Fausse Croyance-Part 2

 

                                                                                                                                               

-LittleFawn

(A Tale of Blood and Beyond)

The town square buzzed with unease as the Consigliere took his place on the raised platform. His voice, calm yet chilling, echoed through the gathering.

“Now we shall behead and sacrifice these fourteen children,” he declared, “and that is how this hideous disease will disappear.”

A stunned silence fell over the crowd before erupting into chaos. Panic spread like wildfire. Mothers clutched their children. Men shouted protests. The scratching of skin, a sound that had become a haunting backdrop, grew louder as despair set in.

The fourteen children stood huddled near the guillotine, trembling, their tear-streaked faces reflecting the horror of the moment. Lamb’s small hands clutched the splintered wood of the platform, her knees weak beneath her. Beside her, Fawn reached out and held her hand.

"Let’s hope it’ll all be okay," he whispered, his voice shaking but firm.

Lamb nodded, biting her lip to keep from sobbing, her fear momentarily steadied by Fawn's presence.

On the platform, the Boss sat slumped, his face drawn and shadowed with grief. His father's death and the weight of leadership had crushed the composure for which he was known. The Consigliere stood beside him, an unshakable figure in stark contrast to the turmoil around them.

The Consigliere raised his hands, addressing the crowd. “I understand your anger! But this sacrifice is our only hope!”

The people would not listen. Their outrage drowned his words.

“We cannot let this happen!” a man shouted, breaking through the mob. He surged toward the platform, others following. Soldiers intercepted them, shields clanging, pushing the rioters back.

The Boss, still seated, clenched his fists, his mind swirling. His heart warred with his reason. Consigliere’s words played in his head, but the cries of the people were louder.

Then, with a sudden, thunderous stomp, the Boss rose to his feet.

“SILENCE!”

The roar of his voice was like a lightning strike, freezing the crowd mid-chaos. Even the restless scratching stopped momentarily. All eyes turned to the man who, until now, had always been calm and collected.

A man from the crowd hesitated, then spoke. “But Boss, this is too—”

“Didn’t you hear me?” the Boss barked, his gaze cutting through the man like a blade.

The man faltered, stepping back in shock. This was not the composed leader they

knew; this was someone pushed to the brink.

The Boss drew a slow, deep breath, and continued. “This is hard for everyone. It’s hard for me. But if we don’t act, this disease will kill us all. When the Consigliere first told me of this plan, I nearly killed him in my rage.” 

His voice trembled slightly, but he pressed on.

“I believed in Dr. Bill. I trusted him to find a cure. But he’s gone, taken from us by tragedy. And now we’re left with no choice. Do you think this doesn’t haunt me? That I don’t hear the cries of these children as clearly as you do?”

He scanned the faces before him, looking at the tears, the anger, the despair.

Another voice rose from the crowd. “But what if this doesn’t work? What if it’s just a senseless slaughter?”

The Boss turned slowly to the Consigliere, his gaze hard as steel.

“If this fails,” he said coldly, “I will personally cut off his limbs, torture him to death, and follow him into the grave myself.”

The crowd fell into a stunned silence. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

The Consigliere smirked faintly, then masked it with a solemn nod. “This is a risk we all bear,” he said, his tone oily yet persuasive. “A gamble for survival. But we must be brave.”

The town square stood in a tense, eerie stillness. Consigliere, calm and calculating, watched the subdued crowd. His sinister thoughts swirled beneath his composed exterior.

“Before I killed Dr. Bill,” he mused to himself, a faint smirk playing on his lips, “I too the cure. I hold the only vial of salvation. After the children are sacrificed and the town cured, I’ll reveal the cure and bask in their gratitude. Even the Boss will praise my foresight.”

His cold logic emboldened him as he turned to the executioner.

“Let the ritual begin,” Consigliere announced, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence.

The crowd stirred uneasily. Though silenced by the Boss’s earlier outburst, their eyes betrayed their collective dread. Mothers clutched their children tighter. Fathers clenched their fists. All were trapped, forced to witness the unthinkable.

The condemned children stood motionless, trembling, their wide eyes darting between the towering guillotine and the restless mob.

Suddenly, Annie, who had been watching from the shadows, broke through the crowd. Her desperate cry shattered the silence.

“No! You can’t!” she screamed, pushing past onlookers who barely had time to react. Her eyes locked on Lamb and Fawn.

The crowd turned to her, startled. A few men moved quickly, grabbing her arms and holding her back.

“Let me go!” she sobbed, thrashing in their grip.

One man stepped forward, his voice heavy with resigned sorrow. “Annie, what would you have us do? If there’s another way, tell us. We’ll listen.”

Annie’s voice cracked with desperation. “Pourquoi croyez-vous qu’une telle fausse croyance fonctionnera?! Why do you all believe in such a false solution? This is madness! It won’t save anyone!”

Her words struck some like a knife, but others turned away, their faces taut with grief and shame.

Another man, his voice hollow, replied, “Then what’s your solution, Annie? What should we do? If you can’t offer us hope, we have no choice.”

Tears streamed down Annie’s face as her strength faltered. She looked at the children, their small, terrified faces, and her sobs deepened.

“Why does it have to be them?” she choked. “Why?”

From the platform, Lamb and Fawn looked down at her, their own fear momentarily replaced by anger.

“Stop crying, Annie!” Fawn shouted, his voice high and strained.

“Don’t cry because of them!” Lamb added, her small fists clenching. “We’ll be fine!”

Their words, meant to comfort, only deepened Annie’s grief. She called out, “Aaron! Where are you? Help me stop this!”

But Aaron was nowhere to be found.

The Boss, standing motionless on the platform, shut his eyes tightly. His father’s voice echoed in his mind, warning him to bear the weight of the town with strength and resolve. Yet, as the cries of Annie and the children pierced the air, his resolve wavered.

“Enough!” he bellowed, opening his eyes. His voice was sharp, commanding.

Annie froze, her sobs quieting. The crowd fell silent, even the restless scratching halting for a moment.

“I can’t watch this anymore,” the Boss said, his voice low but trembling with tension. “Begin the process. Now.”

The execution square was a chilling spectacle. The guillotine stood at its center, its blade sharp and gleaming under the faint light of dawn. The air was heavy, oppressive, and thick with despair.

The children, bound and trembling, were herded toward their fate. Lamb and Fawn stood together, their small hands clasped tightly. Around them, the crowd murmured in muted horror, their faces pale as ash.

Consigliere stood tall, his voice cold and commanding as he addressed the crowd. “These sacrifices are necessary. Watch, for the ritual must be witnessed in its entirety to cleanse the town.”

A small girl was dragged toward the guillotine, her wide eyes darting wildly in fear. The moment the soldier released her, she bolted.

Her tiny feet carried her only a few steps before a loud gunshot cracked through the air. The girl collapsed, her small frame crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

Gasps of shock rippled through the crowd.

The Boss stood, his hands trembling at his sides. His voice boomed with fury. “Consigliere! If she was to be beheaded, why did you shoot her? Answer me!”

Consigliere turned to him, his face calm but his eyes glinting with malice. “Calm yourself, Boss. She was an example—for those who might try to run. Do you not recall? You promised to leave everything in my hands. And, as foresight would have it, I prepared fifteen children to ensure the ritual proceeds smoothly.”

The Boss gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed it might crack. Slowly, he sat back down, his knuckles white against the armrests of his chair.

“Dispose of her body,” Consigliere ordered, waving dismissively at a soldier. “Bring the next one.”

A boy no older than ten was dragged to the guillotine. His small body trembled, tears streaming silently down his face.

“Begin,” Consigliere commanded, his voice devoid of any humanity.

The blade fell.

The crowd flinched as the sickening thud echoed across the square. Blood splattered, painting the ground crimson. The boy’s head rolled to the side, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the crowd.

Several people turned away, retching. Others wept openly, their sobs muffled by trembling hands.

“Do not look away,” Consigliere snapped. “The ritual demands your attention. Only through collective witness will this curse be lifted.”

Another child was brought forth. Then another.

The guillotine fell each time, turning the square into a scene of carnage. Blood pooled, soaking the earth. The gruesome tableau burned itself into the minds of all who bore witness.

Lamb clutched Fawn’s hand so tightly it hurt, her small body shaking uncontrollably.

“Fawn,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m scared.”

Fawn pulled her close, his own voice trembling. “Don’t worry. I won’t let them hurt you.”

But when the soldiers grabbed them, dragging them toward the platform, Fawn’s promise shattered.

He struggled, kicking and shouting. “Let her go! Take me instead!”

The soldiers ignored his cries, forcing Lamb to the guillotine.

Before the blade could fall, Fawn wrenched himself free, rushing to her side.

“If she dies, I’ll die with her,” he declared, his voice steady despite the tears streaking his face.

Consigliere laughed, the sound hollow and cruel. “Such bravery from a worm. Very well. You may have your wish.”

He turned to the executioner. “Prepare both of them. And, boy, I’ll grant you some last words. Make them count.”

Fawn met Consigliere’s gaze, his young face hard with defiance. “I hope,” he said, his voice unwavering, “to be born in a world where men like you don’t exist.”

Consigliere’s smirk twisted into a scowl. “Begin!”

“WAIT!”

The shout cut through the air like a blade.

The crowd turned as Aaron emerged from the back, his arm supporting a battered but very much alive Dr. Bill.

Gasps and murmurs swept through the square.

Dr. Bill, breathing heavily, raised his hand. “Stop this madness!”

Consigliere’s face drained of color, his hand instinctively reaching for his pistol.

Before he could fire, the Boss stood, his pistol drawn. A shot rang out.

The bullet struck Consigliere’s arm, and he dropped the weapon with a howl of pain.

“Stay quiet for a second!” the Boss snarled, his voice colder than the steel of the guillotine.

Dr. Bill stepped forward, explaining everything: the true cure, the sabotage, and Consigliere’s treachery. Aaron filled in the gaps, recounting how he had saved the doctor in the nick of time.

The Boss listened, his rage simmering beneath the surface. When Dr. Bill finished, the Boss turned to Consigliere, who now knelt, clutching his wounded arm.

“Mercy,” Consigliere begged, his voice trembling. “Please, Boss, I—”

“Mercy?” The Boss’s voice was low and dangerous. “Did you grant mercy to those children? To their families?”

He turned to the soldiers. “Free the children. Cut off his limbs, then behead him. Let him die in agony.”

Consigliere’s screams echoed through the square as his punishment was carried out.

When it was over, the Boss addressed the crowd, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I was misguided. My regret will never undo the harm done here today. But I vow to honor the lives lost.”

To prove his sincerity, he severed four of his fingers. The soldiers followed suit, a gesture of collective penance.

The town was renamed, its new title formed from the names of the lost children.

Dr. Bill distributed the cure the next day. Slowly, life returned to normal.

Ten years later

Annie and Aaron stood in their modest home, their young children playing at their feet. Nearby, Lamb sang a lullaby to the youngest.

The door creaked open, and a tall, confident man entered. A camera hung around his neck.

“Fawn!” Lamb exclaimed, her face lighting up with joy.

Fawn smiled warmly. “I’m back.”

The town, now thriving, stood as a testament to resilience, redemption, and the unyielding hope for a brighter future.

The End