𝐈𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐚~𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫| 𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

Year-2080

La Sante Prison, Paris,

Seated, like a monarch. Despite losing all of his powers in a righteous night over a thousand eons of years ago, he remained the same immortal who tamed hellfire. He was waiting for an opportunity-the day he would decide to return.

He had been notorious since the day he decided to fall to earth and look at it; the real hell bore him to death because there was nothing hecould do; what else was there for him to do if it was only harassing the damned souls and having sex with one of his servant demons?

He did not intend to confront any of the petty earthlings, despite the adversities that drove him insane, because he believed these petty humans were only interfering with his personal life and business.

Seriously? Making claims that they knew him better than he did, pointing fingers at every aspect of his life, condemning his free will-hey, do not get him wrong, he was very patient, okay? Until that fateful night in the dear father's prison called heaven.

He didn't mean to get into a rebellion; all his siblings, starting from the youngest to the eldest, always taunted him for not getting into the limelight in front of his father. It wasn't like he couldn't try, but whatever he did never gained his father's attention.

This process of his mental torture began thousands of years ago, and it never stopped, which led to God's forbidden rebellion. That alone, no matter how many siblings one has, no matter how many younger brothers and sisters, no one goes against God.

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La Sante prison was the most dangerous place the world has ever seen; no one knew what happened to people once they stepped inside it. Was it that the inmates were brutally mutilated at the end of their sentence? But even so, they should be released, right? But the straightforward answer was simply no.

This place has seen the most condemned people of all, including some of the most important figures of the United States of America and others like Carlos the Jackal, war criminal Maurice Papon, and Algerian revolutionary leader and eventual president Ahmed Ben Bella. Poets Paul Verlaine and Guillaume Apollinaire, as well as playwright Jean Genet, all served time there.

"Mr.Raizada, the person you ordered to see is ready to see you; we have cleared the coast."

The man sat in the sunlight-cast shadows. He was sitting in a chair that screamed illegally royal to anyone in the prison; leaving the chair, let alone the room, screamed autocracy of the highest order.

He stood up like a king, immediately moving his legs into long strides. His stance was that of a lion walking proudly, and he wore the latest Y.S.L.V. collection as well as a premium Rolex watch cast in 24 carat gold, his Bottega Venetas clacking against age-old gravel and half-puddled hallways.

His jaw was chiseled, his cheekbones were high and sharply cut, and his light chin strap and moustache accentuated his features delicately. His dazzling, emerald-brown eyes capture every nook and cranny of the walls. He was straight out of a magazine, and no other wealthy man could compete with him.

The hallways were dimly lit with black-chromium pendent vintage lights and dim-colored dirty walls dating back to the late 1650s, and he could hear the screams of the people serving the sentence, who were nearly mutilated with blood and flesh seeping out.

"Sir, he is in cell number C90010."

He did not respond, but the guards following him could tell by the increased pace of his foot steps and the color of his eyes that he had been waiting for answers for five hundred years, and he was both patient and despondent.

He could not stop himself any longer; he could have arrived in a flash at any time, but what took him five hundred years? Why did he even wait, and what were the answers and secrets he was trying to disclose and dig-up ?

"We are here."

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