Who Gives The Right To Take Lives?

Prologue: The Death That Starts It All

How did it all go wrong?

What could I have done to prevent it?

"Was this all my fault?" I mumbled, my voice barely audible over the relentless pounding of the rain.

My hands trembled as they cradled her dying body. The rain was cold, biting through my clothes, but it wasn't as cold as the emptiness growing inside me. The metallic scent of blood filled my nostrils, mingling with the smoke still rising from the charred remains of the village. Everything was destroyed—there was no doubt about that. My village, my home, everything I'd known, reduced to ashes. And Kelly...

"Why did this have to happen?" Tears streamed down my face, uncontrollably, like a river breaking through a dam. "If only I had been earlier. If only I had been faster. If only I had been stronger." My voice broke with every word, the guilt crushing me.

"Why... cry...?" Kelly's voice was barely a whisper, each word a struggle. Her eyes filled with sadness as her blood pooled on the ground, seeping into the earth. The sight of it was unbearable. Why would anyone do this? Why...? Why?! WHY?!

"Smile" she whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to muster a small laugh. She looked up at the night sky, her breath shallow and labored. "Life is short," crimson blood spewed out of her mouth as she tried to continue. Her words were a plea, her strength fading with each passing moment. "Live ... for the both of us," Her eyes locked onto mine for the last time, her gaze filled with a love so deep it broke my heart. Her smile, though weak, shone with a brightness that defied the darkness surrounding us, a final, radiant gift as she was slipping away.

But how could I keep living without her? How could I smile when every breath felt like it was being ripped from my lungs? Her blood was still warm on my hands, a cruel reminder that she was slipping away. I wanted to scream, to rage against the heavens, but all I could do was hold her as she took her last breath.

Desperation gripped me as I grabbed a knife from one of the attackers' lifeless bodies and pressed it to my neck. "I can't live without you! I'll go with you!"

"No!" With a failure of a shout that resulted only in a weak whisper. "Luke, I love you," she whispered, her voice fading as she gently cupped my cheek with her shaking and cold hand. It was so cold now, so different from how it used to be.

"I love you too," I choked out, my voice quivering, but it didn't matter as long as I could tell her.

Her hand fell limp, dropping to her side. Her scarlet eyes were now empty, soulless. Her beautiful white hair, once so vibrant, was stained with blood. Her flawless skin was marred with dirt, and her face, now forever still, wore a look of contentment, as if she had made peace with her fate.

I stared into those bottomless eyes one last time before gently closing them. I sat there, unmoving, for what felt like hours, lost in the agony of the moment. The world around me had gone silent, the rain a dull thrum in the background, as if even the heavens mourned her passing.

"I won't accept this," I kept muttering to myself, over and over again. But even as I said the words, a dark realization began to take root in my heart. This wasn't just about losing her. This was about the monsters who had ripped her from my arms, who had destroyed our home, our future. They had to pay. Not because it would bring her back, but because it was the only way to make sure her death meant something. I wouldn't let her memory fade into nothingness. I would make them remember. I would make the world remember.

Two weeks have passed since the village was destroyed.

I wandered through the ruins, scavenging for anything that could be of use. Every movement was agony. My right leg throbbed with each step, the deep gash from the fight slowing me down, making me curse my own weakness. When the attackers came, I tried to fight, but I wasn't strong enough—or fast enough. I can still feel the blade slicing into my flesh, the sharp, searing moment when I realized I wouldn't be able to protect her. That injury was why she was dead, and I was alive—barely. My survival felt like a mockery, a cruel twist of fate. The faces of those bastards are burned into my memory, a permanent scar on my mind. I can never forget that day. It haunts me, seared into my soul as a reminder of everything I lost.

The village, once a place of warmth and laughter, was now a graveyard. As I walked through the ruins, my boots crunching over the remnants of shattered lives, I felt the weight of it all pressing down on me. The world had always seemed like a place where, despite the darkness, there was always light. But now... now I wasn't so sure. If a place like this could be destroyed so completely, what hope was there for anything good in this world?

After searching aimlessly, I found myself standing in front of the graveyard. I couldn't stop myself from walking in, my feet carrying me to Kelly's grave. It was a simple burial. I hadn't been able to make a coffin, so I'd just dug a hole, placed her body inside, and covered it up. I marked it with a plank from one of the destroyed houses, the best I could do with what was left.

As I looked around, all I saw were more graves—graves that I had dug with my own hands. Each one was a testament to my failure, to the lives I couldn't save. A wave of sadness and anger surged within me, threatening to drown me in its intensity. Tears welled up, spilling down my face uncontrollably. I knew I had to move on, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. The weight of loss anchored me to this place, even as every part of me screamed to move forward.

The massacre hadn't just taken lives—it had taken my belief in the goodness of the world. I found myself clinging to anger, the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. They would pay for what they had done. I would make sure of it. But for now, all I could do was stand here, lost in a sea of graves, wondering how to go on when everything I'd ever loved was buried beneath the earth.

After sitting beside Kelly's grave for what felt like hours, I finally found the strength to leave. I gathered the spare rations I had found during my search and strapped a sword, taken from an enemy's corpse to my waist. I steeled myself for the journey ahead.

I reached the village entrance, once so welcoming, now burned down and eerily silent. I turned back for one final look. "This is probably the last time I'll be here," I thought, the weight of the realization pressing down on me. This was where I was raised, where Kelly and I played in the fields as children, where I had lived my entire life up until now. It was full of kind and good people.

I took it all in—the charred houses, the ruined fields, the blood-stained roads. I seared the image into my soul, a reminder of what had been lost, and what had to be avenged. I couldn't accept this reality. My friends and family were dead, and their killers were out there, living happily, somewhere. I would make them regret attacking our village. I would make them regret the atrocities they committed.

"I will make them pay."

This is where my story begins. The story of how I took all my rage, all my sadness, and forged them into a single purpose.

Revenge