"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same"
A tale where lies are woven, traps are laid and history awaits to be ignited again.
Dive into the world of the Khans, Ahmeds, and Sikander's as they rove in the dark swamps of greed, power...
"The Earth is littered with the ruins of empires that believed they were eternal" ~Camille Paglia
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𝄗𝄗𝄗𝄗♞𝄗𝄗𝄗𝄗
TRIGGER: Violence
Loyalty comes with a price. It is to be upheld and then only its rewards are given. Loyalty is often forsaken for greed. Greed to be in power, higher in stature, or money.
There is a saying that well-fed devils are far better than starved angels.
And here are those starved humans in these dark, dark dungeons. It held the deepest secrets, ancient walls with most of them bloodied, dim lighting that made shadows stretch out to the pits of Hell doors. Here there were no saints; the sinner and sinned were all knocking their fates out at the iron gates of Hell. Yet, what made the difference was the reason they fought for.
There were two areas in this world: they lived in a gray area and pitch black. White is not a color present here. It was too pure that a stain would stand out. The secrets would be highlighted. The darkness in these dungeons was suited because it could absorb more. Absorb the evils, cries, blood, terrors, and whatnot.
Her fingers were dancing on top of the range of knives. Silver and the edges reflected back whatever light was shone on them. It looked dreamy to her eyes as the faint reflections rippled on her irises. Her skin itched to touch the cold metal that melted ever so slightly the building rage in her veins. Her eyes had a different tone to them. It turned darker, almost the shade of midnight black with a glint of madness and chaos. Goosebumps rose, and a familiar shiver ran down her spine as her mind riled with the dark mists of temptation. The temptation to just let it go.
Just then the grunts in the back had her fingers fisted inside her palm and pulled her out of her trance. She was feeling venoms coursing through her. Darkness was always there in her life, but it was not those which stretched its testicles and crippled you, for there were fair shares of light. For now, Rabail had to do whatever to protect the light in her loved ones' life.
Her blood didn't boil, rather it was those chilly cold water that flowed into the ocean. It flowed to knock you out of your breath. Slowly flowed to take over your senses and finally hand your beating heart on her palm. And that was the fun part for her. It was not that she was psychotic; they just chose the wrong person to deal with.
They took whatever and whoever she held close to her. Now, well, it was her turn to return their kind favors, wasn't it?
"You think you can take the law into your hands?" the bloodied man snorted. It was a sight that could easily scare any other person. Battered face, broken nose, red eyes, bloodied and wrinkled clothes. As you looked around him, there was a pool of blood. It kept increasing in a radius around him as a drop then another fell down from his finger. More precisely where his nails were once. His legs were in an odd position. One was more twisted than the other. It almost looked as if he had one of his feet pointing towards the back.
