A Man; A Goal (AMAG) Chapter—1 (Patreon)

"Apologise! APOLOGISE! You have sinned! You have committed a grave crime!"

In a beautiful cathedral, adorned with coloured windows, beautifully carved magical bulbs that ran on the essence of light law, many people, mostly men, stood with a grim expression on their wrinkled faces.

In front of them, a man, barely middle-aged, was spiked over a large, wooden cross. His palms and feet bleeding profusely, his face battered and his jaws toothless.

Blood had already taken over the white of his eyes and the only thing that remained was a barely calm glint in the pitch-black pupils of the bald man, his skull slashed upon as insects crawled over his head.

"Say it!"

Mural sighed as he looked at the spitting buffoon in a red cassock. How should he speak? His tongue was sacrificed in the name of 'almighty', his jaws were broken out of spite and his teeth were removed as a source of entertainment.

With his entire mouth fallen apart akin to a jigsaw puzzle, he really felt amused by the priest in front of him that still pushed him to speak.

The most ironic part was that the devil was postured in the same manner that the 'almighty' they praised was. Even a statue of Mural's circumstances could be seen right behind him, only that, it was neat and blood...less.

Death didn't come easy to Mural. To assimilate his Blood Fire, he engaged in a cruel massacre that took the life of many. Not that he particularly cared.

He was slowly stripped of his flesh, limbs chopped, then his innards were infested with ants. In all honesty, Mural felt that feeding his innards to the insects was just to satisfy their own twisted needs.

After all...

'Everyone is a devil... they simply need to find their own demons...'

This day, the transmigrator named Mural, who had reigned a period of absolute demonism in the world met his end.

Till now, nobody actually knew about his full name. Not even his murderer.

All they knew was...

Sin was his middle name.

***

Dao is the way of nature, the blade is the way of man.

To wield the nature, to assimilate dao, a man finally converged the blade and dao together, in an attempt to converge with nature... with heaven and earth.

All done for a single goal.

Immortality.

***

Being a transmigrator, somehow, my entire nature defied the heaven's will. Somehow, deep down, my spirit had already come into contact with the dao of space and time.

Maybe... I am not destined to die?

But then again, I am not much of a fan of the concept... no, dao with the title Fate.

I remember this pull... this tug that can affect my soul. Honestly, I thought that the world itself was disgusted by me.

But now, at least, I have come to understand that the world has already found its own devil.

Me.

***

A bright sun hung over the kingdom as the citizens bustled to achieve their goals— livelihood. Unlike the practitioners of fabled dao, the ordinary citizens led a simple life.

Work till death.

In some ways, such a life happened to be the centre of envy amongst the enlightened ones.

But something was different about one of the households that were crudely built on the outer layer of the kingdom.

"C-consort?!"

A middle-aged man exclaimed in shock and sadness. Mittal always knew how beautiful Sara would grow, that's why he made the bold decision of engaging his only son to his partner's daughter at a young age.

In front of him, a slight healthy man nodded and bowed, regret and sadness filling his voice.

"Yeah, Mittal... sorry for my daughter's insensitive actions. She was immediately attracted by the offer.

For real, I am sorry."

Slumping in his chair, Mittal shook his head.

"Don't worry about that... I guess, only fate is to be blamed."

"Yeah..."

Seeing Mittal's situation, Burtha felt extremely guilty. But deep down, Burtha was well aware of the source of his guilt.

With his daughter warming the second prince's bed... his own business was bound to boom. He could even separate from Mittal and start his own blacksmith workshop. And that is why, he felt guilty.

Because with the loss of his workshop, Mittal would fall even harder. It was akin to kicking an already fallen man.

But... if he left this opportunity for his emotions, what would he stand to gain?

Nothing.

With a hardened heart, Burtha slowly took his leave, understanding that this would be his last visit.

***

Mittal's wife, Mural's birth mother had already passed away after giving birth to him. Amusingly enough, the children whose birth causes the death of their mothers are in fact, treated as 'devils', barred from the basic education facility of the kingdom.

***

'Well, it was definitely infuriating at first... such discrimination against the newborn really took secularism to another level.'

A boy opened his eyes, almost ten years in, his usually bright eyes finally gained the tinge of experience and indifference as his eyes swept past his room before standing up.

'But who could have thought that this legend is extremely true... rare, yes, but definitely true.'