Clark saw a young boy adorned in purple robes. This boy was probably 18 or so at first glance.
He appeared meditating with his eyes closed and immovable posture. Directly beneath him was a 5 meter long sword drenched in the color of blood.
This youth was standing amongst the clouds, free and undisturbed in the heights that he had come to claim as his own.
Although this godlike figure was, at the moment, still as the calm waters in the deepest lakes, Clark could feel the malevolent intentions from this otherworldly being.
This was especially true towards the bloody sword that accompanied the young boy. This... thing, exuded an extreme bloodlust and an unquenchable thirst for war.
Three breaths seemed to last forever but when a new change shattered the pristine picture of dormancy,
it was then that Clark saw a vivid scene of carnage that he once could only glimpsed upon on movies and flicks.
The young boy in purple opened his eyes and blinding rays of crimson bled out from these two merciless orbs.
The dispassionate look reminded Clark on how exactly he imagined psychopaths and heartless mass murderers would appear in his past life.
A pair of dead eyes, cold and unfeeling, looked down on the world beneath its gaze. One breath later, the boy's lips moved. Enunciating each word like a final verdict unto the luckless objects of his ire.
"You have erred in your ways."
"I have opened a path for survival yet you chose to reject my kindness."
"Since you mortal ants cherish freedom than subjugation then let it be so."
"After today, your lives shall be a part of my strength." The young boy finished with these words and raised his right palm as if to invite the prettiest Eve to dance alongside him on this day of massacre.
"RINGGGGGGGGGGGG!" a sharp sound resonated in the heavens.
Metal on metal.
A grating distinctive clash that was ever so familiar in this world ruled by brawn. The ruby shade sword that hovered beneath the feet of this young executioner flew towards the hands of its owner.
The evil protagonist of course did not fall to death at this time but in contrast, even the very winds around him appeared to be easily obeying his will.
The chaotic gales came unannounced and the flapping of purple robes and a long raven mane swayed along in a beautiful mess. In the sky, a boy held a huge red flying sword that was almost 3 times his size.
This would have definitely called for a cause of amusement in any other place and setting but at this time, Clark could not even utter any word at all in absolute fright.
The atmosphere around him was very heavy and constrictive.
Even if he was aware that this might have only been an illusion of sorts but to escape from such an uncanny technique was a hopeless wish for the current Clark of today.
In the end, the transmigrator could only stay mute after the initial outburst he had earlier. He was akin to the same captives down below, held like ant crickets inside a tightly sealed bottle of suffocation.
"We surrender!"
"Please spare our lives!" Clark heard barely comprehensible pleas on the ground.
Since his focus was centered on the young evil boy, so did his immediate perception was captured in the vicinity of this unlikely merchant of Death.
With but a thought's command, Clark navigated his view on his surroundings. It took no more than 2 breaths to tweak this kind of mental control for such a resourceful individual like Clark.
His vision zoomed in that was not comparable to the gears of a telescope but rather a sense of wonder in the eerie experience of flight and wind manipulation.
'FUCK ME!' Clark almost vomited a breakfast he never had after he realized how cruel men could be given the right opportunity and of course, when visited with the utter kiss of desperation.
An entire city that housed the lives of several millions of people was in absolute pandemonium.
Some were lynched while others sported headless corpses in heartbreaking scenes of savagery. There must have been hundreds of people in different guises of torture.
Most of them already dead but a few unlucky souls still lingered the last moments of their lives in gasping pain and disgrace.
Judging from the lavish clothes that had once been untouched and unsullied, these sorry people must be royalties or at the very least, the leaders of these men and women.
"These are the ones at fault!"
"Please, Your Excellency! Let us live!" The sobbing parade was so pitiful to witness. Clark gulped the bile back his throat before he returned to rise above and be with that evil star once more.
Not that he had any other choice in the matter. He tried flying to a place far away from here for a useless second or two before he realized that he was indeed akin to a fly on a spider's web.
He has no recourse but to see this to the end.
"Late." The young boy with a sword on his hands has only this pitiful word to say to the masses beneath his station.
The Demonic Sword Sect has already sent summons in the past and the ones who elected to live had long ago exited the city in preparation for this fated meeting.
A face-off between men and a god.
The masters within this ill fated metropolis expected a protracted fight set on equal grounds. With bows and arrows, swords and axes, in direct opposition of each other.
Alas, not even their fastest arrow and even their sharpest sword could try to reach someone who has already conquered the high skies overhead. It was really an unfair fight from the beginning.
One that no apologies or surrender could ever put a stop to what has been planned as an indelible warning to others.
Without another word, the young boy struck a silent slash unto the defeated collection of both the dead and the living down below. The heart-rending appeals along the prayers mixed within, suddenly halted.
No noise.
No mortal woes echoed.
Only the gushing waters serenaded the scene in an eerie display of corruption. These very waters were mortal ichor, blood red and strangely resplendent.
Clark's mind at this time almost collapsed at what he was forced to witness. He couldn't even close his eyes even if he wanted to.
A river rose in vertical splendor. Like the alluring figure of a pure maiden. Only to be sucked cleanly unto the waiting body of one ravenous crimson sword.
The beholder of this crime that may have happened tens or hundreds of years ago, would have easily chosen to forget this memory if he could.
Alas, not all wishes can come true.
"Hahhhhh..."
"Hahhhhh..."
"Hahhhhh..." Heavy deep panting could be heard in the privacy of a room. Big droplets of sweat washed the entire countenance of this sole occupant.
This went on for a few minutes before the man finally arrested a semblance of calm in the turbid emotions that hid within his heart. Unknown to anyone but utterly unforgettable for him alone.
"You lied to me, Nancy!" Clark accused in gritted teeth and with unadulterated fury on his face.
"Your charge is undoubtedly flawed, host."
"These two items holds no danger towards you."
"The notebook contains a cultivation manual for you to use and the box...
Well, the box was laced with a mind control mystique that had let you experienced firsthand how unseen and effective this kind of method is."
"If the creator of the technique has wanted to melt your psyche into mush instead then you would be a drooling fool right now. But... that person has only wished to impart a valuable lesson for you today.
You don't have to feel singled out host because every disciple of the Demonic Sword Sect has undergone this kind of test also." Nancy stated in length.
"Yes. They would make great teachers indeed." Clark said dryly but deep inside, he accepted that it was truly a lesson worth learning.
'The weak shall inherit nothing.'
No pity.
Not even salvation of any kind.
"Now this is getting more exciting!" the gamer's fighting spirit inside Clark was ignited at this moment.
Especially when he recalled how cool it was to fly above the heads of millions of people like a deity in Heaven's embrace.
'I will also have that power someday!' Clark promised himself.