Davy's vision blurred as thick, acrid smoke filled the room, clawing its way into his lungs with each shallow, strained breath. His skin felt as though it were being peeled back in layers, every nerve alive with a searing, relentless fire. A piercing heat was crawling up his arms and legs, spreading like molten lava and leaving raw agony in its wake. He could feel his flesh beginning to blister, the skin crackling and pulling tight, as if it were bubbling over an open flame.
An unbearable, stabbing sensation radiated from his chest, like shards of glass lodged deep within, twisting with every feeble breath he managed. His hands, once so steady and capable, now felt warped and unrecognizable, the sensation of something melting beneath his fingers. He didn’t know which parts were still whole, and he didn’t want to know.
He could hear people screaming, though he couldn’t quite register what they were saying. Something was being lifted just a meter ahead of him; he didn’t know what it was. Serving an extremely wealthy man—a billionaire named on the Forbes List—he had never expected this.
It had happened so suddenly that even Davy, a man with sharp instincts honed through years of service, couldn’t have anticipated it.
Just a week earlier, on a bright, sunny day, Davy Jenkins—widely known by the public and media as the world’s greatest butler for his impeccable service that left many masters satisfied—was relaxing at his vacation house by the pool, lying on a sun lounger, sipping iced tea.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
That’s when his boss called, the head of a company of elite butlers and maids, to inform him of a billion-dollar deal. The job? Accompany a billionaire for a week and oversee his events.
As swift as an eagle, Davy arrived at his new master's mansion within six hours of the call. Over the next few days, he flawlessly arranged the events, leaving the billionaire thoroughly impressed. He could practically smell the bag of cash coming his way. But right now, all he could smell was the stench of burning wood, rubber—and flesh.
Davy’s vision continued to blur as time passed, a mocking smile escaping his lips. It had been exactly 43 minutes and 27 (28, 29…) seconds since the explosion, and here he was, lying on the floor, barely able to see. The sound of something—or someone—being lifted had vanished, as though it hadn’t even happened. Now, he could hear water bursting from somewhere.
Maybe the firemen are here, Davy thought, but he didn’t dwell on it. In his current state, he was practically dead. His body was entirely numb from pain, though he could sense his flesh and bones warping from the heat, some pieces likely lost forever. Survival would mean an unbearable life, a shell of what he had been.
If he survived.
The world wasn’t merciful. When it was your time, the world would claim your life without a second thought. This merciless nature was, perhaps, the only fairness Davy saw in the world.
Davy’s eyelids felt unbearably heavy. He just wanted to rest, silently praying not to survive this disaster. It would be hell if he did—Davy knew this. Death seemed the only comfort he could turn to now.
And so, Davy lay there, surrendering, giving up the struggle for survival as he waited. Waited for his time. Waited for the merciless but fair world to claim him.
But there was a light.