Land Beyond The Hurricane: Rise Of The God Of Death

Chapter 1: The Eminence of Death

By Yama-2, The God of Death

The sun stood high in the sky, its magnificent aura scorching everything below it. Years of extremely high temperatures had rendered the desert landscape uninhabitable and impassable. This is the Skull-Rock desert, one of the most dangerous deserts on the Zonae continent.

Legend tells of an army of eighteen thousand men and horse swallowed by the desert. After three days of intense search, the rescue party found only bones and skulls.

The desert heat was so intense that even vultures feared its confines. Despite its notorious characteristics and grim moniker, the Skull-Rock desert remained a significant route for trade and other expeditions. Compared to the other seven deserts on the Zonae continent, Skull-Rock was the smallest. If one were to cross it on foot, it would take no less than four days.

However, no one in their right mind would dream of crossing this godforsaken desert on foot! "Damn this godforsaken desert," Farsi cursed beneath his breath after he realized that there was no more water in his flask. It was his first time crossing this desert. He had lived his whole life never considering the possibilities of him crossing this godforsaken desert, alone and on foot.

A few years ago, he was one of the princes vying for the throne, unfortunately, prolonged internal struggles depleted the sultanate's resources, leading to widespread starvation.

This, however, was the master plan of a rival country - allow the three brothers to fight and kill each other, weakening the sultanate, and then finally declare war to conquer it. After three years of devastating civil war, the Dragland Sultanate was easily conquered by the Kardashians Empire.

As Farsi looked up, he noticed that the brightly shining sun could no longer be seen; instead, the sky was engulfed in darkness. A smile appeared on his face followed by mad laughter. After three days of traversing this godforsaken desert, finally, a beacon of hope.

Rain began pouring down from the sky. Perhaps God still looked down upon him with pity. His laughter grew louder as the thunder began to rumble. His steps quickened, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

A man who had lived his life as a prince and heir apparent to the throne of one of the greatest empires on the Zonae continent and across the seven seas. A man who had never known what thirst was. A man who would ride bravely into battle, having no fear of death.

A man who struck fear in his enemies' hearts at the mere mention of his name now rejoiced wholeheartedly at barely surviving the scorching heat and unforgiven desert sand. He had managed to flee the Sultanate with about five soldiers who, sadly, had lost their lives to the scorching heat of this godforsaken desert that epitome the gates of Hell.

With each quickening step, his laughter grew louder. The brilliant armor that had once dazzled now lay crushed, its shine extinguished by the relentless assault of desert rocks... His once quickened steps slowed as his laughter also ceased.

His once cheerful demeanor morphed into one of utter shock. It dawned on him then that his destiny was already decided, and no matter how far he fled, his death was imminent

He let out a profound sigh, not of relief but of desolation devoid of hope. It was the sort of exhale that acknowledged defeat. In that moment, he comprehended the nearness of death - a numbness that enveloped him, even as he ignored the agony of his broken foot from the horse's fall. The desert was eerily silent, as if nature itself mourned his impending demise.

He let go, dropping to the ground and letting out a small chuckle which, as time went by, resonated and gradually transformed into mad laughter. He closed his eyes, continuing his mad laughter, for the storm was not far away. "Ha, ha, ha ha ha, …Behold the eminence of Death!"

The mad laughter of a hopeless man echoed through the vast emptiness of a godforsaken desert. It is said that when cowards come face to face with death, they laugh and curse it in its face. Was Farsi a coward? Farsi, a man who had walked with death his whole life, had never feared it.

He was a man who, since he picked up that wooden sword from the Royal Training Ground, no one had ever managed to knock his sword from his hands. Amongst his three brothers, he was the strongest and most feared of them all.

He was the firstborn; due to his mother's death at childbirth, his stepmother decided to take steal from him his birthright. When he was twelve, his stepmother, the Queen, advised his father, the Sultan, to send him to the North - an enemy land - to bargain him as a guarantee of long-lasting peace.

It was there he learned to wield the sword and understand its true powers - the overwhelming decision it had on people's lives, whether to grant pardon or escort them to the gates of death.

The king of that foreign kingdom took a liking to the poor boy and began to treat him like a son.

However, after his father broke the treaty, the monarch in the North adorned Farsi in armor and took him to the battlefield. That was his first battle, and he was forced to fight and kill his countrymen. With each that fell to his blade, he would turn to face the king and find him cheering him on.

The battle ended with his father's elite force arriving on the battlefield and scorching the enemy forces. It was that day, on that battlefield, that he heard the whispers of the God he would come to serve all his life, Death. He stood in the middle of the battlefield, blood dripping from his sword as the king who had brought him to the battlefield lay lifeless on the ground, blood pouring from his neck.

When his father arrived at the site, he got off his horse and stood beside his son. His lips tried to form words but to no avail. He was taken home and celebrated as a conqueror. After all, at fifteen he had killed an enemy king.

In his short-lived life, he had managed to send thousands of people to the doors of death, earning him the nickname, "The Escort." Even before the Kardashian emperor could declare war on the Sultanate, he had fought both and defeated both his brothers. Even when he and his twenty men were surrounded by the emperor's three hundred men, he still managed to fight his way out.

Today, he finally got to face the God to whom he had escorted tens of thousands, and all he could do was fall to his knees and laugh like a madman. It was not fear, he never feared death. He was laughing at the way in which he would be taken from this world: not by the sword of a warrior, nor by the poison of a coward like his stepmother, but by a hurricane