artifice || offgun

prologue.

Twilight long gone across the vast night sky of that spring. Deep dusk had embraced the lonesome forest, the melodious singing of birds were no more heard but instead, howling of famished wolves had echoed in the tranquility. The clamorous chanting in unknown language had bothered the dwelling of the sacred; infuriated, that it bestowed a strong gust of wind that whistled and shook the branches of the bountiful trees.

A young man had stood amidst the chaos. In his appearance of utter desperation, he had felt the fear of an end he could not defy. The forest in which he grew accustomed to as it honed his abilities as a hunter had turned against him; being the hunting ground in which he stand not as a predator but a measly prey.

"Please Gun, run!" He screamed on the top of his lungs, too loud that he heard a ringing on his ears. He was resisting on his bindings with all his might, gritting teeth as he growls against his restraints; frustrated on his situation but contradicting with this shown annoyance, his gaze which was directed towards the owner of the name he desperately called was soft, to the point of melting. Fondness reflected on every glint of his irises but the latter's orbs which was intently looking back at him were trickling of pure tears.

The man paid no attention on the glare of the blazing fire— which at some point would consume him. All he cares about was Gun; Oh, his beautiful and frail Gun that he must protect. Though the adrenaline he had felt slowly subsided, he started to feel the burn of the fire against his skin, hoarse cough leaving his chapped lips as the black smoke starts to sting his lungs. The thick rope was tight against his figure and he had felt it bruising his skin, scarring him moreover as he felt the roughness of it on his bare flesh.

He gasped for breath, though it pricks his chest and looked above; he saw the moon glancing from the gaps of heavy clouds. It was in its brightest glory and he laughed at himself as how it shines across the darkness, as if it was telling him how pathetic he is. Truly pathetic, he didn't know that he would die at such way. A slow death, cruel as it sounds but he couldn't believe he would be tied in a stake.

"For the peace of our village, we offer him to you," The people on silky black hooded cloak said in unison and again, had chanted words distinct from his own language. It was terrifying on his part, for he knows what they truly meant by that. The faces of the people were covered with masks— for it does not show one's emotion but surely, he had met one of their eyes and it was flickering with the desire to make him meet his demise.

Burning stake. He had heard the tale of poor women being burnt to death for they were accused of being a horrible witch but he had never thought he would meet the same fate. For he was neither a witch nor someone who possesses bizarre ability. All he knows is that he loved someone they deemed he shouldn't have.

"Gun, save yourself," he whispered against deep breaths as the thick smoke suffocated him. Gun was helplessly kneeling in front of him, bound by a rope as his sobs filled the night; sobs that seems to be louder than the crackling of the fire against the dry woods. 'They were waiting for my demise so they could bring cease to his existence hereafter,' he thought.

"Take him, for he shall only bring misfortune to us," They said once again as the fire grew stronger. They held their torches in the sky and prayed earnestly.

So with one more burst of his strength, he tried to escape from his bindings and from the stinging burn of fire against his statue; he just needed to escape to save Gun. But as how great his vigor were, he failed to fulfill his desires. He is going to die, and so his lover.

Eyes slowly rolling to the back of his head, his vision was quite hazy and mind in a daze. The sight of the villagers were in a blur as their mumblings remained incomprehensible and slowly, their images started to dissipate. The raging black smoke as well as the luminous fire loses their significance on his sufferings. For all he can see now was Gun; smiling, which made his heart grow rampant on his chest.

But as much as how he loves his smile, it was neither the one he had always shown him when providing the warmest embrace nor the smile followed by the words of yearning.

It was a smile that Gun had never shown him.

It was a smile full of malice, absolutely deceitful. And even though his orbs were now glistening with crimson tears— tainting his angelic face with blood in its brightest hue, it was sparkling with ingenuity as well; a glint of abhorrence reflected. Beneath the whispers in which he failed to comprehend, it was the last thing he had witnessed before losing consciousness; an image imprinted on the mind of the deceased was a frightening smile of the one he had loved.