Crying Freeman

The giant was dead.

Its gigantic corpse laid in the dirt like a fallen monument, nerves still twitching with the final echoes of defiance.

The mood of the air had shifted drastically—no longer thick with the thirst for blood, but a certain silence…and yet the sense of dread still lingered.

The Drax tribe warriors, once endowed with beast-like fierceness, drunk with their fill of murder and plunder, now stood paralyzed before the one who had slain the giant. Their god had forsaken their champion, their colossus, war-painted instrument of death and destruction. He had fallen not by some divine wrath, but by a mortal man not even half his size.

Faith fractured in their panicked eyes, and fury was now replaced with fear and defeat... One by one, they turned. Then, they ran– pride forgotten, weapons abandoned. They scattered like sheep trying to escape a starving wolf, fleeing the man who now stood alone in what remained of the ring of death.

Lucian did not chase them. He stood, motionless, hair drenched in sweat and blood. The stumps of his broken blades still clenched tightly in his hands— knuckles white, as blood dripped slowly to the surface below–goopy.

He merely watched them as they fled, body almost lifeless except for the steady heaving of his chest. Only his eyes seemed to follow them...

To the Drax, he was no longer a man. He was death incarnate, the undying shadow of death, the Mazzaroth– the cursed omen who had shattered the will of their god. None among them dared to test if he was still mortal. In their eyes, no mere man could have defeated their god-like beast.

Thrown to the edge of the clearing by the giant's earth-shattering crash, Anne and the ginger were still in utter disbelief. For a long moment, they didn't breathe. They couldn't. It was like air refused to enter their lungs. Still dazed from the impact, Anne collapsed to her knees– body still trembling; the tears she had held back for so long streamed down her face like a flood.

"We made it," she whispered, sobbing –her voice shaking, then shouted– grabbing the ginger and pulling him to her, eyes wide with relief–disbelief. "We're alive! We're free!"

Tears flowed freely now, making clean lines through the blood and grime that stained her face. They wept uncontrollably, clinging to each other, the reality of freedom still hard to grasp or comprehend–the joy of survival mingled with the pain and reality of everything they had just escaped...

But Lucian didn't join in their celebration.

He was still standing where the giant had fallen– in the center of the battlefield; motionless almost like he could not move.

Anne stumbled as she ran quickly to him, smiling through her tears, arms outstretched. As she ran to him, she began to sing, still sobbing– her joy mingled with her tears. She was eager to share her joy; to thank the one who had saved her..

But as soon as she touched him, Lucian's body collapsed– seemingly overcome with exhaustion from the ghastly battle he had just won.

Anne was quick– she broke his fall.

The shattered blades slid effortlessly from his fingers. He fell into Anne's arms, heavy, limp, breath shallow, eyes unfocused– blank.

"Lucian!?" she screamed, shaking her head, tears welling up in her eyes again. " No… no, Lucian, please wake up!" Panic flowed through her, her voice cracking with fear and desperation.

He didn't answer; he was unable to, as an unbearable, indescribable pain took hold of his very being. Again.

Just moments before, while shrouded by the swirling cloud of dust, the giant's final throw had found its mark. . The axe, hurled with deadly precision, had shattered Lucian's blades and buried itself deep into Lucian's chest, splintering bone and tearing his lungs to pieces. His heart fluttered on the edge of collapse–.yet beneath the surface, something else began to stir.

At the brink of life and death, the [Ill-Fated Deck] curse awakened once more.

Before, twenty-eight glowing dominoes circled slowly through the void again. Lucian stood before them, ready and waiting to choose once again.

He stepped forward.

The deck spun. Slowed. Then stopped.

His finger trembled as he reached out. The tile flipped.

A four, and the other side empty. (Blank)

A 64% chance to survive and no drawbacks.

"Yes—" he whispered, beaming with hope….

But fate, as always, had a cruel sense of humor. Blood erupted from his mouth like a volcano, pouring like a river that had overflowed its banks. Without warning,h is legs buckled beneath him in that dream-like state, and pain returned in full– as though with vengeance, ripping him away from the brink of salvation. In a twisted turn of events, his 64% chance did not roll in his favor.

"Curse my damn luck…" Frustration and disappointment.

And then it came again, the voice.

"Child of Perdition. Will you dare tempt fate again?"

The voice was devoid of all emotion. Cold and lifeless.

Lucian didn't flinch.

Death was no stranger anymore. It had become a companion. A rival. A shadow that had grown too familiar to fear.

"Again," he growled.

The deck spun faster this time, glowing brighter. Then it stopped.

Lucian hesitated for just a second. His mind was strong and determined to face whatever was on the other side of the tile, but his mortal flesh was weak as his finger trembled even more.

He chose.

The tile flipped.

Six.

Both sides.

The tile was his salvation and his suffering. A 96% chance to survive, but it came with a price.( of course it did.smh)

The pain of death would be multiplied sixfold….And so it began.

Every nerve screamed in anguish as his bones snapped back into place, Muscles reknitting like cords pulled too tight. Blood surged in reverse, soaking back into veins like ink drawn into parchment.

His magical healing seemed glorious and powerful— but what followed was agony. Lucian's mouth opened, but the scream never left his mouth as pain careened through his body like a second soul clawing its way in... His eyes filled with blood, his pupils became darkened voids as every cell in his body revolted against its host. Breathing was tormenting; even the slightest twitch sent fire through his nerves.

But he was alive. He endured. Because he had to. He had made the choice; he would not die here.

Back in the present, beyond the veil of the unseen realm, Anne cradled his limp, almost lifeless body, sobbing uncontrollably. His blood-soaked rags draped his battered and bruised frame, but she held him as if he might vanish if she let go. Sadness coursed through her, as she desperately uttered his name. Her tears fell onto his body.

"Lucian… please…"

His breath wheezed. A finger moved; only slightly, followed by a soft groan.

Hope crept back into her heart, as she gasped with relief at the fact that he was still alive.