The Blessing of Life

*POP*

Air filled in the vacuum that is my lungs. In an immense, ungodly heave. I BREATHED FOR AIR! EYES WIDE OPEN!

*POP*POP*POP*POP*POP*POP*

"HAA!"

My arms bolted up my face instinctually to block the incoming bullet.

Block? Bullet?

??????

I can't breathe. I Cnanot thik

Bullets rained on a desecrated field littered with debilitated soldiers and dead men. Some of them ran towards a trench line in mad fervor, shooting their rifles, mindlessly shouting to their deaths. And there he was, lying on dirt and blood.

Incoherent questions ran through his oxygen-deprived mind. Panic overwhelmed his thoughts. He gasped for the life of him, his heart pounding violently. He dropped his arms to his sides and grabbed whatever he could, trying to take control over his breathing.

Eventually, he did. Colors came back to his open eyes, and sound, a cacophony of gunfire and screaming came through his ears.

What? Wasn't he on an elevator with a cop he shot for god knows what reason? Then the elevator rang and opened. More cops were there and said something, but I sh... impulsively shot the gun in the spur of the moment, making them shoot back, so I...

Died?

What?

But I'm not. Why am I not? People die when they are killed, yet I am not. Don't tell me...

Still gripping dirt with both hands, I lay squarely on the ground, not daring to move an inch. I can feel the ground quaking from soldiers stomping, see bullets piercing the wind, and hear death.

It's everywhere.

I can still feel. I feel something poking on my head, a hole in a helmet I wear. I feel my skin irritated from the grime and filth smudged all over me. I can still smell, the heavy scent of iron and gunpowder making it difficult to breathe.

I'm still alive.

Gathering whatever saliva I could in my mouth, I gulped them in.

'I'm not dead yet.'

That won't be for long. With the same numb resolve still coursing in my veins, I sat up, got on one knee to stan—*SWIFP*

***

Rumbling.

As if getting hit at the back of the head, my upper body flung forward, my forehead hitting the seat right in front of me, detaching whatever was attached to my face in the process. Something was strapped on my waist keeping me stuck on the seat.

Seat?

Rumbling.

I'm... what?

Rumbling.

Only now did I start hearing things again. It came in a sudden rush, overwhelming my senses. Multiple children wailing, a dog barking from the commotion, people mumbling prayers for salvation, a group of men stacking, beating up two men, shouting in anger... despair, another was way ahead, pounding on a door, asking, pleading to open it up, audible creaking, and rumbling. But despite all those clamorous noises, one stood out, in great amplification, rang in my ears, flooding every other sound off, making me realize the situation I am in.

Rumbling.

The realization of where I am made me susceptible to the despair hanging in the air. My head turned to the left. To the aisle where men piled and thrashed over two men, that despite getting battered, the both of them persistently shouted.

"ALLAAAAAAAAH!"

I'm on a plane.

"ALLAHU AKBAAAAA—

*BOO

***

A group of 17 men stood inside a completely closed off, drab room, some in a conversation with their peers, some stood in silence. At the very center of the room stood a chair with multiple straps attached to it giving the already drab room a somber feel. Everyone in the room knew what that is for, and everyone in the room knew what they were up for.

To witness an execution.

Their chattering continued until the door opened with a heavy creak ushering a man in a black suit and a full beard, who is leading a man with the same suit and a full beard but had his head completely shaved.

"Sir Durston." All 17 men greeted.

Durston nodded in response and proceeded to his introduction. The bald man continually walked towards the chair.

"He is William Francis Kemmler. Convicted of first-degree murder for the killing of his wife, Tellie Ziegler, and is sentenced to death. You are all about to witness the first execution by the electric chair."

The witnesses murmured to themselves. Discussion on morals and opinions, jotting down on their pads, recording everything the man just said. Kemmler stood in front of the chair he is dying on, inspecting whatever he could see from where he stood in cold indifference.

"Gentlemen." Kemmler said all of a sudden, grabbing the attention of everybody in the room. With all eyes on him, Kemmler turned and sat on the chair as he was facing his audience.

"I wish you all good luck. I believe I am going to a good place, and I am ready to go."

His speech and attitude strike a chord in everyone's hearts. His nonchalant words came off as an eerie foreboding, somewhat like a warning, making some in the room feel goosebumps. Kemmler was composed at his execution; he did not scream, cry, or resist in any way. He sat down on the chair.

Calm.

Durston came up and ordered Kemmler to stand. He called out for assistance and one of the witnesses came up and helped Durston cut a hole in Kemmler's suit. Where an electrical lead was attached to the hole. Done with the task, Durston had Kemmler sit back in the chair and bind Kemmler to it with the straps.

"Take it easy and do it properly, I'm in no hurry."

Kemmler commented, watching Durston work on the straps apprehending him. Durston glanced at him and continued on. Kemmler sat on the chair, strapped by the head, torso legs. His arms were tied at the armrest. Right after making sure that everything is tightly fastened, he made his way toward the power at the back side of the room. Durston gave everyone a look. Setting his eyes lastly on Kemmler.

"Goodbye, William." Durston said and with no delay grabbed a lever, and pulled it down.

Buzzing. Humming.

1,000 volts of current flowed through the lead wire and into Kemmler. For 17 seconds Kemmler's body convulsed until the generator was turned off.

A man from the group of witnesses stepped forward and raised his right arm revealing a wristwatch under his sleeve. In an adequate volume and a steady voice he announced.

"William Francis Kessler. Age 30. Confirmed dead on August 6, 1890, at 6:45 a.m. Cause of death. Electrocution."

The room once erupted in a bout of discussions. Voicing out the same concerns, debating about moral implications. Everyone was immersed in their conversations until one of them gasped in shock and terror loud enough for it to resound in the clamorous room. Eventually, they all shared the same expression when they saw.

Kemmler was still breathing.

How can that be? This is the question everyone asked to themselves. The device was tested before the execution. 1,000 volts of electricity was enough to kill an adult horse. How can Kessler still be alive after the same amount of volts ran through him?

The man who declared Kessler's death, a physician, looked at a man at his right and gestured with his head to follow. The physician along with the man he called walked towards Kemmler with cautious steps. They felt heat permeating around Kemmler's body once they got closer, along with an unpleasant stench. Face scrunching. the physicist came up, closer, to confirm what is happening.

"no... no..... please." At last, acting the way a person in his execution should. Kemmler pleaded for life. The physician and his subordinate stepped away immediately. The physician turned to Durston and called out

"Have the current turned on again, quick— no delay."

"no." Kemmler pleaded once more, but his plea fell on deaf ears.

*BUZZ*

***

The wind howled. Rushing in the vacuum space our earth-shattering attacks have created. I put my all into that last attack making me lose my flight, making me powerless against the raging winds. In a free fall, my adrenaline subsided causing my entirety insufferable pain.

The fight lasted for what I assume was hours. The prolonged use of mana rotation made my muscles cramped like never before, paralyzing me. Bruised and battered. Singed and burnt. A gaping hole at my waist. Ruptured ribs punctured my right lung making it difficult to breathe. My left forearm's bones are shattered and bent unnaturally. I'm in a hell of pain. So much so that I'd give anything just to end it.

But despite all that. I'm fine. The limp figure I feel falling a little distance away from me eases my mind. Making all this suffering worth it.

Finally.

It is over.

The demon king is slain.

Crashing to the ground, a cloud of dust formed from the terrible impact our fall resulted. Before hitting the ground I was able to release a blast of air with the little mana left in the atmosphere, pushing me back, lessening the impact, but an impact nonetheless.

KH KH

Hurting from the fall and choking from the dust. I coughed and spat out a mouthful of dust and blood.

Completely spent, I lay motionless on a thick bed of dust with my consciousness teetering and my head feeling lighter by the second.

Feeling the urgency to do something, I reached into the air, grabbed, and pulled a bead out of nothingness.

'One left.'

I crushed the bead and immediately I felt minor wounds heal while severe ones slowly stopped bleeding. Maybe.

Slightly recuperated with my pains becoming bearable. I turned to my back and opened my eyes to a vast, clear blue sky. A shining day to welcome a period of peace to this world. Seldom times does everyone band together, throwing away each one's pride and differences to overcome a difficult situation. But it is sad to see that it first has to come to this before peace could be achieved. Everything has a price, and the price of peace is the lives of many.

Maybe this land too.

There was nothing all around me. This used to be a lush forest. Now the ground is leveled with craters and gaping cracks here and there. Everything has turned to ashes and dust, a testament to the intensity of our battle leaving a scar on this land. Hopefully, it heals like one too.

With nothing else to do, I stayed on my back, resting. My consciousness fading. It's been so long since I have had one with nothing else involved. A normal, 8-hour sleep. For the last 7 months, all I've been doing was training even in my sleep that all the exhaustion I built finally caught up. If I had gotten ready sooner, lesser lives could have been lost.

Oh.

Remembering what I'm supposed to do. I once again reach to the

Thump.

Frozen.

Thump. Thump.

My thoughts froze and my heart grew cold.

'Impossible.'

The sound of heartbeats. Besides mine. Despite sounding weak, rang loudly in my ear.

Fear and shock engulfed my mind. The thumping sounds brought me to a state of denial. But not for long.

Determination.

I resolved myself the moment I stepped on Jura's soil to stake my life if it means this demon dies with me. With a fiery will and determination, I pushed my severely injured body to move.

I got on my knees only to fall lopsidedly to the right. With a pained groan, I looked down to see what was left of my right leg, a stump.

Gritting my teeth I reached out to the air and pulled out a longsword that's 5 feet in length and used it as a crutch to help me stand.

'Heavy.'

My body feels heavy. I can feel my knee buckling. Muscles screaming from over-exertion. With my weight leaning to the right, struggling with every step, I trudged toward the mangled body only a short distance away.

Eventually, I arrived and stood a few inches away from the creature responsible for so many deaths. Its legs are folded to its back and its arms are spread wide to the side. Its skin is a rough grey, like material used in stone sculptures, the surface cracked and chipped. I looked at its chest expecting an empty hole by the heart, but there was none, only a round scar. The stone-like material covered the whole body but stops by the neck and to the head where instead of grey stone there was supple, fair skin. Its short hair was a dull raven stained with blood. Despite being named the demon king it closely resembles the image of man.

Unconscious, but still alive.

Getting closer and setting myself for balance, I held the hilt with both hands and raised the sword with its blade down, pointing to the creature's neck so that I can precisely stab it with just gravity and my weight. Taking a deep breath, gathering whatever mana is left in my reserves and the surrounding. I pushed the swo

"no..."

A feeble, weakened voice that came out startled me, making me lose balance and fall forward, missing the creature's neck.

Wide-eyed, I looked down to see a pair of azure eyes tearing up and gazing at me...

in terror.

The creature coughed out dust and blood. Trying to move away but can't. Tears flowed, and the creature continued to plead.

"no.. p-please... I don't w-ant to die... anymore."

I don't understand. How can the demon king? The creature responsible for the demise of nations, for the death of many, because of simple malevolence by its nature, beg for life?

Anger and hate rose from the pit of my heart, suppressing whatever misplaced pity I feel. Finding balance, I once again raised the longsword and aimed for the creature's neck. Telling myself, saying to him.

"Mercy. Mercy is the last thing you deserve."

no.

*SHWIP*