The Beginning

In the unforgiving expanse of the snow-covered landscape, where skeletal trees stood sentinel-like and the biting wind carried an icy chill, a solitary figure emerged. Cloaked in darkness, their steps were muffled by the knee-high powdery snow as they pressed on unwaveringly towards the small town of Tolk.

The figure's tattered cloak billowed around them, its frayed edges soaked with patches of melted snow. Hidden beneath the hood, their face remained shielded, concealing their identity from curious onlookers. Each step they took left behind distinct imprints in the untouched snow, a testament to their passage through this desolate land.

As the figure drew nearer to the outskirts of Tolk, a lamppost illuminated the scene, casting a gentle glow upon a weathered sign that read "Welcome to Tolk." The sign's worn letters hinted at the town's enduring presence, nestled amidst the wintry landscape. The narrow streets of Tolk were filled with people bundled up in thick winter clothing, braving the harsh cold with determined resilience.

The figure strode through the streets, seemingly impervious to the curious gazes of passersby. The townsfolk couldn't help but cast furtive glances in their direction, their whispers hanging in the frosty air. It was as if an aura of mystery and purpose enveloped the enigmatic figure, drawing both intrigue and apprehension from those who crossed their path.

Yet, the figure paid no heed to the growing whispers. Their gaze remained fixed on the path ahead, the weight of their purpose apparent in their determined stride. It was evident that they had a destination in mind.

The figure arrived at their destination, a bar named 'Murphy's.' Standing outside, they took a moment to observe the establishment, their gaze lingering on the weathered exterior. After a brief pause, they made their way inside.

Inside Murphy's, a wave of warmth greeted the figure, providing respite from the biting cold outside. The cozy ambience of the bar, with its comforting heater and soft LED lighting, offered a sanctuary from the harsh winter. A mix of patrons occupied the space, engaged in various activities—some enjoying a meal, others savoring their drinks, and many engrossed in lively conversations.

As the figure entered, a few heads turned in curiosity, briefly acknowledging their presence. However, the interest quickly dissipated, and the patrons returned to their own affairs, unperturbed by the mysterious newcomer. The figure blended into the background, becoming just another face in the bustling atmosphere of Murphy's.

The figure approached the bar, where an elderly man, seemingly in his 60s, tended to the counter. Taking a seat on an empty stool, the figure settled in, their presence catching the bartender's attention. With a warm and inviting tone, the bartender inquired, "So, what can I get ya?"

The figure lifted their gaze, their face revealed to the old man behind the bar. The bartender's eyes widened ever so slightly as they took in the cold determination etched on the figure's visage. In a chilling tone that cut through the ambient chatter of the bar, the figure uttered a single word, laden with the weight of vengeance, "Revenge."

The figure quickly pulled a knife out of his cloak and plunged the blade deep into the bartender's neck, twisting it inside his flesh and severing the blood vessels. A thick crimson liquid gushed from the wound, spilling down the man's front as he choked on the blood filling his windpipe.

A wave of terror swept across the bar as patrons scrambled to their feet, panic taking hold. Those nearest to the scene were quick to react, while others stood frozen in fear, unsure of what to do.

Two men moved forward, attempting to intervene. In a swift and calculated motion, the figure drew a pistol from within their cloak, its metallic glint catching the dim lighting of the bar. Without hesitation, they pointed the weapon directly at the advancing men, their aim unwavering.

Both of the men raised his hands, pleading for the figure's mercy. "W-what do you want?" one stammered.

With an unwavering resolve, the figure responded with a single word, "Revenge." Without further hesitation, a gunshot echoed through the bar, shattering the uneasy stillness. The bullet found its mark, striking its intended target. The air filled with gasps and startled cries as chaos erupted in Murphy's, patrons scrambling for cover or freezing in sheer terror.

The man who had pleaded for the figure's mercy crumpled to the floor, a gaping hole in his chest. He laid motionless on the ground, the bright red pool of blood from his fatal wound quickly spreading across the floor.

Amidst the mayhem, the figure's voice rose, fueled by an unidentified vendetta. Their words carried an air of conviction, as if driven by a dark purpose known only to them. "You all know what I want! You all know what you did!" they shouted, their voice cutting through the chaos with an unsettling resolve.

The bar's occupants exchanged bewildered glances, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and confusion. Whispers spread through the room, as patrons attempted to comprehend the cryptic accusations. Tensions mounted, an invisible cloud of suspicion and uncertainty settling over the unsuspecting town of Tolk.

The figure's chilling proclamation reverberated through the bar, drowning out the chaos that had consumed Murphy's. Fear gripped the remaining patrons, their wide eyes reflecting a desperate need for escape. In a frenzied panic, they scrambled toward the exits, their collective survival instincts urging them to flee from the impending danger.

As the crowd rushed out into the streets, desperate for safety, the figure's voice continued to cut through the air like a twisted mantra. "All of you will pay, Tolk will pay!" they shouted, their words carrying an unhinged fervor that sent shivers down the spines of those who heard them.

With callous disregard for the innocent lives caught in their path, the figure brandished their weapon and unleashed a hail of bullets into the fleeing crowd. Panic reached its peak as people scattered in all directions, seeking refuge wherever they could find it. Screams mingled with the cacophony of gunshots, creating a haunting symphony of terror.

Within moments, the once bustling bar was left in disarray, its walls stained with a grim reminder of the figure's ruthless assault. Silence settled over the scene, broken only by the pained cries and the agonizing gasps of those who had fallen victim to the figure's deranged rampage.

The figure turned toward the entrance, their face a mask of indifference as they surveyed the destruction they had wrought. The sight of the bloodstained bar and the mangled bodies that littered the ground was a clear reminder of their relentless drive to exact their revenge.

The figure's gaze fell upon the dying woman who clung desperately to their foot, her voice trembling with both pain and confusion. "Wh-why?" she managed to utter, her eyes pleading for an answer. But the figure, devoid of empathy or remorse, merely regarded her with cold detachment.

The barrel of the gun pointed directly at the woman, its presence a chilling testament to the figure's merciless intent. "This is only the beginning," they retorted, their voice void of any compassion. "But none of you will see the end." Without hesitation, they pulled the trigger, the gunshot ripping through the already tense air.

As life ebbed away from the woman, her body slumped to the ground, joining the growing array of casualties. The figure, their mission driven by a fractured mind, stood amidst the carnage, their resolve unyielding. The bar, once a haven of warmth and laughter, had transformed into a macabre tableau of suffering.