About 12 hours have passed, and my execution is nigh.

  “Wake up! Your food is here!” An Overseer shouts out, waking me from a distant dream. I finally had a good dream, I think. I believe it had something to do with freedom, or was it something to do with my father? No, No. That matters not, now. As I drowsily come back to reality, I watch as he puts some food into my cell. While serving me, he drops it onto the ground before giving it to me. “Oh my mistake, sorry for dropping your food. I am sure a slave like you is quite used to that.” The Overseer mocks, with a malicious grin spread across his face. The Overseer walks away, leaving me to eat the disease-ridden slop that they insist on calling food. I reluctantly eat it. I stick out my tongue, and shove a spoonful in my mouth. It reminds me of human flesh, circling inside my stomach. Its flavour is abhorrent. It makes me gag. I have to stop myself from spewing vomit on my already dirtied clothes. I have to get bandages. My leg is still bleeding out from being stabbed by that chicken. I think to myself. Despite that, my rage towards those fiendish creatures makes the pain somewhat bearable. I swear, Ivor. I will avenge you. I will at least cause a small bit of damage to the damned chicken who killed you. I promise. It is time to live up to my father’s legacy, and to live up as a friend as well.

  I stretch my back, tense from the pain, and finally rip out the bone lodged in my calf. I think to myself; These bars and the door seem to be made of sandstone, where did they lock me up? Egypt? Well, I am grateful they put me in a place that is so easy to escape. I use the fractured piece of Ivor’s rib bone to pry open the door. It is rather easy, as the door is as ancient as Zeus himself, and the lock is right in front of me. I just have to time my hits with the cracking of stone. I guess all those rhythm games my father made me play had some use after all. Maybe he wasnot as bad of a dad as I thought. Once I break open the door, I poke my head out the small opening to see if anyone is in the hallway. The hallway is as populated as the Sahara. And it is as dusty as it is too. There are many cracks in the sandy walls, but it was still giving off the feel of complete containment. After a moment of breaking, I dig into the hole, making it wide enough for me to fit into it. I then start to sneakily stumble through the tight hallway, slipping around the sandy corners like a serpent slithering through its den. I suddenly hear someone talking in the hall by a four-way intersection. It must be some Overseers.

  “Hey, Mark, how is the marriage going?” an Overseer says with a deep voice.

  The other person, likely a high-ranking Overseer, starts talking, but their voice is lighter than air. Their words just barely escape my ears, forbidding me from hearing it, but the other Overseer quickly bows down in apology. “Good, good, sorry for my lack of respect. But anyway, I think you would be a great father as you are as a boss! Tell you what, after the birth I will throw you a party, and we can go to the bar, my treat of course. But we should probably report to the Great Chicken Lords. You got the keys to the site?”

  Knowing that I would not be able to hear this enigmatic ‘Mark’, I quickly peeked my head out to see Mark showing his keys to the other Overseer, as they started moving toward the pathway. As they start walking in my direction, I decide to attack them. I wait until the two Overseers are about to be at the intersection, then I draw the rib bone and stab the one holding the keys in the neck. Blood spills everywhere as I withdraw the makeshift weapon. “Ahhhhh! Wh-what is that!? Who are you!?” I cut the Overseer down before he can comprehend what is going on.

  “You get what you paid for, and all that money has paid for quite a lot it seems,” I remark, with a nearly wicked, sadistic smile spread across my face. I then put down the rib bone to start looting the corpses of the fallen Overseers. I take off the potato ragged clothes and change into the outfit of one of the Overseers, I will need some pockets to hold this loot. Mark had an empty sachet, a stun baton, and a small switch knife. In the other Overseer’s pockets contains some cigars, a half empty match box, miscellaneous seeds that range from wheat to pumpkin in variety, and something I am quite familiar with; a weapon my father invented, the Flame Shooter MK3. To think one of the Overseers would keep such contraband, a high-ranking one at that. I thought they all worshipped the chickens, but I guess there are always black sheep in the herd. In the great revolution, my father was the leader of the revolutionary forces, but he was also the head engineer and gunsmith as well. Before he ever started the revolution, he knew that all normal firearms and weapons would be ineffective against the chickens, as their feathers were harder than most metals, but yet rather flexible. These feathers could block any shockwave, friction, spinning, and blunt-based attacks, and their feathers were coated in an explosion-proof, clear liquid that can block all explosions of any kind, except fire-based ones. The chickens could, however, be damaged by bladed and piercing weapons, such as a sword and spear. Despite this, the chickens were, at minimum, 5-10 times stronger than even the strongest of humans, and they could almost fly through jumping and gliding. There was only one weakness ever found by the human race, gasoline. The liquid covering their feathers was extremely flammable to gasoline and gasoline alone, so only a fire made from gasoline would burn it no matter how fast or hot the thing that struck the liquid was. So, to exploit their only weakness, my father invented a six-shot revolver that had coal, gasoline, and gunpowder stored in it to fire incendiary rounds that acted like mini fireballs. If only they could not fly, then maybe those guns could have actually won us the war even with the inability to hit airborne targets. As I ponder on why an Overseer would have an outlawed weapon, I hear some agile, but heavy steps as I look at the end of the hallway to see a muscular chicken covered in blood. The blood of Ivor.

  “Fancy seeing you here, slave. What, could you not wait any longer to become my dinner?” The chicken remarks while slowly walking closer to me. “You must be surprised you can talk to me, are you? Your father must have told you we speak a different language. He was hoping that any bit of information on us might help you if I had to guess. Well you will not have to worry about any of that. Why would someone six-feet-under need to know anything? You are to be sent to your demise, for all of our amusement. But do not stress yourself too much, you have not be buried in peace. You are going to sleep with all the Egyptian kings we killed, with the Beatles my race had contained in the pyramids we built all those years ago.” The chicken exclaims greatly. “Man, I miss those brave combatants, they were so much more amusing! Especially the one with white bandages.”

  Its speech leaves him completely oblivious to his surroundings, so I blast one of my rounds at the chicken. The chicken, not knowing I had this revolver, is caught off guard at first. After it processes the fireball speeding at it, the chicken motions to sidestep the projectile. At Mach 0.2 speed, the feathered fiend slips forwards to both dodge my attack, and get into melee range, but miscalculates the power of a human-made weapon. Although the fire shot does not nail the chicken's cursed heart, I could not have released a luckier shot, even if I had tried a thousand times. The fireball shoots straight through its left wing, under its arm, and sets it ablaze with the fury of a thousand suns. Five bullets left.

  “Looks like your wing’s being prepared for its trip to hell!” I say joyfully, as the chicken quickly cuts off his wing to stop the fire’s immediate spread. The Chicken, in a fervent rage, suddenly lunges at my throat to speedily slaughter me. However, its loss of a wing disarrayed its coordination and centre of balance, allowing me to narrowly evade the attack. I fire off my second shot, unknowingly playing right into the chicken’s hand. The chicken slams its hands on the ground and does a cartwheel to avoid the attack. It then counterstrikes with a mighty kick to the stomach. I try to dodge but it is futile. It nails me with a strike that hits like a freight train, and sends me flying into the nearby wall.

  *Four bullets left*

  “Is that the best you got? You think you can beat us? You cannot even beat me, and I am one of the weakest of my race.” The chicken asks, readying its fists. It seems like a sort of stance from kickboxing. I lay in the broken rubble from the sandstone wall, as it spews out small bits of sand. Damn, shattered a dozen bones, and cracked my back as well. How the hell are you supposed to stand up to one of these guys? I begin to look around frantically for anything I can use to increase my odds against the chicken. I blast another shot at him, thinking of a way to even the field. The chicken easily avoids the fireball by jumping away.

  *three bullets left*

  There we go. I preemptively shot at precisely where I had expected him to land. The chicken rips off its left leg to not let the flames disperse to the rest of its body. The severed leg seethes like a star in the evening sky, but becomes as black as it soon after.

  *two bullets left*

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “GOD DAMN IT!” The chicken screeches out in excruciating pain. “So that is how you want to play then? Fine. I will play your game, lowly human.” The chicken states, as it yanks out half a dozen feathers from its arm and chucks them at me like kunai daggers. The feathers flash towards me as I try to avoid them. Despite this, my cumulative wounds make me unable to fully avoid the attack. Three of the plumes graze my body and a fourth one jabs into my left arm. The chicken then hurls itself at me with all the might it can muster, attempting the killing blow. The chicken, however, was unable to fully realize that it was moving at about one fifth its normal speed from its wounds. I can finally dodge its attacks easily. As I duck under its attacks, I fire one more shot at the chicken, but now, fully expecting the attack, it slashes off its right wing to deny the flames passage onto its torso.

  *one bullet left*

  “Run… out of tricks... already... boy? I must admit… you are much stronger… than the average man… but still… you stand no chance against me…” The chicken pants out, trying to act formidable, but the chicken is clearly drained. A few seconds later, the chicken throws a few more punches. I narrowly avoid them by getting just slightly out of its wingspan. Okay, the chicken may be injured, but this is when they are most lethal. This is when they start taking the fight seriously. I need more time for my plan to work, so what can I do?

  As I am thinking, I suddenly realize a master plan that could win this fight. Knowing that the chicken has to leap to reach me for an attack, I place myself in front of the broken wall and make an opening for the chicken to strike at me. The chicken, too injured to reasonably judge its surroundings, strikes at me through sheer instinct. The attack hits me like a bag of bricks, but I manage to land my sneak attack as well. I draw the stun baton I stole, hit the chicken right during the wide opening during his attack, stunning him for at least 5 seconds. As the baton makes an impact, there is a shrieking metallic sound as a shockwave goes through my arm, and the baton goes rocketing out of my hand as my body tenses up. My body is flung into the damaged wall. Luckily I do not hit any of the sharp fragments of sandstone from the prior impact, but it continues to ache like hell.

  But as I am mentally celebrating this, I hear the sound of a gunshot as I make the biggest mistake of my life. When my tensed up body smashes into the wall, my body instinctively balled my hands into fists, the hands that held the flame shooter. I hear the ring of the metal hitting the ground. True despair washes over me. My one and only way to win has been lost. I scramble to find anything to win this fight as, in a last ditch effort, fill my satchel with sand and draw the still bloody rib bone, but I start to put down the bone in defeat. What is the point of this? I knew there was no way for me to win, but I still fought anyway. Is this how you felt when you went on that kamikaze run, father? But I guess this is the end. At least I took this asshole’s leg with me. I think as I prepare for the sweet embrace of death.

  *zero bullets left*

  “Hah! Seems like you have lost your leg up before I have.” The chicken mocks. I look up at him, badly injured from being slammed into the wall, luckily not pierced in the heart by a dusty wall fragment, in fact, I am almost completely unharmed. Other than my broken bones, obviously. “Looks like you need a band-aid, with that weak body of yours. Did you not eat the food we gave you?” The chicken asks, and then, to truly bring me into despair, he reveals a devastating fact. “Remember that food you were served? That was human flesh. That pitiful Ivor’s human flesh.”

  “No... No… You could not have! You would not dare! How could you?” I hear this and am fuelled with pure rage, my blood boiling more than my burnt flesh ever did. I regain my fighting spirit, and stand up. I charge at the wounded chicken, running in without a plan. The chicken then says something in its barbarian-tongued language, as its body is coated in a glistening white light. The glow of its feathers looks as if the chicken was an angel falling into hell itself, much like the infamous Lucifer.

  The chicken flies at me, at a speed even faster than his former top speed when it was at peak health. It opens its bloodied hands and sharpens its talons like a blade. It strikes at me with his eagle-like claws. However, the chicken did not seem accustomed to its abnormally quick movements with a lopsided body from its severed limbs, causing it to barely miss its attack. This leaves its face wide open, just as I finally react to the attempted attack. I throw the sachet full of sand at the chicken's bulbous, disgusting eyes, blinding it for just a moment as it coats its face in the same liquid from before. The chicken then staggers, leaving its neck wide open. I slit the chicken's throat with Ivor’s bloodied bone. Blood spews all over my body like a hose to a burning building, as the chicken falls on its last leg.

  “Never thought you would die to a human, did you? May I see you in the darkest pit of hell, bastard! Now do not keep the devil waiting, ‘Oh-so Great Overlord of Earth!’” I say with a sinister smile on my face, stumbling away from the presumably dead chicken. What was that sudden speed boost? Do those chickens have some sort of superpowers? Maybe that is why the Overseers bow their heads to the chickens? These thoughts rattle in my mind, until I feel a sharp pain in my stomach. I looked down to see the gut covered talons of the ‘dead’ chicken, straight through my stomach.

  “Sorry… to tell you this… foolish farmer… but… we are going to hell… as… a pair.” The chicken pants out, on the verge of death. He and I then fall over, and the chicken breathes its final breath. I kneel on the dusty ground as my stomach bleeds out more and more, and I begin to lose consciousness. As my deathbed is laid like hay, I try with all my might and struggle to stay conscious, and survive.

  No, this cannot be my end! I just found purpose in my worthless life and I will not fall here, Ivor and my father would not have wanted me to surrender. Please, anyone, I do not care if you are the devil himself, give me the power to keep fighting! At the very least let me live on to tell this tale, the tale to prove one can stand up to those above you. I try to stand up, but my stomach wound gushes out blood like a fire hydrant, as extreme pain surges through my body. I start to throw up blood and I put my head down from my massive wound, as I am aware that my death is near. On my last breath, A grand lavender portal arises from the ground. Hellfire pours out, looking like an inferno blazing around me. A humanoid, winged… thing walks out. Its black skin, oozing all over, seems almost unnatural. Its mask, long and thin, seems to withhold an unimaginable amount of power. It is reminiscent of the attire of businessmen when businesses still existed. I cannot hear anything but his voice. Is this my end? Am I going to die here?

  “Salutations, summoner. What is the purpose of my calling?” He says, with a sharp look in his eyes. He is scanning me up and down with his eyes. Why does he have so many eyes? Is this thing an actual demon? I stumble backwards, even through my wounds, I try to run. Despite my wounds, I… I am scared, scared of what lies of my fate.

  “What, boy? Are you surprised I am here? You call forth a devil, and are petrified when it answers?”

  He opens up a book I did not notice before. A black, religious-looking book. It is dawned with a pentacle, stained red, certainly with blood. He flips to a page, about halfway into the book, and starts reading it. After just a moment, stretched out to an eternity, the page starts to glow. The light is an eerie crimson, emanating from just the page he opened up to. As quickly as he started, he had finished. The sky turns an odd shade of gray. When he does this, the flow of blood pouring out of my torso suddenly stops in its tracks. In fact… everything’s stopped in its tracks. “It seems that you are quite the rebellious one. That is good, very good. Maybe you actually deserve my blessing” He says softly, yet sharply, his voice mimicking a transatlantic accent. He spreads his dark, black wings, like a great phoenix. Readying to cause yet another revival.

  “How about we make a deal.”

  “Y-Yes sir?” I say faintly, barely louder than a whisper.

  “I will give you 3 choices: 1st, you can put your head down and your wounds will be healed, and I shall leave,” He tells me while adjusting his red tie, matching his tuxedo and dress-pants.

  “2nd, hand over your soul, and I shall make you one of my servants. You can torture all the chickens you want in hell; and 3rd, draw a card from this deck.” He states. He takes a deck of some sort of playing cards from god-knows-where.

  “Now, dear Eden, what do you choose?” The Demon inquires, his odd looking yellow eye flickering open and close. It seems like it has been almost engraved by a skilled blacksmith.

  I should just take the first option and put my head down. I refuse to be a slave once more, and why would I pick to draw a card? As I think of the card, I feel a sudden calling to the deck, almost like I just met my soulmate. This foreign feeling compels me to choose the third option.

  The demonic creature, almost like he just read my thoughts, smiled as he healed my body just enough to allow me to draw one card, as he put the deck right in front of me. In just a glance, I could tell this deck was not of 52 cards. Since I have no trust this odd demon, like any sane man, I decided to draw the bottom card rather than the top in fear he would stack the deck to give a bad outcome.

  When the card is taken out of the deck, it is blank. There is absolutely no design, insignia, or anything. Did I anger the devil? Is that why this is happening? Is he going to kill me?

  After a moment of dread, the card starts to glow a golden, glistening colour. I look down, and see big text; “The Tower”. I admire the card. It has a beautiful… Wait- what does it look like again? I look up and down, scanning the card over and over again like I am chasing my own tail. Every time, I forget its appearance.

  When the demon sees the card, he looks rather surprised. A bright smile flashes across his face, revealing his shark-like teeth. It is unlike all of his previous smiles.

  And then, the card abruptly assimilates into my body. Suddenly, life springs back into my body. I feel a sudden increase in all attributes, like I had just awoken from a bad dream. Quickly after, I feel my consciousness slip once again. Everything starts to fade to black, as the Demon waves me goodbye.

  “See you on the other side, number eleven.” The demon says right before I lose consciousness.

  “Looks like things are about to get interesting. The story shall begin once again, and boy am I looking forward to this wave of chaos. Do you agree, dear reader? Yes, I am talking to you, reader of this prologue. Shall we enjoy how this story is told together, we will be seeing each other many times, well, you will be reading me rather than seeing me, but I digress. I will be seeing you again sooner than you think, and I will wait patiently till that day arrives.” The demon says, as he waits for the first chapter, walking back into his pit of hellfire, as it slowly closes.