"Stop blocking my eyes!" a young man said in a low, angry tone—waving his hand to drive away a few pale hands blocking his vision, “I know! What an annoying curse from the dead! Even in death, they're still trying to kill me!" he seethed inwardly.

The phenomenon—cursed phenomenon. Hand of the Dead—that's what the young man called it; bound his body and pulled him in every direction whenever he lowered his guard.

As the curse disappears. He looked around; found himself in a room where a plethora of individuals were dressed in stunning attire.

"How long have I been sleeping?" he asked himself, checking an old watch in his pocket, "thirty minutes, huh!"

Glaring at the people a few feet away from him, savoring the delicious dishes, sipping on their drinks, and swaying to the music on the dance floor, made the young man grinned.

"What sly behavior,” he pondered, “and whose children are those? Some of them seem familiar, while others I don't recognize. I hope nothing bad happens to those children."

Unlike those who basked in the bright lights. The young man preferred the dimly lit corner of the room, where he could observe unnoticed—until he decided to start: "Alright, time to start!"

As he made his way through the bustling crowd, his glossy, jet-black hair cascaded over his forehead like a sheer veil, obscuring his view. He brushed it back with a quick flick of his hand, revealing his sharp features and dark, penetrating eyes. Despite his striking appearance, his small body dressed in black attire, caused people to mistake him for a mere servant.

"Did he find out about our plan?" one person asked with a shaking voice.

"Nah," another replied, trying to sound confident.

"He was probably just running late."

But the fear was palpable.

"What if he did find out?" someone else asked, their voice trembling.

"We'll all be dead by the end of the night!"

Anxious whispers followed him as he walked through the crowd. Heard that, he couldn't resist chuckling to himself, finding the irony of the situation somewhat amusing.

After walked for fews steps, he arrived at the podium that had been prepared on the stage. From there, he could see the exquisite decorations of the room: a marble floor, gold pillars, expensive chandeliers illuminating the space, and many other opulent details. However, he couldn't help but think, “What a waste of money for a place that would eventually become a burial site."

There he took a deep breath to clear his thought, then checked the microphone by tapping his fingers rapidly. Finally, the people who had been enjoying the party became aware of the young man's presence. They all turned their eyes at him and stopped talking, becoming quiet and attentive.

"May salvation be yours!" the young man declared firmly into the microphone, "thank you all for coming here tonight and for your patience with my tardiness. My name is Gaith Isaad, and … I'm sure you guys already know who I am, right?"

The room remained eerily quiet, with no response to Gaith's declaration, but he could feel their gazes burning with bloodlust and rage.

Gaith couldn't suppress a little laugh at the tense atmosphere in the room. “So that's how you all welcome your new leader, huh?” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

The people began to murmur amongst themselves, their expressions growing increasingly hostile. The previously tense atmosphere transformed into a hunting ground, with Gaith as the prey.

That made him complain, “I’m starting to get kind of tired of it," then asked in a polite manner, "has 12 years not been enough time for you all to grow tired of this?" trying to diffuse the tense atmosphere in the room.

For 12 long years, Gaith had lived under the constant threat of assassination—a burden that made him struggle to sleep well at night. Despite that, he did not harbor any resentment towards them, for he understood the harsh reality of being a leader—to be hated by many.

Although Gaith did not resent them, frustration was evident in his eyes. It was sad for him to witness someone who was once part of a just-ruling family transform into a power-hungry maniac.

Gaith wanted to forgive them, but the way they had treated him earlier made him doubt if they had truly changed for the better.

"I'm not sure!" he thought, but decided to give them one final chance, "Well ... I know this is very sudden, but I will say that …." He took a deep breath. "None of you can kill me! So …."

Before he could say more, a gunshot interrupted him—shattering the tense silence of the room.

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Pop! Pop! Pop!

A few bullets hit him, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he was frustrated. He exhaled heavily and shouted, "Come on! Just let me finish my speech!" he hurled the bullet back at the shooter with incredible speed and force, leaving them no chance to dodge.

The shooter shrieked in agony as they crumpled to the floor. As they fell, the lights followed suit, plunging the elegant room into complete darkness. and In an instant, the other people's attire transformed into weapons. They screamed in a fury, solely focused on killing Gaith: "Kill him!"

Suddenly, the room reverberated with the sound of bullets being fired, igniting faint sparks that illuminated the blackout. Gaith instinctively lifted his hands in a defensive boxer stance, shielding his eyes from the flying bullets as he moved forward to those people.

Once the gunfire ceased, “My turn!” Gaith shouted, then sprang into action, launching a counter-attack. His years of intensive training and experimentation had granted him physical abilities beyond what any ordinary human could achieve. With lightning-fast reflexes and the strength of a dozen men, he dodged incoming attacks with ease and charged towards those people with deadly intent. His fists struck with bone-crunching force; footwork was relentless, allowing him to chase down those who attempted to flee.

And that caused those people to shiver in fear, yet they kept launching attack after attack, yet Gaith deftly dodged and countered each one. Although they refused to back down, their movements became slower and more erratic as their frustration grew. Gaith took advantage of their faltering attacks, slipping past them with ease. However, those people still had one trick up—they used children as human shields, hoping to stop him. Little did they know that would only fuel an already raging beast.

"You people!" Gaith's voice thundered through the darkness, sending shivers down their spines.

From that moment, Gaith's fury coursed through his body like an electric current, causing his muscles to bulge and harden with each strike. His breath became ragged, but his movements remained efficient as he fluidly danced around those people. The sight was awe-inspiring and terrifying; even the children caught in the crossfire were covered in those people's blood.

The fight was no longer a battle—but a one-sided massacre that continued until the once-crowded room fell silent as the screams faded away, leaving behind the sounds of heavy breathing, occasional moans of the injured, and the sharp crackling of vaporized discharge bullets followed by the scent of blood and gunpowder. The corpses of those people lay scattered across the floor, their lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. The sight was gruesome, but Gaith remained calm and collected, standing tall amidst the carnage.

"Finally, my job is done!" Gaith sighed in relief, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders, but as he looked down at his blood-stained hands, tears unexpectedly fell from his eyes. Disgusted with himself, Gaith cried out, "Disgusting! Disgusting! Disgusting!" his voice echoed through the silent room as he tried to wipe the blood off his hands.

Suddenly, a child's voice broke through the silence, enveloped with fear. "Monster!" the child shouted, anger evident in their tone.

Gaith flinched at the child's words but said nothing. Looking around, he noticed several bodies still breathing - children who had survived the massacre. Their gazes conveyed various emotions, including anger, fear, and emptiness. Their stares were fixed on him, which made Gaith feel uneasy.

"A boy?" Gaith thought, "but his face is rather feminine!" Even in the midst of the blackout, Gaith's eyes were sharp enough to see through it.

The child who had shouted had short blonde hair, green eyes that had lost their sparkle, and a face that appeared somewhat feminine—dressed in a white uniform stained by blood.

The green-eyed child asked, "How can you still smile like that?"

Gaith's grin faded as he realized the enormity of what he had done. The children pulled away from him in fear as he approached them.

"Get away from me!" one cried out.

A second pleaded, "Don't, please don't."

A third screamed in fear, "Aaaargh... No, please don't!"

And a fourth tried to reason, "I'm a good girl. Please don't kill me!"

But the green-eyed child remained silent; stared at Gaith with burning fury.

As Gaith heard their screams, he felt like thousands of swords were piercing his heart.

"Bwahahaha!" He laughed bitterly at the irony of his situation. He thought he was doing the right thing, but all he got were screams of fear directed at him.

Did not want to dwell on that anymore, Gaith retrieved a small device from his pocket and pressed the green button—causing a hidden door to emerge from the floor. He then tossed the still-breathing children roughly into the secret room until only the child with green eyes remained.

After that, Gaith approached and lifted the green-eyed child by the collar of their shirt, their eyes meeting. One's eyes were the color of an emerald that had lost its shine, while the other was completely dark—darker than a black hole.

"Do you hate me?" Gaith asked the child.

The child gritted their teeth and began to answer, "Yes, I hate …."

But Gaith interrupted them by placing his fingers on the green-eyed child's mouth. "Do you want to kill me?"

The green-eyed child bit Gaith's finger hard, but it did not affect him. "I'll take that as an 'yes' answer. But you should know that weak people can't take vengeance."

The green-eyed child retorted, "Don't care. I'm going to kill you!"

Gaith smirked. "Doing this isn't my type, but see you in another life, brave one!" An evil aura began to emanate from his body, and thousands of pale hands—Hands of the dead emerged from his shadow, pulling at his body from all sides.

The green-eyed child exclaimed in surprise, "What is that?" as the pale white hands suddenly grabbed their skin. The child let out a piercing scream of fear, "Aaaargh!!!" and immediately began struggling to get away from Gaith.

However, the green-eyed child's struggle was in vain due to the huge power difference. Gaith sneered, "Bye," his voice dripping with venom. He couldn't resist adding, "Don't blame me, boy," before bursting into a cold, cruel laugh that sent shivers down the spines of even the lifeless bodies nearby.

~~To be continued~~