𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒 | ✔️

43| ɪ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴍʏ ʜᴜꜱʙᴀɴᴅ

Pushing himself up on unsteady arms, Sahor's scarred body trembled with effort. His eyes, filled with a fierce determination, gazed into the distance as if he could see her there, waiting for him in the soft light of their home.

"I will come back to you.  No matter the odds, no matter the pain, I will find my way back to you.", he declared. His voice is stronger now like a solemn oath, "I will hold Our Child in my arms, and I will shower you both with the love you deserve."

The guilt that had weighed on his heart began to lift, replaced by a sense of purpose that burned brighter than the scars that marked his body. He would not be defeated. He decided to fight, overcome, and return to the arms of His Pregnant Wife.

Sahor began to practice again, and after some time, when he felt his grip on the iron rod is not loosening, he decided to open the door. He took a deep breath and opened the door by hiding behind it to escape the unexpected attack that might occur against him. When he felt only silence, he peeked through the door and cautiously made his way out.

The air in the dungeon hung heavy with a foul stench that seemed to seep into every crack and crevice. It was a nauseating blend of decay and despair, assaulting the senses like a malevolent force. The smell was an intrusive presence, impossible to ignore, and it seemed to cling to the very walls. However, Sahor is used to it as what has happened to him for the past few months is what he did to many. Maybe worse.

What goes around comes around. But, these consequences are not gonna change A Mafia SottoCapo into A Good Man.

He walked slowly with his bare feet which has the crisscrossed unhealed etches of an iron rod. He did not flinch, determined to leave from here. The split way came, slowly he moved closer to the wall and eyed both sides and quickly moved back. Right side - Five men with Rifles. Left side - Five men with Rifles.

He saw their shadows coming closer as he walked backwards with his view facing front. He can't run showing his back. It ends up as an instant death to him. He hid the iron rod behind and their eyes fell on him and they quickly aimed their Rifles towards them as he smiled, saying, "Hi!"

One of the Men came forward to shoot Sahor and he was ready to do his level best to escape since he is near the door where he was shut for the past few months. The other men said, "No! If he is supposed to die, Chief Moussa would have done that a long time ago. Let's tie him and inform Our Chief." They all nodded which made Sahor smirk inwardly.

The Same men murmured, "Where is Chief Juma?" They all looked at Sahor instantly who smiled at them. They recognized Sahor is wearing Juma's attire. Fear ruled over their senses when they realized what would have happened.

In the heart of the oppressive darkness that shrouded the dungeon, a solitary dim light cast eerie shadows on the cold, damp walls and Sahor. His body was a tapestry of burn scars etched by torment. His eyes glinted with an unwavering determination, his scarred face a testament to the agony he had endured. With a firm grip on the iron rod, he faced a daunting line of ten men, their fingers wrapped tightly around rifles like vipers poised to strike.

The tension hung thick in the air, a palpable silence broken only by the soft drip of water from the ceiling. Sahor's scarred body tensed. He knew the odds were stacked against him, but his spirit burned brighter than the scars that marred his flesh.

With a defiant roar, Sahor surged forward, his iron rod slicing through the darkness. The first rifle shot shattered the silence, the bullet whizzing past Sahor's ear as he evaded it. Even when a bullet scratched his arm, shoulder and his right leg, it did not create a big impact on him. He went through worse than that.