In an old, ancient castle, silence ruled.
A grand hall stretched out like a forgotten dream, cloaked in darkness so thick it swallowed the faint light that managed to seep through the cracked stained-glass windows. Stone walls, etched with time and sorrow, were lined with towering statues—warriors immortalized in cold marble, their chiseled faces locked in eternal pride. They were legends of another age, frozen mid-battle, mid-victory.
But in the center of the hall, on a throne blacker than night itself—a throne that seemed to drink in all light—sat a man.
His long silver hair cascaded over his shoulders like liquid moonlight, matted slightly with sweat and blood. His eyes, darker than obsidian, gazed into nothingness. There was no fury in them.
No regret. Only emptiness.
From his abdomen, a sword protruded—a brutal weapon forged in hatred, humming with his blood.
Drip. Drip.
Blood poured from the wound, crimson streaks running down the ornate steps of the throne, pooling on the marble floor.
Krrrk.
A soft shuffle broke the silence. Kneeling at his feet, covered in his blood, was a woman—a middle-aged woman with the same silver hair, tangled and wild. Her eyes, bloodshot and wide, shimmered with fury and anguish. Her hands shook. Her mouth trembled.
He looked down, and his lips moved, barely a breath.
"Mother."
Her breath hitched.
"Don't you dare call me that!" she spat, her voice shrill and breaking.
"I am not your mother. You... MONSTER!"
Her words echoed through the hall, bouncing off stone and silence. But he remained unmoved. Unshaken.
Drip... Drip...,
Blood continued to trickle down his body, yet he sat still, as if pain no longer held meaning.
He had feared death all his life, clawed his way through agony and chaos just to survive. And now, after everything, he welcomed it. No, he desired it.
But this... this feeling gnawing at his chest—what was it?
He looked at the blade protruding from his gut, but there was no pain. He had long forgotten the sensation.
He had already died long ago. The body merely lingered.
A lifeless life—one sustained only by hatred, revenge, and bloodshed. Looking at her, his lips curled into a faint, eerie smile. In his mind, he murmured:
'I took my revenge. I killed them all.'
Everyone who wronged him—dead.
Everyone who stood in his way—erased.
Everyone... except her.
The one who raised him.
His mother.
"Why?" she screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of her sorrow. "Why did you kill them? They were your family!"
Her hands curled into fists. Blood and tears smeared her face.
"He was your father! You took everything from him, his kingdom, his throne—his very name! Was that not enough? Why... why did you kill him too?!"
She broke down, collapsing against the steps of the throne. Her rage was fading, giving way to a despair so deep it hollowed her out.
But the man—her son—remained quiet.
looking at her he felt nothing, his heart was calm
He could see it now—behind her grief. Hatred. Fear. And something else.
Revenge.
He didn't kill her not because he still loved her or cared for her.
No.
Killing her would be mercy.
He had ensured she lived long enough to suffer.
He had prepare something for her... Something far worse then death...
Her biggest fear was death—it was living.
She, who once dreamed of immortality, who longed for eternal happiness with her loved ones. A fantasy she fed him as a child.
And now... Heh...
'I wonder' he thought coldly, 'will she kill herself when she sees the gift I've prepared for her? Or will she cling to life, rotting in her own misery?'
He chuckled weakly. Blood bubbled at his lips.
'it's truly a pity i wont be able to see it'
Still, he wanted to see her break. One last time.
His black eyes locked with hers. His expression softened—not with pity, but mockery. His hand moved slowly, leaving a smear of blood across his own chest before reaching out.
She flinched, instinctively shrinking back.
But he only placed his bloodied hand on her head.
Gently.
Tenderly.
Like a parent comforting a crying child.
She froze.
And then, his voice—a soft whisper—brushed her ear:
"I killed them? No, Mother... It was you."
"...!"
Like a gust of wind, his words tore through her mind.
Her eyes widened.
"They died because of the sin you committed."
Warmth dripped from his voice, but the words were knives.
She trembled. Her lips parted, but no words came. A strangled whimper escaped her throat. Her hands clawed at her scalp. Tears spilled over again.
If only... if only she could go back.
If she hadn't betrayed him... would her child still be alive?
Would her husband still breathe?
Her gaze slowly rose, meeting the cold abyss of her son's eyes.
He smiled.
She choked. "They didn't deserve this... Not them... They loved you. Trusted you. If you hated me that much, you should've just killed me!"
He tilted his head slightly, thoughtful.
And then, that same twisted grin returned.
"But that would've been no fun."
Drip.
His blood landed on her cheek.
Drip. Drip.
Each drop a toll of madness.
She snapped.
As if the last thread that was keeping her sane just broke...
"Ha… hahah… i see, it's all a game to you, isn't it?" she whispered, voice cracking. "Since the beginning… human lives, the life of your father, the lives of the countless people you've slaughtered… all just fun, isn't it?"
He smiled wider.
But then, her eyes gleamed with sudden venom.
"Then tell me, my son... did you also enjoy killing her?"
His smile faltered, but only for a moment.
"What was the last thing she said? I heard... you slaughtered her entire kingdom."
He exhaled.
"Well, I can't say I didn't enjoy it."
She cackled. "Hahahaha! What a demon I raised!"
Drip
His Blood hit her face.
She glared at him. her eye becoming hollow just like him as if she was losing the last shred of sanity.
it was then he hear it again his voice
"But you know what I enjoyed more? Killing your son."
"..."
The silence cracked like thunder.
She leaned closer, whispering, "Poor thing... begging me not to..."
His eyes narrowed, but only slightly.
She sneered. "Did you say you enjoyed it?"
His response came slow, his smile truning menacing
"I did."
His voice was calm.
"It was kinda funny."
Ah—
She screamed.
SHHHHHINK!
She grabbed the sword and yanked it out. Blood sprayed like a fountain.
He didn't flinch.
CHHK!
She plunged it back in. Harder.
Still, no reaction.
Just blood. Gushing. Coating her.
His eyes half-closed.
His lips parted.
"That's.... Cough!!"
He cough mouthful of blood unable to speak
She shrieked, stabbing again.
And again.
SHNK!CRKK!SPLRT!
The woman spoke again, "You think death will free you?" she cackled, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "No! Even in death, you will suffer! A cursed child like you will not find a place even in hell!"
In a sudden rage, she pulled the sword from his stomach and plunged it back in. Pain exploded through him like fire igniting dry grass.
He leaned forward, blood spilling from his mouth, meeting her fierce glare with a steely resolve.
Then, his eyes slowly closed. As darkness swallowed the grand hall and his consciousness started fading, he could feel the weight of the throne beneath him, a reminder of power and its terrible price.
In those last moments, memories of his life flickered like fleeting flames—laughter that once filled these halls, the warmth of familial love now extinguished.
From the floor, the woman continued to scream, her voice a haunting wail piercing the silence.
"Die! Die, just die already!" Tears streamed from her eyes.
As life drained from him, a strange calm settled over the hall.
The statues of ancient heroes seemed to loom closer, their stone faces casting judgment on the fallen king.
The air grew thick with an otherworldly presence, as if the spirits of the past had come to witness this final act of a tragic saga.
Tik—
Suddenly, time itself came to a halt.
The river of blood froze midstream. Birds in flight hung motionless in the air, wings suspended in the stillness. Even the dust drifting through the throne room halted, suspended like stars in a dark sky.
From the shadows, a small figure stepped forward—a little girl with long blonde hair, her face smooth and featureless, like a porcelain mask untouched by time.
She walked toward the fallen king, her presence quiet but commanding, unnatural.The silence deepened. Even the statues of ancient heroes lining the hall seemed to bow their heads in solemn respect.
The girl climbed into his lap and gently placed a hand on his chest.
"You are really the worst," she whispered softly, a faint smile curling on her lips.
Her eyes—if she had any—turned toward the woman, who knelt sobbing in agony.The girl let out a sigh.
She pitied the woman... Not for what has happen to her, but for what was yet to come.
Looking at her, the girl could only murmur:
"What a cruel man..."
Yet her expression didn't change. Her voice remained warm.
"But no matter how cruel you are... I've always loved you."
Her voice softened to a whisper, almost lost in the still air.
"I wonder when you'll finally see me... when we'll finally meet—truly, face to face."
She leaned closer to the dying man's ear, her voice a ghostly lullaby.
"But that's okay. I'll wait. I've waited this long, I can wait longer."
"Even if it takes eternity... I'll wait. I'll always stay by your side."
"So take your time… and come back to me, My Pa—"
Her body began to fracture— cracks spider-webbing across her small, delicate form.
Shards of light spilled out with each break, until she dissolved into mist, her essence drifting gently into the man's shattered body, seeping into the very fabric of his soul.
Silence blanketed the world once more.
Time stood still.
The world held its breath.
And then—
Tok—
A single sound reverberated...
Drip. Drip.
Blood resumed its flow.
Birds beat their wings and soared once again.
Dust twirled lazily through the air.
And the woman's scream—raw, fractured—returned to the throne room,filling it with a grief that had never left.
As if nothing had happened, the world moved on.