Chapter 1: Capital Punishment

"Today is the day that I am to be executed"

Words of remorse echoed inside a tight room underground and a man with deep bruises, wearing tattered clothes was leaning near the wall.

"To what reason I ended up here? Why?! How did it come to this?"

The man continued to weep almost akin to howling in sorrow while punching the walls and occasionally batting the metal bars in his bare hands...

In an enclosed space and dimly lit room, gasping for breath, begging for help, deprived of any clue that may give him an answer.

"Why?!"

Just asking anyone who passes by his cell in the cold, uncaring prison halls.

Anyone would think he was a lunatic but nobody had the guts to gets close.

Until...

"Prisoner #207!... down at cell #120!" a warden with a stern look was heard shouting, he is expected to be busy today for the coming arrangements.

What kind of arrangements? It's not for any kind of prison brutality, but a heartless type of activity, where a dog is expected to howl in agony.

Today an Ex-general is condemned to be executed in public and this task is weighing him down due to the heavy warnings and precautions of the chief warden in charge of the entire prison.

And this person is no ordinary convict!

"He is the real deal in combat and he is battle-wise so I need all the extra precautions."

Murmured by this battle-ready combatant of an arsed warden, his eyes darted from left to right.

'But he is my idol! Can't believe I am meeting this godly person!' Truly an arsed warden, commenting how conflicted he is because of his job and personal preference all along while scratching his butt as he proceeds at the cell, numbered 120.

But as he began approaching the said cell, the arsed warden heard snickering tongues like vultures circling their prey.

It was a slur of insults!

"Tsk. Tsk. Golden General! Pshh what a joke!" Another prisoner in front of Cell, numbered 120-snickered and spitted his saliva, after making a side comment.

"Haha Boss Doggy you should say! Now abandoned by his master, poor pup. Arf! Arf! Haha" Another prisoner started insulting the prisoner in cell numbered 120.

[1] "Nah! An Askal, no different to a street dog you all should say! Hey! Bring us back our adoration! In the past war, we chanted your name like crazy! Pssh! Traitor!"

Another prisoner shouted with an aggrieved tone and insulting remarks, together with the fellow inmates they barked together, adding salt to the injured wounds, laughing and cursing.

Then, no one knew who started it but a barrage of shouts echoed in the prison hall...

"Death!"

"Kill that Dog!"

"Behead the Traitor!"

All were shouting the same in great unison, and it echoed like a sledgehammer smashing Miguel's ears.

One could say that once a person is branded as a convict or a sinner there is No way others would still treat you the same, this is the situation for General Miguel.

Contributions, enormous awards, compelling achievements. Name it! He had them all! But what kind of tragedy befall to him that made all his glory turn to waste?

Well, not even convicts much as so to the prisoners of war would give him respect.

Nothing of those can save him now.

"Quiet down! Or I'll whip your asses!" The stern arsed warden immediately shouted after some barrage of shouts coming from the prisoners.

But his voice got drowned in the sea of voices.

Ex-General Miguel had an ample amount of experience in battle but his spirit is now weakened, every inch of his cell is trembling while the shouts got even louder and louder. Then followed by a clang of metal bars that each prisoner suddenly started ramming.

And right then...

Sounds of heavy feet pounding the metallic floors, troops of people clad in black armor from head to toe with stiff yet fluid movements while marching.

Only then did the sea of rowdy voices that drowned Miguel in insults gradually quieted down.

"Is that my troops? Wait! Why are you all here? No! This is a mistake; I'm not supposed to be here!"

The Voice of Miguel sprang forward after that immediate silence, only to be greeted by a cold stare from his former subordinates.

"Prisoner #207 with the orders from the fort martial, we are here to take you, any means of escape are now blocked. Open the door!"

The arsed warden stared from these soldiers adorned in black armors to Miguel and around the prison hallway, not daring to act arsed as he imposed his warden stance. He followed suit with the orders and dutifully opened the door towards Miguel's cell.

"What the heck are you doing?", Miguel asked frantically, still in a half disbelieved state.

"No! This can't be happening to me! Why?!" Miguel roared in confusion, in sorrow and agitation.

When the arsed warden was about to stand guard while the black soldiers were about to take Miguel away, with a pounding heart the arsed warden suddenly came close to Miguel's ears...

"Despite all of what has been said by the court, I still believe in you. Great Golden General Miguel." The arsed warden whispered while patting Miguel's hands.

At this moment Miguel felt warmed. He stared at the hands of this warden which he noticed to have a water buffalo tattoo on his rugged left arm, then unto his eyes that had the look of pity.

The warden must have had the final acceptance that his idol met his end. nodding quietly as he bid Miguel a farewell.

Then Miguel was forcefully dragged out of his prison cell.

Memories flashed as he thought about the old times while being dragged like a dog in front of his soldiers! He had taught them well. A comrade! An idol! Their leader!

But now... Just a dog, dragged in cold gleaming stares.

In their eyes, the person in front of them is not a comrade! Not their idol! Not their leader! Not even a person!

Just a Dog...

Miguel could only obediently wait for his death.

.....

[Fort Marshall]

Crowds were shouting! The place is engulfed with enormous hatred!

"Kill him!"

"He deserves to die!"

Stones were fired at a man wearing tattered clothes and deep bruises. He is panting while the crowd continuously fires stones to death, on his way up in a platform.

"NO! I AM INNOCENT! I DID NOTHING WRONG!"

The man howled as he was dragged into a thick wooden platform.

An enormous amount of people were shouting, rows of black-armored soldiers were neatly lined up.

Each of them had mixed emotions.

Looking at the people in front of him, Miguel's heart sank.

Worshiped for his brilliance and upright chivalry, the black corps headed by him became the symbol of strength in their nation.

The normal citizens gathered at the Fort Marshall used to chant his title in joy and appreciation.

But now, the very same people who walked with and cheered for his glory are now shouting for his death.

His head was placed fitly on a table, fully prepared just for him.

A burly man with tall stature was looking at him and Miguel noticed this as the two executioners who are preparing the guillotine were busy sharpening the blade.

"Was it him?" murmured Miguel.

"In the end, I couldn't save you..." quiet words of guilt enamored this burly man as he whispered beneath the platform-shrouded in angry shouts of the crowd.

Then slowly he stepped back, out from Miguel's sight, blending at the crowd.

And at the corner of the Fort's Square, a man covered in scars and bandages were deeply staring at the dispirited Miguel while a small line curved in his cheeks.

It was a smirk full of malice!

Then with a loud screech, as if the blade placed in the guillotine wouldn't slide down, sympathizing at Miguel's end. At least gaining another second just for him to contemplate...

Just before the cold metal after a slow delay, turned to a sudden swift dash-down towards Miguel.

He saw the man at the corner who is covered in scars and bandages.

At that moment, his eyes were filled with tears and confusion.

And the blade cleaved his neck.

Blood splattered everywhere; his head is seen lying on the ground while the neck begins to spurt streams of blood.

The crowds cheered in glee after the death of Miguel.

Miguel's head didn't even have the chance to close its teary eyes as it stared in confusion towards the crowds around it, looking miserable while drenched in blood.