Chapter 114: The Lord of Peace

Chapter 114: Chapter 114: The Lord of Peace

POV Switch: Brick Head

Brick Head walked, his footsteps carrying him forward without purpose or direction.

He didn’t know where he was going, his destination unknown. He didn’t know what he was doing, his actions aimless. He didn’t know anything, his mind a blank slate.

He just walked, his feet carrying him forward.

His footsteps were slow, the pace leisurely. His posture was slouched, the stance relaxed. His expression was blank, the features empty. He looked like a man who had no purpose, his existence aimless. No direction, his path undefined. No goal, his journey endless.

He walked through the streets of Silverbrook, his steps carrying him through the city. Past the stalls, the wooden structures laden with goods. Past the crowds, the people moving with purpose. Past the buildings, the structures tall and imposing.

He hummed a tune, the melody off-key and tuneless. He picked his nose, his finger buried in his nostril. He looked around, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

Then he saw it.

A fountain, the structure rising before him.

It was large, the size impressive. It was beautiful, the design elegant. It was made of white stone, the material smooth and clean. Water sprayed from the top, the liquid arcing through the air. It sparkled in the sunlight, the droplets catching the light and throwing it back in a thousand tiny reflections.

And in the middle of the fountain, there was a statue.

It was a statue of a man, the figure tall and imposing. He was tall, his height impressive. He was robed, the fabric flowing and elegant. He had a kind face, the features gentle and warm. His arms were outstretched, the gesture welcoming. He looked like he was welcoming someone, his posture open. Or blessing someone, his expression serene. Or something, his purpose unclear.

People were gathered around the fountain, their forms still and reverent. They were kneeling, their bodies low. They were praying, their voices soft. They were bowing, their heads lowered.

Brick Head stopped, his footsteps coming to a halt. He looked at the statue, his eyes studying the figure.

He tilted his head, his expression curious. He squinted, his eyes narrowing. He stared, his gaze fixed.

Then he laughed.

"Hehehe," he said, his voice loud and clear. "That guy’s head is shaped like a dick. What a loser."

The people heard him, their heads turning.

They stopped praying, their voices falling silent. They stopped bowing, their bodies straightening. They stopped everything, their attention fixed on him.

They turned, their bodies spinning. They looked at him, their eyes meeting his. Their eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. Their faces were shocked, the expressions frozen.

A woman stepped forward, her form emerging from the crowd. She was old, her age evident in the lines on her face. She was angry, her expression fierce. She was offended, her features twisted with outrage.

"How dare you!" she shouted, her voice high and sharp. "How dare you say that in front of the Lord of Peace!"

Brick Head looked at her, his head tilting.

"Lord of Peace?" he said, his voice confused. "That dick head is a god?"

The woman gasped, her breath catching. The crowd gasped, their voices rising. Everyone gasped, their expressions shocked.

"He is not a dick head!" the woman shouted, her voice desperate. "He is the Lord of Peace! He is our protector! He is our savior!"

Brick Head looked at the statue, his eyes studying the figure. At its head, the shape distinct. At its form, the structure clear.

"He looks weak," he said, his voice dismissive. "Compared to the demon I was with."

The crowd went silent, their voices falling still.

The woman stared at him, her mouth open. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated.

"Demon?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You were with a demon?"

"Yeah," Brick Head said, his voice casual. "He was scary. Very scary. He killed someone with a look."

The crowd stared at him, their faces pale. Their eyes were wide, the pupils dilated.

"You... you were with a demon?" the woman repeated, her voice trembling.

"Yeah. He was going to destroy the world. Or something. I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention."

The crowd’s faces turned from pale to red, the color flooding their cheeks.

They were angry, their expressions fierce. They were furious, their features twisted. They were outraged, their voices rising.

"Blasphemy!" someone shouted, their voice high.

"Heresy!" another shouted, their voice sharp.

"He is a demon worshipper!"

"He must be punished!"

"He must be executed!"

The crowd surged forward, their bodies moving as one. They grabbed makeshift weapons, their hands reaching for anything within reach. Sticks, the wood rough and heavy. Stones, the rocks hard and sharp. Tools, the metal cold and deadly. Anything they could find, their hands closing around the objects.

Brick Head blinked, his expression confused. He looked at the crowd, his eyes moving over their forms. At their angry faces, the expressions fierce. At their raised weapons, the objects threatening.

"Uh oh," he said, his voice small.

The crowd attacked, their bodies surging forward.

---

Brick Head ran, his feet pounding against the cobblestone.

He ran through the streets, his steps frantic. Past the stalls, the wooden structures blurring. Past the crowds, the people scattering. Past the buildings, the structures passing in a blur.

The mob chased him, their footsteps echoing behind him.

They were angry, their expressions fierce. They were furious, their voices loud. They were relentless, their pace unyielding.

They threw stones, the rocks flying through the air. They threw sticks, the wood spinning. They threw anything they could find, their hands reaching for objects.

Brick Head dodged, his body twisting. He weaved, his form moving side to side. He twisted, his body spinning. He moved, his feet carrying him forward.

But he was not fast, his speed average. He was not skilled, his movements clumsy. He was not lucky, his path uncertain.

A stone hit his shoulder, the impact sharp. He stumbled, his balance wavering. Another hit his back, the impact heavy. He fell, his body hitting the ground.

He scrambled to his feet, his hands pushing against the stone. He kept running, his legs pumping.

"This is why I should have picked the villain book!" he shouted, his voice desperate.

He ran past a bakery, the smell of bread filling the air. The baker threw a loaf of bread at him, the loaf spinning through the air. It hit his head, the impact soft.

"Ow!" he shouted, his voice pained. "That was a good loaf too!"

He ran past a blacksmith, the sound of hammering filling the air. The blacksmith threw a hammer at him, the metal spinning. It missed, the hammer flying past. It hit a wall, the stone crumbling.

"Too slow!" Brick Head shouted, his voice triumphant.

He ran past a group of children, their forms small and quick. The children threw rocks at him, the stones flying. They hit his legs, the impact sharp. He stumbled, his balance wavering.

"Not the children too!" he shouted, his voice desperate.

He kept running, his body bruised. His face was bleeding, the blood dripping. His legs were aching, the muscles burning.

But he kept running, his feet carrying him forward.

The mob was still chasing him, their footsteps echoing. They were still angry, their expressions fierce. They were still relentless, their pace unyielding.

"Get him!" they shouted, their voices loud. "Get the demon worshipper!"

"Bring him to the church!"

"Execute him!"

Brick Head ran faster, his legs pumping.

He turned a corner, his body spinning. He ran down an alley, the walls closing in. He jumped over a fence, his body soaring. He climbed a wall, his hands gripping the stone.

The mob followed, their footsteps echoing.

They were not as fast as him, their pace slower. They were not as agile as him, their movements clumsy. But they were many, their numbers vast. They were everywhere, their forms filling the streets.

Brick Head ran through a market, the stalls lining the path. He knocked over a stall, the wood splintering. Apples flew everywhere, the fruit scattering. The vendor screamed, their voice high.

"Sorry!" Brick Head shouted, his voice apologetic.

He ran through a plaza, the open space wide. He knocked over a statue, the stone crumbling. It crumbled, the pieces scattering. The crowd screamed, their voices loud.

"Sorry!" Brick Head shouted again, his voice desperate.

He ran through a street, the path narrow. He knocked over a cart, the wood tipping. It tipped, the wheels spinning. The horse neighed, the sound loud. The driver screamed, their voice high.

"Sorry!" Brick Head shouted for the third time, his voice frantic.

He kept running, his body aching. His lungs were burning, the air sharp. His vision was blurring, the world spinning.

But he kept running, his feet carrying him forward.

Because if he stopped, he would be caught, his freedom lost. And if he was caught, he would be executed, his life forfeit.

He didn’t want to be executed, his survival instinct strong.

He wanted to live, his desire fierce.

He wanted to see another day, his hope enduring.

He wanted to eat another meal, his hunger constant.

He wanted to ask another woman for her panties, his dream persistent.

He kept running, his feet carrying him forward.

The mob was still behind him, their footsteps echoing. They were still chasing, their pace unyielding. They were still angry, their expressions fierce.

"This is why I should have picked the villain book for dummies!" Brick Head shouted, his voice desperate.