Conviction and Execution

No one could imagine that the man who was being publicly tried and about to be executed was once the most loved and respected man in the favelas.

Anger, indignation, fear mixed formed a deadly cocktail from which Fersa could not escape in one piece.

The bloodthirsty and sick way in which the citizens applied their deserved punishment was so brutal that it seemed implausible, to the extent that the story would reach in great detail all the neighboring countries in less than a week. The people who once backed him today were claiming his head.

The people present in this group butcher shop carried sticks, steel rods, mallets, knives, hooks, and any other object with which to cause the most forceful damage. The feeling of revenge was the thread that moved her actions.

Between each blow, scratch, stab, those present soothed their accumulated pain and resentment.

The knights and the local police stood idly by as they left the town in charge of the Fersa massacre. No one flinched to intervene, on the contrary if some citizen arrived requiring a weapon, these law enforcement officers would hand them over without any problems with an almost disgusting smile on their faces. Among these were those who had waited years to see some action in his routine life and those who wished to see the despotic and despicable Fersa dead.

The sick and psychopathic nature of those who seemed harmless came to light by touching one of their nerves. In this carnage, the human being himself gave him more fear than death.

The crowd pounced on Fersa to kick him, blows, stabs, hammer blows, with hooks tore parts of his skin to skin, impaled him with steel bars and burned him with others. Not satisfied with his insanity, someone in the crowd agreed to lend their horses to tie him up as they dragged him to the plaza. Once there a bloody red mass writhed in indescribable pain and never seen before in those lands. They called the mayor who got to dismember him alive. He ended up being beheaded and later torn to pieces.

The press echoed, they appeared only to relate the fact as justice in their own hands and accepting the act as insignificant for someone like Fersa.

People plucked the organs and walked them from here to there in ecstasy. The men who witnessed this pitched battle against a person, were incredulous of everything they saw. It was difficult for them to understand what the hell was going through the heads of the people who were complicit in the persecution. They seemed totally out of their minds and the worst thing is that for that people was being the most normal thing in the world to torture someone to death.

Suddenly they saw a young man walking among this carnival of meat. The young man drew his sword and pierced Fersa's head. The young man looked at what was left for a brief moment and whispered to the deformed head:

-My mother and sister now rest in peace-

He took the pierced head and raised it in the air gloriously shouting:

-JUSTICE!-

-AHHHH !!!! -

-One less spawn in this country !! Hurrah !!-

The crowd present cheered for the macabre act. There were screams, hisses and applause.

[No, there are still more rats to exterminate!]

Young Darius already had a few unlucky ones on his revenge list.

The executioners prepared a bonfire where they threw the remains of Fersa and his head was placed on a spear of about 5 meters to display it. An improvised festival was held where the children enjoyed the madness left by their elders for a couple of hours, which would last 2 full days.

The hooded men looked with disgust and suspicion at the people of the country. They did not like their behavior and did not hesitate to label them sinners. But they were more attentive to the young man who had taken the head as a trophy, who was happy chatting with the neighbors of the place.

-Rashid, there are people from the "Nest" infiltrated in the festival, should we send someone to watch that child too? -

-Darius Fersa could be a problem, he is related to the leader Vorichenko. We had problems with your men before in the matter of the birth of the first prince-

-Send three souls from the Morgana section, we must not let Viktor find them first. That woman and her group is the only clue we have, if it falls into their hands we will have lost our last hope-

The men were waiting for some other message from the supposed extremist group, which by now they already considered a terrorist.

***

Night had already fallen and Ray was sitting in the waiting room of the medical guard with both hands supporting his head and moving his leg as he prayed silently to calm his anxiety. He could not tolerate what happened today, if only the child had not begged, he would have committed a stupidity of which he regretted later. It was not easy to get out of hand, it had been a long time since he killed someone for not having self-control.

He had set the perfect scenario in case something went wrong, and by chance he hit upon the ominous sensation that had manifested for a whole week. He went to look for Meraki at full speed, and decided to detonate some psiballs to buy time. Upon arrival he found the boy in a worse state than when he had left him.

He tried to think coldly and the only thing that occurred to him was to take him to the public hospital in the favelas.

The nurses took the boy and carried him inside. He was not breathing and they had to give him oxygen and hospitalize him urgently. Ray was like crazy, his despair had him wrong. The nurses tried to reassure him and told him that once he stabilized he could see his son, until then he had to wait.

They spent most of the day in the hospital and he was running out of patience with no news of the child.

When a doctor appeared, she approached him and touched his shoulder to get him out of his trance, seeing that he did not respond to her call. Ray sat back and looked at the doctor who came to give him the diagnosis and the current state of Meraki.