Master Of Death

Lies

Lucas gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles whitening as he sped down the dark, deserted road. His heart pounded in his chest, not from fear but from the weight of the decision he had just made. He knew, deep down, something had been nagging at him all night. It wasn't just the strange events or the chilling silence in his dream—it was the diary, his father's old journal. He had tried to push it from his mind, but every turn of the wheel brought him closer to the realisation that this was the key. The journal might hold the answers, the clues he desperately needed to make sense of everything spiralling around him.

The thought of confronting those brutes again—the men who worked for Rajkav, ruthless and without mercy—sent a shiver down his spine. He had barely escaped their clutches the first time, and going back meant walking into the lion's den. But Lucas wasn't one to back down, not when the stakes were this high. "If this is my last chance," he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing in determination, "then I'll make it count. I'll expose them for what they are, and if I go down, at least I'll have paid for my sins."

He pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal, the engine of his sleek Mercedes roaring as it responded. The tires squealed against the asphalt as he swerved around a tight corner, drifting with practiced precision. He'd always been a skilled driver, but tonight, his focus was razor-sharp. The streetlights blurred past him as his mind raced, piecing together the fragments of memories, dreams, and suspicions.

The thought of the diary grew heavier in his mind. His father had always been secretive about it, keeping it hidden away in the study, locked in a drawer that Lucas had never dared to open until now. It was the last connection he had to the man who had left behind more mysteries than answers. "Maybe that's where everything starts," he thought, his grip tightening on the wheel again. "Maybe that's the clue that'll unravel this whole mess."

The road ahead stretched long and empty, but Lucas's mind was far from calm. He was on a collision course with something far greater than himself, something he didn't fully understand but knew he had to face. As the headlights cut through the dark, illuminating the path to his house, he knew there was no turning back.

With a final sharp turn, the car drifted smoothly into the side rode  which was 200 m from his house(the location of his first death-alive experience), the tires kicking up gravel as it came to a screeching halt. Lucas sat there for a moment, catching his breath, the silence around him deafening. "This is it," he whispered, staring at the looming shadow of his house. "This is where it all begins, or where it ends."

Lucas's heart pounded in his chest as the distant rumble of trucks echoed behind him. The sound was unmistakable—Rajkav's men. The R-A-J-K-A-V. He didn't even need to see them to know that. The goons had found him. He could feel the weight of their presence chasing him down the deserted road, every thud of a tire against the asphalt pushing his panic higher.

He hit the gas hard, racing against time. His only hope was to reach the safety of his home, grab the journal, and piece together the mystery before it was too late. The headlights behind him grew closer, and he cursed under his breath. "Come on, just a little further," he muttered, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. The moment his house came into view, he veered sharply into the driveway, tires screeching as he came to a halt.

The sound of the trucks wasn't far behind.

Lucas jumped out of the car, adrenaline surging through his veins. He fumbled for his keys, rushing to unlock the front door. But, of course, it wouldn't be easy. In moments of panic, nothing ever worked properly. His hands shook, sweat slicking his palms, and the keys refused to fit. He cursed, breathing heavily as he heard the shouts behind him.

"His car's here! He's inside!"

The fear shot through him like a bolt of lightning. His pulse raced, and without thinking, he smashed through the window, shattering the glass and crawling inside. "Great, my house is a fortress," he muttered sarcastically as shards of glass crunched under his shoes. "First thing tomorrow, steel windows."