Keeping low, he slipped out of his hiding spot and began making his way toward the square. Every step was calculated, every move precise as he evaded the soldiers scattered throughout the burning village. His only thought was to find his sister, no matter the danger.

When Michael reached the village square, he crouched in the shadows, his heart heavy as he took in the scene before him. Women and children huddled together, many weeping openly, while others resisted, lashing out in defiance.

Michael’s eyes were drawn to a group of soldiers, their attention fixed on the more attractive women. He watched in horror as they were stripped of their dignity, their cries of protest echoing in the chaos.

One woman, her face fierce with anger, spat at a soldier. "Pig!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the air.

The soldier’s expression darkened. With a brutal slap, he grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to her knees. A whip cracked through the air, its sharp sound followed by the woman’s screams of pain as it struck her back. Michael shut his eyes tightly, covering his ears to block out the horrifying sounds. But no matter how hard he tried, the cries pierced through his defenses, each one a dagger to his heart.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Michael opened his eyes and moved through the shadows, determined to find his sister. His search led him past other atrocities—elderly men beaten mercilessly, their cries for mercy ignored, and younger boys like him locked in a crude cage. He overheard soldiers speaking about raising them as future warriors, stripping them of their identities and forcing them to fight.

Further ahead, he spotted another cage holding young girls. Soldiers circled them, inspecting them with cold precision. They ran their hands over the girls' heads and bodies, muttering to each other as if searching for signs of witchcraft or any excuse to accuse them of treachery.

Michael’s fists clenched as rage and fear warred within him. He scanned the cage desperately, searching for Mary among the frightened faces, praying she was still safe.

The soldiers began dividing the girls into two groups—those deemed healthy and flawless were separated from those with scars, defects, or other so-called imperfections. Each inspection was cold and mechanical, reducing the girls to objects under the soldiers’ cruel scrutiny.

As Michael watched from his hiding spot, his heart clenched when he saw his sister, Mary, step forward to be inspected. Her light brown eyes shimmered like gold under the firelight, drawing immediate attention.

"Aye, look here," one soldier said, his tone tinged with interest. "Something rare, this one."

He leaned closer, examining her face, pulling her lower eyelid down, checking her mouth, and running his hands over her head and shoulders. When his eyes landed on the birthmark on her right shoulder—a mark resembling a crown—his expression shifted.

"A witch!" he declared, his voice sharp and triumphant. "I’ve found another witch!" Without hesitation, he yanked Mary roughly by the arm, dragging her toward the cage holding the other "flawed" girls.

"No! Let me go!" Mary screamed, struggling against his grip. Her cries tore through the chaos, piercing Michael’s heart.

Hidden in the shadows, Michael felt his stomach drop. Rage and despair churned within him as he watched his sister being treated like a prize for their cruelty. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm, to think. I have to save her. I have to do something.

His eyes darted around, searching desperately for a weapon or tool he could use. On the side, he spotted a broken wagon with splintered, jagged wood. Quietly, he crept toward it, grabbing the sharpest piece he could find. He slipped back into the shadows, gripping the makeshift weapon tightly, his heart pounding as he waited for the right moment to strike.

Just then, a soldier leered at Mary, his words sending a chill down Michael’s spine. "What a shame to waste such a pretty one. Why don’t we have some fun with her first? Take turns, eh? What do you say?"

Laughter rippled through the soldiers nearby, their vile intentions clear. Michael’s blood boiled. His grip on the jagged wood tightened, his resolve hardening. Not my sister, he thought, his fear giving way to a fierce determination. I won’t let this happen.

With all his might, Michael charged forward, gripping the jagged piece of wood like a lifeline. His target was clear—a soldier with his back turned, unaware of the boy's desperate determination. With a swift thrust, the sharp wood tore into the soldier’s side. The man let out a blood-curdling scream, collapsing in pain.

"Michael!" Mary’s voice broke through the chaos, her relief evident as she spotted her brother.

"Seize that brat!" a soldier bellowed, and the group sprang into action, closing in on Michael.

He darted away, his small frame weaving through the square as he toppled crates and barrels to slow the soldiers. With trembling hands, he grabbed anything within reach—rocks, debris—and hurled them behind him to buy precious seconds.

"Run, Michael! Run!" Mary shouted, her voice raw with urgency and fear as she watched him evade capture.

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Before the soldiers could close in, a group of surviving villagers stormed into the square. Armed with makeshift explosives, they hurled them into the fray. Fire and shrapnel erupted, throwing the square into disarray. Screams of terror and rage filled the air as flames consumed everything they touched.

Amid the chaos, some women and children managed to flee, while others were forced back into captivity. Gunshots and explosions filled the air, creating a nightmare of confusion and violence. Michael’s ears rang as he staggered to his feet, His only thought was finding Mary.

Dodging flying debris and soldiers, he moved frantically through the chaos. But then, pain seared through his shoulder as a bullet struck him. He fell to the ground with a cry, clutching his wound. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up again, blood streamed down his arm his eyes scanning the frenzied scene for his sister.

Through the smoke and fire, finally, he saw her. A soldier had her by the arm, dragging her toward the ground. Rage and desperation fueled Michael’s next steps, but before he could reach her, another shot hit him in the ribs. The impact sent him sprawling, his body crumpling under the weight of his injuries.

Through blurred vision and unbearable pain, he saw the soldier pinning Mary down, a twisted grin on the man’s face.

"If I’m going to die, I might as well have my fun first," the soldier sneered, unfastening his pants and then tearing at her clothes.

Mary screamed, her voice cutting through Michael’s heart like a blade.

"Mary..." Michael’s voice was barely a whisper, his anguish choking him.

He tried to crawl forward, his arms trembling with effort. Blood pooled beneath him, and his body refused to cooperate. Around him, soldiers and villagers fought, stepping on him as if he were a part of the debris, explosions rocking the ground, fires blazing—but Michael felt nothing from it all. The only thing he could see was his sister.

Then, a massive explosion erupted where Mary and the soldier were. The force of the blast threw bodies into the air, flames engulfing everything in their path. The deafening roar of the explosion seemed to silence the world for Michael.

Time froze. His heart shattered as he stared at the burning wreckage, his mind unwilling to accept the truth.

Dragging himself forward, he crawled toward the burning debris, his heart refusing to accept what his eyes had seen. "Mary..." he whispered, his voice trembling with despair.

At last, he reached her charred remains. Tears streamed down his face as he collapsed beside her, his trembling hands touching what was left of her face. "No... no, no," he sobbed, his voice breaking under the weight of his grief.

He pulled her lifeless form into his arms, cradling her as if his embrace could shield her from the horrors of the world. "My sister... no..." he whispered, his tears soaking into her burned skin.

Exhausted, broken, and overwhelmed by the pain, Michael’s strength finally gave out. His vision darkened as his consciousness faded, his body still wrapped around Mary’s remains.

Though the battle raged on around him, Michael heard nothing. For him, the world was silent—a void filled only with his grief and the unbearable loss of the one he had vowed to protect.

As Michael drifted into the void, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, a voice emerged from the darkness—smooth, soothing, and laced with an unsettling undertone. “Boy, open your eyes,” it commanded.

Despite his exhaustion, Michael obeyed, compelled by a force beyond his will. His heavy eyelids lifted to reveal a man standing before him. Dressed in immaculate black attire, the figure exuded an aura of nobility and power. His golden hair gleamed, framing a face so flawlessly beautiful it could belong to a statue. Piercing blue eyes locked onto Michael, and his smile was calm, almost reassuring—but with a hint of something sinister lurking beneath.

Michael's battered body stiffened, his instincts warning him that this man was no ordinary being. The air around him felt unnaturally still, as if time itself had come to a halt. Swallowing his unease, Michael found his voice. “Who are you?” he asked, wary yet curious.

The man’s smile deepened, his tone velvet-soft yet commanding. “Make me your God, Michael.”

Michael blinked, confusion mingling with suspicion. “God?” he echoed, his voice cracking.

“Yes,” the man replied, his soothing cadence unbroken. “I can give you everything you desire.”

Michael hesitated, his pulse quickening. “What... do you want?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.

“Your soul,” the man said simply, his smile widening, both inviting and unnerving. “Give me your soul, and I will grant you whatever you wish. Power. Revenge. A chance to rewrite your fate. All that you desire will be yours.”

Michael’s breath caught as the memories surged back, striking him like a tidal wave—the screams of his sister, the cruel laughter of the soldiers, the flames that consumed everything. Rage, fear, and despair intertwined, consuming his thoughts. His fists clenched as raw hatred surged through his veins.

The man’s smile twisted into something darker, more triumphant. “Yes,” he purred. “I see the fire in your heart. Surrender your soul to me, and together, we will shape the world to your will.” He held out an ornate black book, its cover embossed with golden symbols that seemed to pulse with life. “Sign here, with your blood, and I will make your wish come true.”

Michael stared at the book, trembling. The weight of his emotions was unbearable. He thought of the prayer he and Mary had recited so many times, a glimmer of hope amidst their struggles:

"Starlight, star bright,

Tonight, I send my prayers to the heavens' light.

Grant me this wish, my heart's desire:

To love and protect with endless fire.

If tomorrow’s dawn I fail to see,

May the angel of death come peacefully.

Let my heart depart without regret,

A soul fulfilled, my joys all met.

Starlight, star bright,

I make this wish with all my might:

To love and protect forevermore,

A vow unbroken, a promise pure."

The words echoed in his mind, and tears began to fall. Through the storm of emotions, one wish crystallized in his heart—not for vengeance, not for power, not for wealth. He wanted only one thing.

“I want to see my sister again,” he whispered, his voice trembling with both pain and determination.

The man’s smile faltered, just briefly, before curving into an even darker expression of triumph. “So be it,” he said. “Sign, and it shall be done.”

Michael, struggling through the agony, lifted his bloodied hand. With trembling fingers, he scrawled his name across the glowing page. The moment his blood met the book, it ignited with a crimson light that spread like fire across its surface.

The man in black threw his head back in exultation, his voice booming with sinister glee. “You have sold your soul to me, Michael. Eternity is mine to give—and yours to suffer. Welcome to the darkness. Welcome to the fire. Welcome to hell!”

The world around Michael shattered, and he felt his strength leave him. As the man’s laughter echoed in his ears, Michael’s eyes drifted shut, his body sinking back into the abyss.