The whisper of a dead man 4

In a dark and sinister building, dozens of figures stood on different sides of the floor, their faces smeared with blood and wounds on their lips and ears. A group of wicked individuals had kidnapped a lone traveler. If Airon were in this place, he would discover that this man was the same one he had let go in a different direction after he refused to give up his supplies.

"Ahhhhhh!"

The people around him played with him, inflicting pain by cutting off several of his fingers, while their malevolent laughter filled the room.

In whispers and complicit glances, they commented on a girl who had managed to escape their control. Frustration consumed them, knowing they had lost their prey. At that moment, the tortured man looked up and, his voice interrupted by pain, told them that he knew that girl.

"Hahaha, it seems you will be the one to receive all our anger." A figure with crazed eyes mocked in a shrill tone, tightening the clamp in their hand, squeezing the bound man's finger even harder in the chair.

"No, please! Ahhhhhh!"

"Look at him screaming, brother! Do you think we can get more out of him?"

A small man holding a knife, twistedly taunting, said, "Oh, we still have plenty of opportunities to have fun with him."

In whispers and complicit glances, they commented on a girl who had managed to escape their control. Frustration consumed them, knowing they had lost their prey.

"Damn it, how could that girl escape us? I can't stand being mocked, those bastards with walker masks should have died together."

The tortured man looked up and, his voice interrupted by pain, told them that he knew that girl: "I... I know her. She... She escaped to South Carolina, she's in a community."

The air in the room became dense and tense. The torturers approached the man, looking at him with inquisitive and expectant eyes. They wanted to know more, they desired information about the fugitive who had defied their power.

"What do you mean by that? How do you know her?"

The man being tortured didn't actually know the girl, but in this desperate situation, he wanted to survive at least. Thinking this way, he wanted to blame the people who had left him alone and went to South Carolina.

Hoping these people die, he said, "She was rescued by our convoy. If you're looking for someone, maybe it's her."

With each word, the man revealed what he knew, sounding like a man who was not lying, revealing that the girl was saved by the people who went to South Carolina, fueling the rage and thirst for revenge of his captors.

One of the torturers muttered through clenched teeth, "That interests us! If you know her, you will tell us where she is. We won't allow anyone to mock us."

Caught between agony and hope, the man realized he had revealed more than he intended. His mind wrestled between concern for his own life and uncertainty about what awaited the girl he knew.

"Please, don't hurt her! She... she's a poor scared girl..."

In that dark building, where cruelty was the currency and blood was mercilessly spilled, the man's revelation had triggered a new chapter in the unfolding tragedy. The fate of the girl and his own were now intimately intertwined as the torturers conspired in the shadows to carry out their twisted plan.

"Please, not another finger."

"Ahhhhh!"

...

Whispers hung in the air, everyone doubting if this dead man had told them the truth about the girl who had escaped.

"South Carolina?"

"That place is far away and infested with walkers. The preachers went to Atlanta to preach the word to those damn demons."

"What are they doubting? We are the Red Army; we will consume everyone in this world, and eventually, it will lead us to South Carolina."

Deucalion, the leader of the Red Army, was surrounded by his fanatical followers in the dim enclosure. With his penetrating gaze and dominant aura, he demanded answers about those who had ventured to Atlanta to spread the word of the Red God.

Deucalion, in a deep and authoritative voice, raised his arms and proclaimed, "Brothers and sisters! Tell me, who dared to bring our message to the infidels in Atlanta?"

The followers of the Red Army looked at each other, fearful of facing their leader's wrath. One of them, visibly uneasy, stepped forward and knelt before Deucalion.

A man with ugly scars on his face murmured in a trembling voice, "My lord, it was I who led the mission in Atlanta. I believed it was our duty to spread the word and eliminate the few who still remained alive in that place."

Deucalion, with an impassive voice, asked, "And what did you find there, brother?"

The scarred man lowered his gaze and said, "I found the weak, the desperate, those who still cling to a spark of life in this fallen world. My men have infiltrated and will eliminate them all as you have taught us, my lord."

The follower's words seemed to momentarily satisfy Deucalion, who paced with an air of superiority. However, his face darkened as a sinister thought took hold of his mind.

"I suppose that since you are here, gathered with your brothers, you have completely eradicated the pests of Atlanta, am I mistaken?" Deucalion's cold voice reached everyone's ears, and every gaze fixed on the face of the scarred man.

The scarred man understood what his leader was referring to and immediately knelt on the ground, under his gaze, and in a tone filled with regret, announced, "I'm sorry, my lord. That place has a lot of security; I needed to come back as soon as possible and await your arrival to share my findings."

"You can trust me when I say that my men will instill fear and terror in that place where the pest gathers; it's only a matter of time before we eliminate them under your guidance, my lord."

Deucalion, with a cold and calculating voice, said, "But, brothers and sisters, isn't swift death an indulgence for those who still breathe in impurity? Isn't our purpose to lead them towards purification through suffering?

The followers looked at their leader with confusion, unsure of exactly what he meant. Deucalion continued, his voice charged with fanaticism and blind devotion.

Deucalion fervently shouted, "Our path is not one of mercy, but one of agony. Those who still breathe must feel the weight of their own existence, they must long for the release that only slow death can provide. They will be our sacrifices, our acts of purification."

Silence echoed in the room as the followers absorbed Deucalion's words. The revelation of their purpose finally became evident, and many began to doubt in their hearts.

"I am certain that those who remain alive in Atlanta will feel terror. We must mobilize our army and attack those who still live."

One of the torturers, in a strained voice, asked, "Is this the path we must follow, my lord? Is this what the Red God has taught us?"

Deucalion turned to the follower, his eyes filled with intensity and conviction. "The Red God has chosen us as instruments of his will. Our duty is to eliminate the weakness in this world and lead humanity towards final purification. Only then will we find true salvation."

The room was enveloped in palpable tension as the followers faced the crossroads between blindly following their leader or questioning his bloody purpose. The darkness of the Red Army grew even deeper, leading everyone down a path of pain and desperation in search of a purification that only they understood.

"Carolina del Sur will be bathed in a sea of blood. The God has called upon me to bring the voice to that place full of wickedness."

"We are the army of the Red God. We will make sacrifices for his pleasure and continue spreading death under our dominion!"