The Dead Man

16

""I beg you, son. Please! Spare my life!" Mrs. Wilson pleaded desperately, her voice trembling as Xander tightly bound her to the sturdy wooden post. Sammy and Stan positioned the logs around her, creating a sinister pyre. Fredrik, his hand trembling uncontrollably, held the torch, his eyes filled with a deep sense of dread. He had initially struck her with a stick, but over time, a twisted enjoyment had consumed him. Now, he could feel the presence of Azrael, the harbinger of death, already inflicting its malevolent influence upon him.
"Do not wallow in pathetic weakness on the day of your demise, mother," Azrael jeered mockingly. Lorenzo, his eyes wide with terror, watched the horrifying scene unfold before him. Though he harbored no love for his mother, he couldn't help but shudder at the cruel fate that awaited her, a fate he wouldn't wish upon anyone.
"With the crackling flames, witches shall burn," Azrael declared, his eyes sparkling with sadistic delight. The words dripped from his lips, a chilling proclamation of impending horror. The sinister atmosphere intensified, filling the air with a palpable sense of malevolence.
As the tormentors prepared to ignite the pyre, the evening sky seemed to darken, as if nature itself recoiled in horror at the impending act of cruelty. The wind whispered mournfully through the surrounding trees, as if echoing the collective anguish of all who witnessed this macabre spectacle.
Mrs. Wilson's eyes darted around, searching desperately for a glimmer of hope. Her heart raced, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She knew her fate was sealed, her life teetering on the precipice of oblivion. In this moment of terror, regrets flooded her mind, regrets for the choices that had brought her to this dreadful moment.
"Are you alright brother you look pale!" Azrael said looking at his older brother with a sick smile.
Lorenzo, paralyzed by fear and internal conflict, couldn't bear to witness his mother's torment any longer. A profound sadness mingled with his dread, as he grappled with his own conflicting emotions. Despite their complicated relationship, he couldn't help but yearn for a different outcome, a chance for redemption and forgiveness.
The crackling flames began to lick hungrily at the wood, slowly engulfing the pyre. The heat intensified, and a primal fear gripped Mrs. Wilson's every fiber. The flames danced and writhed, casting eerie shadows on the faces of those gathered. The air filled with the acrid scent of burning wood, mingled with the scent of impending death.
"Please!" She begged harshly. "Please twins please free me."
Both twins their eyes connected with one another before a smile appeared. They enjoyed the sight of death. They always had.
"Good luck. Underworld will be beautiful." They both uttered with a smirk as their eyes twinkled just as Azrael his eyes twinkled.
As the first tendrils of fire licked at Mrs. Wilson's feet, a guttural cry escaped her lips, a desperate plea for mercy that resounded through the desolate landscape. In that haunting moment, the boundaries between right and wrong blurred, and the onlookers were left to grapple with their own complicity in this heinous act.
And as the flames consumed her, Mrs. Wilson's anguished cries mingled with the crackling of the fire, a haunting symphony of suffering. The darkness of the night swallowed her final moments, leaving behind only the echoes of her torment and the weight of remorse upon the souls of those who had played a part in her tragic end.
Sarah her face was pushed into Azrael his chest who stroked her back as he looked how his mother was consumed by fire and turned to black.
"Training begins in a hour." He tells the group picking Sarah up before walking back inside.
-
The ten individuals stood in a solemn line, their eyes fixed on the unfolding scene. Among them, Sarah occupied the designated stool, a seat chosen specifically for her by Azrael, the embodiment of death and judgment.
Azrael's piercing gaze swept across the line until it settled upon the twins. In an eerily synchronized manner, their voices resonated together, their words blending seamlessly as they responded to his inquiry. The air around them seemed to still as they spoke.
"Why can you be of use to me?"
"Tormenting the guilty before their demise," they replied in perfect unison, their identical faces betraying no emotion. It was a chilling notion, their voices carrying an air of confident authority. Their every movement appeared meticulously planned, as if they were in perfect harmony with each other and the world around them.
Intrigued by their assertion, Azrael leaned in, his attention fully captured by the twins. "And how, precisely, would you show me this?" he inquired, his tone carrying a mixture of curiosity and expectation.
"Ask Becky." They both said.
Their eyes locked with Becky, who, feeling the weight of their collective gaze, instinctively averted her own. Uncomfortable and apprehensive, she hesitated before speaking. "They... they have a way of driving a person to madness simply by being themselves," she reluctantly revealed, her voice laced with unease.
The twins remained silent, their heads turning in unison toward Becky, their gaze unwavering. Their shared presence emanated an aura of uncanny power, leaving the onlookers unsettled and apprehensive. In that moment, it became apparent that the twins held a unique ability, a disturbing talent that could unravel even the strongest of minds.
Azrael's curiosity deepened, a flicker of anticipation gleaming in his eyes. To witness such an extraordinary skill was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. "Show me," he commanded, his voice a firm yet expectant whisper.
Becky squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of Azrael's request, her discomfort palpable. She knew all too well the devastating effects of the twins' torment, an experience she wouldn't wish upon anyone. Her hesitance betrayed the haunting memories that lingered within her.
As the twins stepped forward, their movements synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance, an unsettling silence fell over the scene. The air grew heavy with anticipation, as if the very atmosphere held its breath, awaiting the unfolding demonstration.
With calculated precision, the twins began to unveil their true power. Their eyes locked onto their chosen subject Fredrik who shook his head.
"Not on me."
"On you." Azrael interfered.
their presence alone seemed to emanate a dark force, an invisible torment that seeped into the core of one's being. It was as though they possessed an innate ability to exploit vulnerabilities, unraveling the fragile fabric of the mind.
Slowly, but inexorably, his composure began to crack. A flicker of doubt surfaced in their eyes, followed by a subtle shift in their demeanor. It was as though an invisible hand was pulling at the threads of their sanity, unraveling the tapestry of their mind. The torment inflicted by the twins was subtle yet relentless, an insidious assault on the very essence of their being.
Fredrik screamed hitting himself making the twin clap their hands.
"Voila" both said with a dramatic effect of their hands.
Fredrik his breathing was harsh as he tried to get their voices out of his head.
"Who is next?"