The Condemned: Rewritten

Chapter 1 : Cold as a Ghost

         
          There are many who deem themselves as 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐄𝐒. Figures who fight the 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒 that seeks to bring forth chaos and destruction upon everything that many hold dear. These saviors are then deemed necessary, a needed foundation to keep the fragile concept of order and society in line. Such a necessity could only bring more harm than good in all cases.

   Shown by how a group of naive children believed themselves to be the 𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐆𝐄, 𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐘, and most of all 𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑. The very thought of ridding the world of monsters to preserve peace and prosperity was the very catalyst of a monstrous act. For without the very concept of heroes, there can not be any devils to slay, and without devils, there can be no hero to save the day.

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                     𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏...𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏...𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏...

    The taste of iron engulfed his very sense, the crimson liquid slowly dripping from his cut lips. His faded eyes now forever locked at the grey sky as the droplets of rain descended upon him. Raspy, labored breathing escaped weakly from his ruined throat. He was 𝐃𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆. Dying in the worst possible way imaginable. The once mind-searing pain of his broken bones stabbing into his flesh and his burning sensation of his skin being burnt and charred to a find crisp had finally subsided. A supposed blessing as he would not experience any suffering before he finally left this forsaken plane of existence. The feeling of his body being ruthlessly beaten was not the cause of why this death was so grueling. It was 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐓.

   As he laid there, surrounded in a pool of his own vital fluid, all he can see were those 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒. The faces that would forever haunt him to whatever afterlife that would greet him. Be it the shining golden gates that lead to total paradise or the flame pits and agonizing enteral torture, he will forever be burned with such ferocious gazes. What made it so much haunting was the very irony it possessed. The ones who sentenced him to such a doomed fate are ones who sought to save others from it. Imagine believing that such people could do such a crime against humanity was something that would make mang brush it off as a mere folktale. Something to slander the very reputation heroes held. Well, even a thought soon faded from the boy's dying mind.

    His lids began to flutter as the dim light in his hazed eyes finally began to fade permanently. A single tear welled up in his optics, a final sensation of regret and sadness washing over him. Why...? Why 𝐇𝐈𝐌 - ?! He held a future ahead of him, be it a bright or grim one, he wanted to see it through until the very end. Such a luxury, however, was selfishly snatched by those who believed themselves better. Who believed themselves that they were doing a great service towards everyone. As he took his final breath...all he could think was...𝐖𝐇𝐘...?

    Minoru Mineta, an aspiring hero who sought to join his once believed classmates and comrades was ruthlessly murdered in cold blood. 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃 for a crime he never committed, it was judged that his punishment was a grueling and slow death by the ones he deemed closest. This was his story...

Or Someone would have believed.

 
 

 
       Darkness. . .

   That was all he could see. An endless, bottomless void surrounded him with no sign of light to be found. His eyes were dull and devoid of any life or happiness, and any light or sparkle that may or may not have once been there having vanished long ago.