SLAUGHTER IN THE CHAPEL"
(Brace yourself — this is very dark, cinematic, and intense.)
The floor of the abandoned chapel was soaked in blood.
Bodies were everywhere — slumped over pews, sprawled across the cracked tiles, hanging halfway out the shattered windows. Red dripped from the altar like melted wax.
And in the center of it all…
He stood.
Adrian Valeska.
The Slaughter King.
The man nightmares feared.
Tall, sharp, in a black shirt rolled to his elbows, veins cut in steel beneath skin spattered with blood. His eyes were the color of winter storms — cold, controlled, merciless.
A gun dangled lazily from his hand, smoke still curling from the muzzle.
He surveyed the massacre with a calmness that was almost reverent.
Then—
a sound.
A soft breath.
A shift of a shoe.
Not from the dying men at his feet.
From behind him.
Adrian didn't turn immediately.
He enjoyed it — letting whoever dared to witness this moment feel the weight of his existence before he acknowledged them.
Finally, he spoke.
"You've got three seconds," he said softly, "to convince me you're not another corpse."
Silence.
Adrian turned.
And his finger stilled on the trigger.
A girl stood in the ruined doorway.
Small.
Young.
A face smudged with dirt and ash.
Eyes wide — not with fear, but shock. Confusion. Maybe a little disbelief.
Not screaming.
Not fleeing.
Just… staring.
Her clothes were torn, her knee scraped, her breath trembling — yet she held his gaze like she didn't know she should bow to a god of death.
Interesting.
Adrian tilted his head.
"Look at you…" he murmured. "A lamb who walked straight into the slaughterhouse."
The girl swallowed.
Her voice trembled.
"I—I wasn't supposed to be here."
"No one ever is."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"But here you are."
Her gaze flicked to the bodies — all killed with expert precision. One shot to the head. One slash across the throat. Clean. Efficient. Terrifying.
Her voice cracked. "You… you killed all of them?"
He stepped closer.
Slow, deliberate, predatory.
"I kill anyone who breathes in my direction without my permission."
She stumbled back, but he caught her chin between his fingers.
Her pulse hammered beneath his touch.
Adrian leaned down, his voice a dark whisper against her cheek.
"I should add you to the floor."
She squeezed her eyes shut.
But the fear he expected… wasn't there.
Not fully.
There was something else beneath it.
Something he recognized.
"And yet…" Adrian murmured, studying her face.
"You're not screaming."
"I—I don't… I don't know if it would help," she whispered.
That made him pause.
Most people begged.
Cried.
Collapsed.
But this girl…
She was trembling, yes.
But she met death with a strange, fragile acceptance.
As if she'd already survived worse.
Intriguing.
"What's your name?" he demanded.
"Sienna."
"And who sent you here, Sienna? Which family? Which rat wanted eyes on me?"
"N-no one," she breathed. "I was just passing. I heard gunshots—"
"You walked toward gunshots?"
He laughed softly.
A chilling, amused sound.
"Darling, that's not bravery. That's suicide."
Her eyes glistened, but she didn't break.
Adrian's smirk faded.
He stepped even closer, invading every inch of her space until her back hit the wall.
He pressed his palm beside her head, trapping her.
Rain hammered outside, thunder shaking the broken windows.
"You saw my face," he said quietly.
"You saw what I did. You know what comes next."
She nodded, lips tight, body shaking.
"And yet…"
His finger slid along her jaw.
"You aren't begging."
"I don't think begging matters to someone like you," she whispered hoarsely.
Adrian's pupils darkened.
No one had ever spoken to him like that.
For a moment — a rare, fleeting moment — he felt something stir beneath his ribs.
Not kindness.
Not pity.
But curiosity.
And for Adrian Valeska, curiosity was more dangerous than rage.
He lowered his mouth to her ear.
"You should have died tonight, Sienna."
Her breath hitched.
Then he grabbed her wrist — not gently — and pulled her into him.
"But now you're mine."
"What—"
"I don't spare people," he growled.
"I claim them."
Her heart thundered.
"You'll leave with me," he continued.
"You'll breathe because I allow it.
You'll exist because I find you… interesting."
She stared at him, trembling.
"And if I refuse?" she whispered.
He slid a bloody finger down her throat, stopping at her pulse.
"Then you die in this chapel with the rest of them."
Sienna's breath trembled.
Adrian tilted her chin up.
"So choose, little lamb."
His lips hovered over hers — not touching, just claiming.
"Life in the hands of a monster… or a beautiful death at his feet."
The storm raged outside.
Bodies cooled on the floor.
And Sienna realized the truth:
There was no choosing.
Because the Slaughter King had already decided her fate