Hearing the God's command, the man began to run—barely holding himself together—but he didn't dare stop. Because what awaited him if he did... wasn't just death. It was the kind that didn't end clean—and that terrified him most.
The man's first step landed with a sloppy smack, like wet meat hitting the solid ground. Fire shot up through his thigh muscles, every tendon screaming in betrayal. His skin prickled as blood rushed past his healing wounds, and the air scratched his throat like broken glass.
Sweat blurred his vision, and yet he ran—because the cold presence behind him wasn't just watching.
It was judging.
Judging his death.
Thud...
Only after taking ten steps,
His foot rotated due to the weight of his body. He staggered, almost dropped—but forced himself forward with a wheezing gasp.
Slap, slap, slap. His bare feet smacked against the dirt like desperate applause begging for survival.
THUD!
He couldn't even complete the first lap.
