Blood Of The Martyr
I remember the day they took him. Not because of the screams—though I still hear them in my dreams—but because he looked right at me as they dragged him out, calm like he already knew what I’d become. Grandfather stood for truth in a world that kills the honest. Now his blood is on my hands, not theirs. The Church calls it justice. I call it murder. And I won’t forget. This isn’t just about revenge. It’s about tearing down the lies they’ve built their empire on.The rope burns my palms as I climb the bell tower, heart pounding like it wants out. Below, the square swarms with white-robed acolytes chanting over a pyre—Grandfather’s pyre. They burned him at dawn for 'defiling doctrine,' but I know the truth. He spoke against the tithe that starved our village. He stood when no one else would.\n\nNow I’m here, stealing back what they tried to erase: his journal, hidden in the belfry before they came. My fingers brush the loose stone when a voice cuts through the wind.\n\n‘You shouldn’t be up here, boy.’\n\nSister Nara stands in the hatchway, her eyes shadowed by her hood. She was his student. His friend. Or so I thought.\n\nShe takes a step forward. ‘Give me the book. It’s not too late to walk away.’\n\nBut walking away got him killed.
King Patrick
works: 44
Air Pay
I didn’t realize how expensive air could be until my lungs started burning in the middle of Sector 7. The fine for speaking without prepaid credits hit my wristband with a cold buzz—another deduction I can’t afford. Every breath is logged, every word taxed. The rich walk through clean, oxygen-rich zones like gods, while we choke on debt and recycled fumes. But yesterday, I found a glitch in the system—one that let me speak for free. And someone just sent me a message: 'They’re watching.'
Forced Proximity
I never wanted this retreat. Never wanted to be trapped in a villa with *her* for two weeks. As CEO, I could’ve sent anyone—but no, the board insisted on my 'visible leadership.' And now here I am, watching Lila Chen laugh like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, while I stand in the shadows, jaw clenched, heart betraying me. She’s too kind, too genuine, everything I’m not. And yet… I’ve memorized the way she takes her coffee. Black, one sugar. Just like me. Maybe that’s why I panic when she knocks on my door, holding a bottle of wine and a smile that feels like a threat.
Lost Soul
I sold my soul the night my father died. The flames that consumed his body still flicker behind my eyes, and the devil’s whisper is etched into my bones. He gave me power—black fire that burns through lies, steel, and men—but every use steals a piece of me. Now, the ones who murdered my father are within reach. But I can feel it: the more vengeance I take, the less human I become.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.