They say killers don't die peacefully.
I used to laugh at that. Thought it was superstition for peasants and priests.
But now, lying here on a piss-soaked mattress with my blood soaking through the sheets, I'm starting to think they were right.
My breath comes in ragged gasps, like someone's pulling a rope tighter around my lungs. Each inhale tastes like iron. Like rust.
Like guilt.
The room is dark. Damp. A rotting ceiling leaks in slow, steady drops. The candle on the far table died hours ago. All that's left is the chill creeping through the broken window and the stink of old death clinging to the walls.
I'm not scared. That's the funny part.
I'm not screaming or begging some god for mercy. I don't believe in mercy.
Not after everything I've done.
Not after the blood on my hands — noble or not, young or old.
How many did I kill?
A hundred? Two?
I stopped counting after thirty. The rest were just faces without names. Targets. Numbers. Ghosts.
And what do I have to show for it?
No family. No friends. No grave waiting for me.
Only scars. And silence.
A rat scurries across the floor near my foot. I don't move. I couldn't even if I wanted to. My legs are cold, like they've already stopped listening to the rest of me.
Maybe I deserve this.
No final battle. No poetic end.
Just a slow rot in a back-alley room that stinks of mold and old regrets.
Funny thing is, I don't even know who I really was.
They called me Ash — a name I gave myself. Fitting, I thought. Burn bright, leave nothing behind but smoke.
And that's exactly what I'm leaving. Nothing.
I killed for coin. For survival. I told myself I didn't need meaning. That living was enough.
But in the quiet, when the job was done and I was alone again… I wondered.
Who would remember me?
Who would care?
A sharp pain seizes my chest. The last one, I think. The last breath before everything goes black.
I feel it coming — a darkness at the edge of my eyes, pulling me under.
And for the first time in my entire life…
I wish I had lived differently.
I wish I had loved someone.
I wish I had been someone.
But it's too late for that now.
So I close my eyes.
And I let go.