jericho's fist connected with the soldier's face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Jericho knelt beside the fallen soldier, his fingers crackling with electricity. He gouged out the man's eyes, the electricity surging through his body, killing him instantly.

"Now, how to dispose of the body," Jericho muttered, looking at the girl. "You can go now."

She ran off, and Jericho removed his mask, revealing his face. He decided to dispose of the soldier's body where the man at the bar had shown him. Fifteen minutes later, he was at the dump site, adding the corpse to the pile. Just then, a group of soldiers arrived with two more bodies.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" one of them called out.

"Nothing," Jericho replied.

"That's not nothing. Get out of here. This is our corpse spot."

"Corpse spot? Seriously? Fine, I'll find somewhere else," Jericho said, starting to drag the body away.

"Wait, our fee."

"Fee?"

"Yeah, for trespassing on military property."

Jericho decided to pay them, but one of the soldiers recognized the corpse. "Hey, that's Benny. Did you kill Benny?"

Jericho first thinks who the fuck is benny then sighed in frustration. "You're all gonna die," he said, loud enough for them to hear.

One of the soldiers charged at him, but Jericho dodged the punch, countering with a cranium-crushing blow that knocked the man out cold. Blood streamed from the soldier's nose. Another soldier tried his luck, but Jericho caught his fist and punched him, rendering him unconscious. The third soldier attempted to stab Jericho with a dagger, but Jericho caught the blade, his hand bleeding as he twisted it away and plunged it into the soldier's neck.

Now three men lay on the ground—two unconscious and one dead. Jericho cracked his knuckles. "If that dagger was poisoned, it would've been a problem."

A system notification appeared before him:

**[Player has been poisoned. Neutralize poison? YES/NO]**

Jericho selected YES, and the system notified him:

**[Process will take 10 minutes. Commencing.]**

He looked down at the fallen soldiers. "Ten minutes, huh? Let's see if anyone else wants to join the pile."

Jericho was about to walk out, fatigue weighing heavily on his shoulders. He thought he just needed to rest and wait, to gather his strength for whatever came next. But his moment of reprieve was shattered when he spotted a group of about ten soldiers approaching, their expressions grim and determined.

Before he could react, one soldier lunged forward, delivering a powerful punch to Jericho's jaw. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he stumbled backward, struggling to regain his footing. He tried to take a fighting stance, but the soldier was relentless, not giving him a moment to breathe. Punch after punch rained down on him, each one landing with brutal precision. Jericho's vision blurred, his body screaming in agony as he endured over thirty-six vicious blows.

Finally, a surge of adrenaline and desperation coursed through him. Jericho let out a guttural shout, summoning every ounce of strength he had left, and hurled the soldier away from him. He stood there, panting, his face a mask of blood and pain. Spitting out more blood, he locked eyes with the soldier and said, "I'm ready."

With a fierce determination burning in his eyes, Jericho squared his shoulders. Both men charged at each other, the air crackling with tension and the promise of a brutal clash.

### Stranger's P.O.V

Sometimes when I walk and wander the streets of this forsaken kingdom, like I am doing now, I reflect on my journey through life—the things I've lost and the things I've gained. The losses far outweigh the gains. I remember a time when I was much younger and happier. I try to trace back that happiness, but I just can't. Some people wonder why I hate this kingdom and its rulers so much. If I told them the real reason, they'd either not understand or feel pity—and pity is the last thing I want. It all started seven years ago today. I was ten at the time, and my dad had already left my mom and me two years before that, but we still survived.

---

### Seven Years Ago

It's been two years since Father left us, yet somehow, we still manage to survive. Mom knocks at the door, and I go to open it. Before I can even welcome her in, she goes straight to her room and falls face-first onto the bed. I notice she smells like alcohol, but I know it's best to mind my own business. Mom wasn't like this two years ago, but when Dad left, she changed. She was once lovely, kind, and never drank, but now she's been getting more and more depressed. She works overtime to pay for all our expenses by herself, and I get that she's doing this for me. I understand she's frustrated, but this isn't what I want. I begin crying and head to bed; it was already five minutes to midnight.

Morning comes swiftly, and I head off to play ball with my friends, seeing as it was a Saturday morning. Before I leave, she makes breakfast for me and tells me to be careful. Even in her struggle, Mom remains kind-hearted. Later, while playing ball, I can't help but think about my life and how it will continue from here. What type of man will I become? Some might say I think too much for a ten-year-old boy, but I feel it's necessary. When I was five, I discovered that my dad and I shared many similarities: we were both claustrophobic, we had the habit of thinking out loud and spacing out, and our first words were "more." Being younger, I thought it was a good thing, but now, seeing my dad for who he really was, I fear I'll do the same to my future wife or my mom, who loves me so much.

Later in the afternoon, after playing, I head back to my broken home and decide to sleep until nighttime when my mom would start getting ready for work. When the time comes, I sit on my bed, watching as my mother struggles to get out of hers. She's been like this for two months now, ever since her depression started to get worse. It's like she's a shadow of her former self, a mere ghost of the vibrant woman who used to be my rock. I try to be strong for her, to be the rock she needs, but it's hard when I feel like I'm losing her.

We used to be so close. We'd talk for hours about everything and nothing, sharing our deepest secrets and fears. But now, it's like she's a stranger in my own home. She barely acknowledges me, and when she does, it's with a vacant stare that sends shivers down my spine. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells around her, never knowing when she'll lash out or withdraw further into her shell.

I try to remember the good times, when she was happy and vibrant, but those memories seem to be fading fast. I recall the way she used to smile, the way her eyes would light up when she laughed. But now, her smile is a rare sight, and her eyes seem to hold only sadness and despair. I feel like I'm losing her bit by bit, and I don't know how to stop it.

As she walks out the front door, she says, "I may not come back so early this time, so be sure to behave while I'm out." I wish I could just tell her to stay, but we both know how badly we need the money. Things have been harder lately, especially since the Montgomerys came into power. The economy was terrible before, but now we're an example of the saying, "Out of the frying pan and into the fire." Inflation has increased, making everything more expensive, including our rent. I decide to follow her from afar, knowing she wouldn't want me out at night, but I at least want to see her off. I follow her stealthily and we stop at a road where I see a man approach her. They hug for a bit and begin walking together. I feel uneasy but decide to walk away. That's when I hear it—a crash. She got hit by a carriage that didn't stop. I see the people in the Montgomery family carriage.

I run to my mom, who is now bleeding profusely, and shout for help. Some people, along with the man she was with, help me take her to the nearest hospital. When we arrive, she's being treated, but all I can do is wait and cry. Then I see the Montgomery family coming in, talking to a doctor. I can't make out much of what they're saying, but I hear the doctor say, "That doctor is operating on a patient right now." Bryan Montgomery, the king's older brother, shouts something, and I realize they've brought in an unconscious body of his wife. I feared what I thought was happening was indeed happening. All the doctors, including the one attending to my mom, leave to help the royal family.

The doctor's words are a blur, but I remember the sound of my own screams and the feel of my world shattering around me. My mother's fate was sealed, and I was left alone, adrift in a sea of despair. I spent the minutes that followed in a haze of grief and anger, my mind reeling with thoughts of revenge against the Montgomery family. But deep down, I knew that wouldn't bring my mother back. I was left with only memories—memories of the life we once had, the life that was taken from us by the very people who were supposed to protect us.

I wandered the streets, lost and alone, my heart heavy with sorrow. I thought of my mother's smile, her laugh, and her warm embrace. I thought of the life we had, the life we lost, and the life I would never have. I thought of the Montgomery family, their greed, and their cruelty. And I knew that I would never forgive them, never forget what they had done to us.

I stood idle for several minutes, crying and trying to clear my head, but the memories lingered. I thought of my father, and how he had left us without a word. I thought of my mother, and how she had struggled to keep us afloat. I thought of the Montgomery family, and how they had destroyed our lives. And I knew that I would never be the same again. Was this really going to be the end? No, not if I had a say in the matter. I ran back to the hospital and began shouting, thinking I would be heard. I tried to reach the Montgomery's operation room but was blocked by the guards. I foolishly demanded justice. They warned me to leave, but I didn't. I was angry and not thinking straight, and even tried to attack them. They beat me to a near-death state, but I still stood. Then they slashed my chest, and I fell to the ground, now covered in my own blood.

I was thrown into the streets, and many passed by but did nothing, mainly because they knew this was done by the royal guards. I tried screaming in protest, but after a while, I realized this truly was my end. I decided to give up the ghost, and that's when a passerby came and did something, but I was too busy dying to notice. From then on, I fell unconscious or dead. When I woke up the next morning, I realized I was alive, now with a very deep cut ranging from my left shoulder down to my right abdomen. It turned out the man who saved me was once a doctor who had his license revoked.

---

### Present Day

Having nearly died that day, I realized two things: the world didn't care whether people like me lived or died, and there is a very thin line between life and death, one that I would be sure never to cross. I swore to get back at the royal family, but I had to be cautious—I wasn't willing to die. So why can't I stop thinking about that guy at the bar and what he said to me? He seemed so determined and filled with even more hatred than me.

I walk around for a few minutes and stop as I encounter a not-so-pleasant sight. There he is, the guy fighting some palace guards, and the odds of him winning didn't seem likely. I reach into my jacket, not believing what I'm about to do.

Jericho POV

I've been fighting for what feels like hours, my body battered and bruised. But I know I can't give up, not yet. If only I had a little help.

Suddenly, I hear an odd sound, and the soldier who was about to punch me lies dead, his head crushed. I look up to see a figure, a man with mechanic contraptions on his hands, and I know I owe him my life.

"Orion," he says, his voice low and mysterious. "My name is Orion Vale."

Orion helps me up, and we begin to walk away from the scene. "We need to get out of here," he says. "The soldiers will be back, and we don't want to be here when they do."

I nod, still trying to wrap my head around what just happened. "What's your story, Orion?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

Orion looks at me, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "Let's just say I have a score to settle with the Montgomery family," he says. "And I'm not the only one."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

Orion smiles, a cold, calculated smile. "Follow me, Jericho, and you'll see. There are more like us, more who despise the Montgomery family and everything they stand for, remember when I told you many have tried but now we will all try as one"

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. But something about Orion's words resonates with me, and I know I have to follow him.

"Okay," I say, my voice firm. "But does that mean you're in."

"Yes I'm in."

Orion nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Good. Let's go show the Montgomery family what we're made of."

Two minutes later, Orion and the Jericho left the scene, leaving behind a gruesome tableau. The soldiers' lifeless bodies slumped against the walls, their heads severed and impaled on pikes. The macabre display was accompanied by a chilling message scrawled in blood: 'You're next.' The words seemed to drip with malevolence, a warning to anyone who dared to cross their path. The air was heavy with the stench of death and the weight of their unyielding vendetta