They screamed.
Not the kind that fades into background noise. No—these screams clawed at the air, scraped against my skull, and tore open the silence of heaven and hell alike.
Men begged.
Women shielded children with trembling arms.
Old ones collapsed where they stood, their bones too tired to run anymore.
And still I walked.
"Please—"
"My son, he's only—"
"I didn't do anything—"
I heard it all.
I ignored it all.
The divine power pulsed under my skin, aching to be unleashed again. My palms, wet with blood—some of it mine, most of it not—twitched at the faintest heartbeat in the crowd.
A child ran.
Tiny feet slapping the stone, tangled hair flying. Her mother screamed after her, crawling over the corpse of her husband, face smeared with blood and dirt. She didn't make it far.
CRACK.
My power splintered the ground beneath them. The child's body folded in half before she even hit it.
The silence that followed…
It wasn't relief.
It was horror.
"I warned you," I whispered, my voice low, distant, a stranger's echo in my own skull. "I told you this world would pay."
A man stumbled toward me. Mid-thirties maybe. Filthy. Gaunt. Clutching a rusted knife with trembling fingers.
"Monster..." he spat. "She wouldn't want this. Whoever she was—she wouldn't want this."
Her name tasted like fire on my tongue.
Serene.
And then… her voice again.
"Ilay... please stop. Please. "
It didn't come from the man. It came from inside me—from that place I hadn't dared to bury because I was too afraid I'd lose her completely.
I froze.
Her hands had once held my face. Brushed the blood from my nose after I was beaten by drunk strangers who laughed as I cried. She had fed me when I couldn't speak, stayed beside me when I screamed in my sleep.
Her laughter had once filled this world. I remembered it—sunlight warming her face as she tugged me toward the bakery, fingers laced with mine like we had forever. And now—
now she was ash beneath my boots.
She gave me peace.
And this world tore her apart like she was never worth saving.
"Peace is a lie," I said aloud.
I turned to the man. Looked him straight in the eye. "She believed in you people. In kindness. In mercy. Look what it gave her."
And then I raised my hand.
He didn't have time to scream.
He didn't even blink.
The entire street behind him erupted—stone fractured, flesh vaporized, blood painted the buildings like divine scripture.
The mother still crawled, reaching toward what was left of her child. Her fingers touched the ash. She didn't cry. Didn't speak. Just rocked herself, slowly, humming the lullaby of a child who no longer breathed.
Behind me, corpses littered the earth. Smoke rose in twisted columns, carrying with it the scent of death and justice—if such a thing existed.
And above it all, her voice. Always her voice.
"Ilay.... Come back to me.... "
I fell to my knees.
"I tried," I whispered. "I tried so damn hard to live. For you. But they didn't let me. They took you. And now…"
I looked around at what I had done.
"They get to feel what I felt. "
I saw it in their eyes—how they looked at me, as if they could reason with me, as if this vengeance could be bargained away. But gods don't bargain. Not when the heavens themselves watched and did nothing while she bled.
I stood up. My cloak—once white—dragged through corpses now, soaked with so much red it clung to me like skin.
Blood crusted on my face like war paint.
The next village stood before me. Quiet. Too quiet. But I could feel them. Hiding. Shaking. Breathing.
A woman sobbed behind a closed door.
I raised my hand. The house didn't explode—it folded inward, wood cracking like ribs around a heart that dared to beat. Screams burst free as the walls collapsed and the roof slammed down like an executioner's blade.
I walked through the ashes. A child's shoe stuck to my boot.
I didn't stop.
A priest ran into the street, holding up a holy symbol. "Please—this isn't justice! This is murder! You're damning your own soul!"
I tilted my head." Soul? "
The divine power surged around me—bright, blinding, and merciless.
I ripped the priest in half. Not with hands. With will.
His blood painted the church door in two perfect arcs. Inside, nuns huddled behind the altar, whispering prayers that fell apart the second they met my shadow.
I burned that church with a single breath.
I didn't look back.
I didn't have to.
This was no longer about rage. This was about remembrance. Every scream, every plea, every mother who cried for her child—they echoed her back to me.
Because I wasn't there when she needed me.
Because they were.
The military sent their soldiers next. Hundreds of them, clad in steel and guns. They thought numbers would stop me. They thought guns and fire could kill a man who had nothing left to lose.
I stood before them on a hill soaked in blood, and when they charged—
I unleashed hell.
The sky cracked.
Thunder roared with my voice.
Men screamed as their armor melted into their skin, searing flesh to bone. Horses went mad, trampling their own masters. And when I raised my hand to the heavens, divine wrath poured through my fingers like molten lightning.
Flames danced like lovers across the battlefield.
Some ran.
Some prayed.
All died.
Their charred bodies twisted into grotesque statues—monuments to the mistake they made by believing I still had humanity left to spare.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing soot and blood across my cheek. My heart beat once. Slow. Empty.
And again—her voice.
"Ilay... Stop.... You promised me, remember? "
I turned toward the whisper, wind stirring the ash around me like falling snow.
Her silhouette stood just beyond the smoke.
Barefoot. Hair tangled. Eyes soft.
I blinked.
Gone.
My hand trembled.
"I did promise," I whispered. "I promised you a world worth living in."
I looked around.
"This isn't it. "
And so I kept walking.
Another village.
Another slaughter.
Another shrine to a girl the world threw away.
But I saw her again—standing in the ruins of the next village. And this time, she spoke.