Shortness of breath

When the terrible news reached the city, Mackintosh was sitting in the attic of his tenement building, looking through old photographs. He was 24 years old and had just returned from a five-year expedition intended to prove his maturity. His homemade obsidian revolver hung loosely at his belt, but, alerted by the perilous journey, he sensed the enchanted obsidian weapon beginning to pulse and turn red. This could only mean one thing—trouble.

He lazily rose from the dusty floor and shuffled to the ladder in the narrow attic entrance. No sooner had he reached the ground floor than he heard the insistent ringing of the doorbell. Through the gray glass, he could see a large crowd waiting outside.

"Who's there?" he asked

. "Please open the door, Mr. Mackintosh, we have some rather unpleasant news for you," the deep-voiced man replied. "

Who could be bothering him at this hour?" It was probably the mayor and his entourage; they'd been there four times since he returned from his trip. I wonder what they want this time... He opened the door, and a scene of misery and despair met his eyes. Five men dressed in torn rags, their faces battered, dripping blood, and their wrists bearing the marks of recently removed chains. Before the unfortunates stood the mayor, a plump, bearded elderly man dressed in a baroque tailcoat.

"Mr. Mackintosh, this time the matter is serious," the mayor began. "Perhaps we should go inside."

Mackintosh gestured for the guests and led them to a guest room.

Dusk had fallen in the town; by this time, everyone was home. However, in the very center, right next to the statue of the city's founder, Heinrich von Gothenburg, stood three men. One held a small lamp emitting a dim light, the others staring intently at something.

"So, Mr. Mayor," Mackintosh said, "you're saying that out of the blue, those five massacred men emerged from that hole?"

The mayor, without taking his eyes off the black hole in the ground, nodded.

"That's why we're counting on your help, young man. As you know, legends of the five living corpses of doom are among those that inspire the greatest fear in the locals, but these men are quite likable and don't give the impression of bloodthirsty monsters." "

I understand, I'll take care of it as soon as possible; tomorrow at dawn, our problem will disappear as quickly as it appeared."

Mackintosh returned to his tenement building, went down to the basement, and opened an old leather bag full of magical fluids.

Time to get to work, he thought.

That same night, shrouded in a dark cloak, he slipped into the hut of the "men from the land." He quietly entered. Seeing them asleep, he poured the contents of a vial hidden in his sleeve into the kerosene lighting the lamp. He then quickly returned home.

At dawn, he was awakened by the screams of slaughtered children, raped women, and dismembered men, and the stench of burning and rotting flesh. The time had come.

He ran outside and headed for the hole in the ground from which the butchers had emerged. Panic gripped the town; everything was proceeding according to plan.

"Was nagra tan pen bien

con mit dzegras!"

He shouted at the top of his lungs, a formula he had learned years ago, scattering silver dust around him. All noise fell silent. From the bar, brothel, hotel, shop, and school, five nightmarish figures crawled out, the same men who had emerged from the earth, the men whom Mackintosh had first helped become, and now he was about to destroy. Their bodies were pitch black, and from their rough skin hung pieces of murdered flesh. The monsters approached Mackintosh but stopped at a circle of silver dust. The moment had arrived.

"Was negra tan pen bien

con mit dzegras

aquebrennund da barga

wel mi heksa..."

He began to recite flawlessly, drawing his obsidian revolver, with six silver bullets. He felt it pulsate in his hand, its intense red almost blinding.

"...ni dis jejn

mis merkant da naga

tu etrnl infrn."

Screaming the last two words, he hit the first demon in the head, immediately followed by the second. A moment later, all the monsters lay dead in the shreds of their brains and viscera.

"...and the sixth bullet for you,

so that you may fulfill your destiny."

He heard the master's words in his head, put the gun in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. Darkness.

Suddenly, the world exploded in a riot of color. He felt himself floating in the air, naked, streams of feathers shooting from his back, forming beautiful wings.

The end. Perhaps to be continued.