Rage of the villagers

On the night of Don Hernando's funeral, the mob descended upon Alejandro's home. Torches flickered in the darkness, casting eerie shadows on the adobe walls.

Alejandro, realizing the danger, tried to flee, but there was no escape from the fury of the villagers. They dragged him into the village square, where a makeshift trial took place under the light of a full moon.

The accusations flew at Alejandro like arrows. His pleas for calm and reason fell on deaf ears. The villagers, driven by a potent mix of sorrow and rage, saw only guilt in his eyes. In their minds, they were avenging their fallen leader. In their hearts, they believed they were serving justice.

The brutality of what happened next was a stark contrast to the life Alejandro had lived. The villagers, once his friends and neighbors, turned into executioners. They dragged him to the center of the square, where a wooden post stood ominously.

Alejandro's hands were tied behind his back, the rough rope cutting into his flesh.

He was forced to his knees, and a circle of villagers formed around him, their faces twisted with anger and grief.

The first blow came suddenly, a heavy stone crashing into Alejandro's side. He gasped in pain, the wind knocked out of him. More stones followed, each one a testament to the villagers' fury. His body convulsed with each impact, the pain overwhelming. Blood flowed freely, staining the dirt beneath him. Despite the agony, Alejandro tried to speak, to plead for his life, but his voice was drowned out by the shouts and cries of the mob.

One villager, a burly man named Hector, stepped forward with a long, thick branch.

With a savage swing, he struck Alejandro across the back, the sound of the impact echoing through the square. Alejandro's scream of pain cut through the air, but it only seemed to fuel the mob's frenzy.

Hector struck again and again, each blow more brutal than the last.

Amid the chaos, an elderly woman, once a friend of Alejandro's, approached with a knife. Her hands trembled, but her eyes were filled with determination. She slashed at Alejandro's chest, the blade carving deep wounds into his flesh. Alejandro's cries grew weaker, his strength fading with each passing moment.

The villagers, lost in their collective rage, showed no mercy. They continued their assault, using whatever they could find - sticks, stones, even their bare hands.

Alejandro's body was battered and broken, his spirit crushed. The once vibrant man was now a lifeless, bloodied figure, barely recognizable.

In a final act of cruelty, the villagers doused Alejandro with cold water, the shock forcing him back to the brink of consciousness. They wanted him to feel every moment of his suffering, to know the depth of their anger. The last thing Alejandro saw before the darkness claimed him was the faces of those he had once called friends, their expressions filled with hatred and remorse.

Alejandro's life was snuffed out in that violent frenzy, his body left broken in the square. As dawn broke, the villagers, now exhausted and sobered by the horror of their actions, dispersed. They returned to their homes, leaving behind the man they had once admired, now a victim of their collective hysteria.