Prologue

Tick tock!

Tick tock!

Tick tock!

The sound of the wall clock could be loudly heard in the dark room illuminated with neon lights. A man tied to a chair with his mouth taped, shivered in fear—he felt rather than heard the heavy footsteps of the man approaching, signifying danger.

His teeth clattered, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. Two men dressed in black with matching color of hats stood beside him, gun in their hands.

The man swallowed the painful lump in his throat; he had heard rumours but he refused to believe them. He made the mistake of taking up the task everyone rejected and went into the dangerous territories of Narlands. 

The rumours were indeed true, the Death lord crept steadily, the silence was deafening. When his face came into view, the man's eyeballs widened in trepidation and at the same time,  astonishment.

Awed by the fact that the Death lord wasn't as expected— an ugly old man with a scarred face. What he beheld was handsome man, a Greek god, some would say. Trembling in fear that he had come to meet his end just like the rest trespassers of Narlands territories.

A smirk formed on the Death lords' full lip set in a grim line. The man's head throbbed, one never lived to tell the story. And even if they did, a part of their body would be dismembered as evidence.

"It is you who have the guts to trespass," The Death lord voice was low but at the same time, it was like the sound of lightening flashing in a dark sky.

The Death lord leaned closer, roughly removing the tape from his mouth. The man was shaking like a leaf, his palms were sweaty, the sound of his harsh breathing echoing in his eardrum.

He was beyond mortified, never had he been easily frightened.

"Who are you?" The Death lord asked. One could tell from the way he spoke, he had little patience for speech.

"I will give you three seconds and once they elapse," The Death lord stared deep into his dark brown eyes before he continued his statement, "Boom! Into your brain," he deadpanned.

With a raspy voice, the man began to spill, voicing out his mission. The Death lord chuckled, "A type like you isn't worthy to be a secret agent, you can't keep secrets, I expected you to be tougher than this and die without uttering a word; I guess you are useless after all," The Death lord lamented.

"I will spare you because I want you to live and tell your story," he said. The two hefty  bodyguards, forcefully placed both of the man's palm on the desk, in front of the Death lord.

"I should keep your mouth sealed so you'd know how to keep a secret but you need that to tell your experience. I'll cut off your hands instead, so you won't be able to use them anymore."

In a flash, the Death lord sliced off his wrist with his special pocket knife. The man screamed out in agony, tears filling his eyes.