4 Fifth Crow
As I approached the car door, there he was—the coward Joseph, tears streaming down his face, trembling, and clutching a gun that likely originated from his policeman father. "Don't come near me! I'll shoot you!" he threatened, the firearm pointed menacingly in my direction.
His feeble attempt at intimidation only fueled my growing annoyance and anger, triggering memories of our shared childhood. Back then, Joseph wielded an undeserved power, instilling fear in all of us by incessantly boasting about his father's authority and the consequences we'd face if we dared defy him.
The familiarity of the red car triggered recollections of the times he used it as a tool of intimidation, a locus of our shared torment. In that moment, a surge of anger enveloped me, and my gaze darkened as the unresolved grievances from our past converged on the figure of the trembling Joseph, holding a gun he likely never had the courage to use before.
Fueled by an overwhelming surge of anger, my initial impulse was to unleash my blood upon Joseph, a manifestation of my fury. However, a sudden recollection of the tarot card's inscription brought a momentary pause.
"Crows Count: 1 Effect: You can control anyone's brain for three minutes, but you must always carry this card." The words echoed in my mind, presenting an opportunity to test the legitimacy of the mysterious power bestowed upon me.
Contemplating the deserved punishment for the trembling figure before me, I retrieved the card from my pocket, gripping it tightly. Fixing my gaze upon Joseph, I embarked on an experiment to delve into his consciousness, attempting to wield the enigmatic power inscribed on the tarot card and dispel any lingering doubts about its authenticity.
In a matter of seconds, the tarot card in my hand emitted a radiant glow, coinciding with a noticeable shift in Joseph's eyes, now resembling a trance-like state. The synchronicity between the illuminated card and the entranced expression in Joseph's eyes fueled a growing conviction that the card's power was indeed real.
Emboldened by this apparent manifestation of control, I wasted no time and delved into the experiment of manipulating Joseph's thoughts. The tarot card had stipulated a concise window—three minutes—to wield this power. With unwavering determination, I probed into Joseph's consciousness, the weight of my inquiry laden with the gravity of the accusations against him.
"Tell me the truth," I demanded, my voice taking on a commanding tone. "What did you do to your girlfriend? Is it true that you raped and killed her?" The seconds ticked away, and I sought to unravel the mysteries shrouding Joseph's actions and the accusations that had cast a sinister shadow over him.
The unsettling truth spilled from Joseph's smiling lips as he recounted the horrifying details with a perverse sense of satisfaction. "Rape shouldn't have happened if she had only agreed to my wishes. It's my partner's birthday, and I wanted all of us to share that night with her body for just a few hour. But she resisted, and I got angry. I punched her, and she lost consciousness. That's when we raped her, as a group," he disclosed, punctuating the horrifying narrative with a callous laugh.
A searing anger surged within me at the revelation of such heinous actions. Joseph's unabashed admission painted a portrait of a remorseless individual, reveling in the cruelty inflicted upon an innocent victim. The stark reality of his inhumanity fueled my resolve—individuals like him should not be allowed to roam freely in the world, a sentiment born from the sheer depravity of his actions.
With just a minute remaining before my control over Joseph's thoughts would wane, I devised a plan that would not only expose his vile deeds but also ensure a public reckoning for his actions.
Commanding him to unlock his phone, I directed Joseph to go live on social media and confess to the sins he had callously admitted to me. As he shared his monstrous acts with the world, acknowledging his role in the merciless rape of his girlfriend alongside his friends, a sense of justice began to take shape.
Before relinquishing control, I delivered a powerful punch to Joseph's face, simultaneously allowing my blood to stain him. Exiting the car, I left him to grapple with the consequences of his actions, writhing in agony until the inevitable suffocation ensued—a fitting end for a man who had shown no mercy to his victim.
As I sat on the floor, a profound exhaustion settled over me, a stark reminder of the toll exacted by my actions. Despite the swift healing of my wounds, the drain on my body from the loss of blood left me feeling weak.
"I need to take more medicines to increase blood," I mused aloud, contemplating the necessity of replenishing what had been expended in my pursuit of justice. Surrounded by the lifeless forms of those I had deemed deserving of their fate, a resolve crystallized within me.
In the quiet aftermath, I articulated my determination to be a catalyst for change, to challenge the unjust laws that shielded the wicked. If no one else would stand against the prevailing inequities, then I would be the harbinger of transformation, ensuring that those who exploited the flawed legal system would no longer reign with impunity. The world was about to witness the emergence of a force seeking to rectify the very fabric of its flawed existence.
As I lingered in the shadowy aftermath, a transformative event unfolded. Crows emerged, one by one, from the lifeless bodies scattered on the floor. They congregated, dark silhouettes gathering until they coalesced into a unified shadow. A resonating echo emanated from the tarot card in my grasp, its image evolving once more.
Now adorned with five crows, mirroring the number of bodies sprawled on the ground, the card radiated with an intensified aura. The details inscribed on its back underwent a subtle yet significant alteration, revealing an additional effect.
"Crows Count: 1
Effect: You can control anyone's brain for three minutes, but you must always carry this card.
Crows Count: 5
Effect: You can take over someone's body for a limit of 1 minute, but you must always carry this card."
A newfound power had emerged, a macabre escalation that bestowed upon me the ability to not only influence minds but also temporarily commandeer the very bodies of others. The tarot card, now imprinted with the consequences of its sinister count, bore witness to the unfolding metamorphosis of my abilities
Alarmed by the approaching sounds, I swiftly navigated toward the cover of darkness, eschewing any plans to stealthily enter my apartment. The risk of suspicion loomed, and a quick escape took precedence.
With no backward glances, I hastened my pace. Fortuitously, my rapid healing ensured the absence of visible scars, allowing me to blend inconspicuously into the night. Spotting a motel on my path, I decided it offered a brief respite, a haven where I could spend the night without drawing undue attention.
Inside the motel, the atmosphere teemed with couples, their presence registering as mere background noise. Approaching the counter, I paid for a room. The receptionist inquired about accompanying guests, to which I casually replied that I intended to rest alone.
After completing the necessary formalities, I retreated to the room. A thorough rinse ensured the eradication of any lingering evidence, a meticulous effort to leave no trace behind. The solitude of the motel room offered a temporary sanctuary, shielding me from the repercussions of the night's events.
As I reclined on the bed and flicked on the TV in the motel room, I found myself unwittingly confronted with adult content suggested by the establishment's programming. Reacting swiftly, I shut off the TV, recognizing the environment for what it was—a motel with its idiosyncrasies.
Resignedly sighing, I retrieved my phone from my jacket and turned to social media for distraction. However, what awaited me on the digital landscape was nothing short of a shock. My feed overflowed with Joseph Trilan's confession, a damning admission of his heinous acts—rape and murder—broadcast for the world to witness.
Comments proliferated, a collective outcry of anger and condemnation echoing through the virtual realm. The revelation had stirred a visceral response from those who had borne witness to the graphic confession, leaving an indelible mark on the digital tapestry of societal outrage.
A sinister chuckle escaped my lips, accompanied by a malevolent smile that seemed to herald the dawn of a world in transformation. The tarot card clutched in my hand now held the potential to unravel the fabric of power and privilege, a tool with which I could force the bastard rich people to confess their sins and mete out punishment.
"The Fool," I mused, a smirk playing on my lips. The irony of the card's name was not lost on me; a self-proclaimed fool ready to orchestrate a paradigm shift. The world, I believed, would be astonished to witness the orchestrated machinations of this seemingly inconspicuous fool, poised to redefine the very foundations of societal order.
