The Wretched Path

By Nasiruddin Hamid

A night wrapped in misery and melancholic void in deep black sky which was stretched to the infinitive depth. Night was so gloomy and full of despair. The city of London was a distant memory as Thomas Ashford trudged through the darkness, his feet numb from the cold, his heart ache from the life he was living ever. The weight of his failures on his broad chest felt unbearable; his family’s anger and hate, his boss’s cruelty, the endless mocking of society and especially his Failure and Success of his friends and family members —it all piled up, suffocating him. His life had become a shadow, a blur of pain, and he longed for one thing: escape but he knew that ultimately only death would be provide the escape he waited and longed for. 

With each step, his heart burned, and his thoughts grew darker, consumed by the desperate urge to end all the misery he had been going through. He looked up to the sky, the sky was like a black horrible sea, no stars to guide him, no moon to comfort him. The wind howled through the desolate hills, carrying his broken thoughts to the heavens, but none answered. His family had abandoned him, his friends had abandoned him and the whole world had abandoned him. For him, the world was no longer a place to be. So he had decided not to stay anymore and to give his fate another try.

He reached Windermere Hill, a dark, lonely and isolated place high above the city. Here, he could end it all. No one would miss him. No one would even care. He dropped to his knees, the gun heavy in his hands, trembling as he raised it to his temple.

"Oh God! I don’t wanna die like a rat but I’m nothing" he screamed, His voice must have reached the sky, but there was no one on earth to hear it. "I’ve failed at everything... failed everyone, I am such a loser. No one will mourn me... No one will care."  With one final breath, he closed his eyes, ready to pull the trigger. The world around him seemed to vanish as his finger moved closer to the cold metal of death.

Then a calm voice, deep and dark, cut through the silence.

“Is this the end you had always desired, Tom?”

Thomas froze like a hare in the search light of hunter, His heart felt like it was about to leap out of his mouth. His eyes wide open, and in the darkness stood a figure—tall, dressed in a long black coat that billowed in the wind. His face was hidden in shadow, but his eyes... they were burning— eyes that looked into a man's and penetrated straight through to his soul.

"Who... who are you?" Thomas stammered with formidable fear, his breath and hands were shaky, but gun still in his hand.

The figure stepped forward, his presence sent a chill through Thomas’ spine. The wind seemed to calm as the man spoke, his voice like a deep rumble of thunder.

“I am Xypharoth,” the man said calmly with superiority, his smile cold and sharp. “I am the one who offers you a choice—the kind of choice no man in your position could ever dream of. I see the weight on your shoulders, Tom. The failure, the shame, the humiliation, the desire to be rich and successful…. But here you are—a broken mortal, pleading for death. Yet even death, it seems, has been unfaithful to you. It won’t come by its own will, so now you're here to pull the trigger and evaporate in the mist of darkness. You want to die because you feel there is no way out. But I can offer you something far greater than death.”

Thomas swallowed his throat dry. His thoughts raced, and for a moment, he almost thought he was imagining this strange man. But the fire in the man’s eyes—those unearthly eyes—told him this was no hallucination.

“What do you want from me?” Thomas asked, his voice trembling, but something inside him stirred—curiosity, fear, desperation, all mixed together.

Xypharoth smiled, and it wasn’t a smile of warmth, but one of power. It was a smile that made Thomas feel small, insignificant.

“I offer you power, Thomas, power to capture your dreams, power to defeat your enemies, power to win your love ” Xypharoth said, his voice smooth, almost hypnotic. “The power to make anyone do your bidding. The power to turn your enemies into nothing, to bend the world to your will. I can give you the strength to take everything you’ve ever wanted—riches, respect, love, and the satisfaction of seeing those who have scorned you fall at your feet at begging for mercy, utterly destroyed.”

 Thomas took a shaky breath. Was this real? Could this be true? He had nothing left, no future, no family, no purpose. His only option was death. But this... this sounded too good to be true. What was the catch?

“What... what do you want in return?” Thomas asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Xypharoth's smile widened. “I want your soul and I want you to obey me and be my servant, for deep down, you are raising a devil within yourself, and I want that devil to be victorious.” he said simply. “Once you have tasted the power I offer, there is no turning back. But for now, you will be given what you need to make your life... exactly as you want it.”

Thomas’s breath caught in his throat. The very idea seemed absurd, but then he thought; hadn’t his soul already been lost? Wasn't his life already a dark void?

"You want me to sell my soul and be your servant?" Thomas spat, his voice rising with a sudden anger. "To you ? for what ? Power over people? to control them, to hurt them or even kill them? No. I’m not a monster. But yes I want to become one"

Xypharoth’s eyes darkened, and his tone became more intense and stronger, more powerful. “You’re already a monster, Tom. You just didn’t know it.”

Thomas stood there, the gun still trembling in his hand. He looked at the Dark figure. The wind howled again, but this time, it felt different—it felt like the thunderous rumble from the chest of a broken man, the very essence of a demon's birth.

A freakish diabolical smile appeared on the lips of Thomas as he bowed to his new master. 

He looked at the gun in his hand, then replaced in his pocket and said:

“The world and the unforgiving people made me a monster…and now it’s their turn to taste the wrath of this monster. I will not spare anyone and the mercy will be shown to none”.  

Xypharoth stepped forward, his eyes burning brighter now. “Make them suffer, or make them obey or make them die.”

With a final, entitled breath, Thomas spoke.

“I will make their lives living hell.”

Xypharoth’s smile was satisfied, almost triumphant then he looked at the heavens and said:

“My Lord, see, I have fulfilled my promise. I told you I would corrupt your servants, and they would obey me until the end of this world. Yet you said your servants would thrive. No, my Lord, I am triumphant, and I always will be. Mortal men have no chance to stand against the Xypharoth.”

Then he turned to Thomas and said: Now, let us give you my power."

The First Victim

Thomas’s life took a strange turn. The power Xypharoth gave him was not like any power he had ever dreamed of. It wasn’t physical strength or wealth. It was control over others—his ability to manipulate their thoughts, their desires, and most terrifyingly, their actions. He no longer needed weapons. He simply needed to look in the eyes and control them from his mind, and the world would bend to his will.

The first person he used this power on was his best friend, Edward Finch. Edward had always been the one to mock him, to remind him of his failures. But now, Thomas was no longer a loser. He ordered Edward, and the man, without hesitation, jumped from the top of his mansion—his wealthy mansion—ending his life in an instant.

It was a shock. A rush. Thomas watched from a distance as the chaos erupted around him. It felt good, too good.

One by one, he manipulated others—his cousin the doctor who had once called him weak and heartless man, the neighbour who flaunted his wealth and success, his Chief who had treated him like a dog. Each of them died without a single sword. By the time Thomas had claimed 18 victims, he realised he wasn’t just powerful—he was unstoppable.

The Change

As the years passed, Thomas became a man of great influence. With his power, he manipulated the wealthy rich people to hand over their fortunes, not through force, but through words. He had money, success, and respect and love of many women—but he wasn’t happy.

One night, as he sat in the comfort of his mansion, looking at the sky, he felt empty. He had become someone unrecognisable. His power had consumed him, cursed him and made him worse than he thought.

But then, a thought crossed his mind. He was so powerful, so wealthy, that he could change. He could give back. For once, he could make up for the pain he had caused.

So, he began using his power to help. He built schools, hospitals for the poor, and homes for orphans. The world saw him as a man of generosity, but only he knew the truth: this was his atonement.

He wasn’t a man of mercy. He was a man of power who chose to help because he could. The price of his soul had already been paid.

Then came Xypharoth, filled with extreme rage and anger. He took Thomas to the same mountain where he had first introduced him to that power.

He said calmly with diabolical smirk on his face,“You broke my heart, dear Tom. You broke the agreement between us. It was alright till you used my power to destroy your enemies and they were well deserved. But since you have been using it to serve your enemies, you are condemned. Now I will punish you for being pious. So get ready to face my wrath.”

Thomas replied; “Yes, you are right. I deserve to be punished, deserve to be tormented and killed—not for what I am now, but for having chosen you as my master. The road you showed me that day was doomed from the beginning. I thank you for saving my life, but I curse you for destroying it by giving me that power.”

With that, Thomas attacked Xypharoth with the rage of a lion. But Xypharoth struck first—he appeared like a flash and speared and punctured the heart of Thomas with a brutal attack from his long, fire-coughing sword. Thomas gasped, blood pouring from his chest, and in that moment of agony, he found himself falling helplessly into the depths of a dark chasm.

Xypharoth said, looking at the sky:  "My lord, thou hast won, but I shall strive again until the world's end."

By Nasiruddin Hamid