You kneel amidst the ruins of the City of Bhuddha, your hands trembling as you sift through the ashes of what was once your home. The air is thick with smoke, the heat of the fire still clinging to the ground beneath you. The sacred temples, the homes where you shared laughter and prayer, and the streets you once walked with peace now lie in ruin, swallowed by flame. You close your eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of it all everything you had come to call home, reduced to nothing.
Your fingers close around the charred remains of something once familiar. The pieces slip through your grasp like sand, as though the past itself is slipping away from you, leaving you nothing but the stinging emptiness of loss. The anger, the grief it boils inside you, swirling into something darker. Vengeance.
You never wanted this.
You remember arriving here, years ago, a stranger to Bhuddha a man with a past he couldn't escape. But they welcomed you. The people, with their endless generosity, shared their meals and prayers with you. They never asked about your past. They didn't question who you were or where you came from. They didn't even notice the scars that you thought defined you. You shed your old self, letting the teachings of peace and compassion wash over you. You embraced it fully. You thought you could forget everything else, could leave your hatred behind.
But now, in the wake of all this destruction, that past has returned.
You rise, standing tall amidst the chaos. The fire still rages around you, yet it's nothing compared to the fury burning inside you. You scream into the sky, your voice raw with a pain that won't let go.
"Why?!Why forsake me again?! Wasn't once enough?!"
You don't know who you're screaming to, but the words escape you, a cry for the justice you never thought you'd need to seek again. The fire dances around you, but you don't flinch. You turn toward the weapon that lies just ahead, buried beneath the remnants of your home, the weapon you swore you would never touch again.
A weapon forged for vengeance.
A weapon you've kept hidden, buried deep in the past. It's the only thing you've ever known. The only thing that never left you, even when you tried to leave it behind.
You've walked this road before. You know the cost of vengeance. The emptiness it brings, the destruction it leaves in its wake. Most who follow this path are consumed by it, becoming hollow, broken shells of the people they once were. And yet… here you are, ready to walk it again.
You pick up the weapon, the weight of it familiar and cold. It feels like the only thing in the world that makes sense right now. You march forward, your mind set on one singular goal.
You are a man who lost everything, and now, you will reclaim it, piece by piece. You know it won't bring peace. It won't fill the void inside you. But you have no other choice.
The rumors start to spread as you make your way through the land. They call you the "Raging Black Bull," a name whispered by those who fear you, who have seen the devastation you leave in your wake. It doesn't matter to you what they call you. What matters is what you do.
You're not a man who follows the rules anymore. You're not a man who will sit idly by. You are a man who will tear down everything in his path if it means reaching the one who sits on the throne the one who will answer for this.
And so you press on, with nothing left but rage and the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, when this is over, you will finally find the peace you thought Bhuddha could have given you.
But you know that peace is not a gift easily earned.
It's something you must take.
And you will take it. No matter the cost.