"I nearly missed I still have something to get rid of," Dean mutters slyly. He goes to his room and changes his apparel before grabbing the sword that is resting on the wall.
'This is getting rusty from not being used for a long time; I'll try to sharpen it,' an archfiend thought enters. He shut the door and walked into the floor's hallway.
He starts to slit the people's throat that works under Henderson in an inaudible way, like snake slitters and bit people with tranquility. That's how an assassin works to exterminate whatever it perceived as a 'pest'.
The manner he wielded the blade as blood splattered was picturesque, his posture was statuesquely done and like a flow of crimson blood complements while dancing under the evening sky. The way he is crafted like art while slaughtering them is a sight to behold. Frosty night, luminous color as a cloudless sky. The moon illuminates the dim path he'll take. In sophistication, he leaves the rest breathless.
--
As he approaches Henderson's location, he enters the room without hesitation and is unconcerned about what the old man thinks about it. He'll see him covered in blood as if he's naive enough to believe nothing terrible has been done on the inside. When he saw the look on his face, he tried to play dumb about what was going on, rejecting the possibility that Dean had done something wrong.
He stutters some words as Dean's expression frightened him.
"W-what's wrong?" he asked, concealing his phone and trying to touch the screen at his back as he tried to call for help. That old sneaky outwitted tricks will not be enough to fool him. Dean, who is a trained assassin and has seen several identical things. When humans are confronted with death, a frightful feeling will flow freely through their minds and dominate them; the sense of helplessness and mind is shattered when they are under mental stress.
"What's the matter, old man?" Dean approached him and grabbed the phone from behind Henderson, smirking and trying to add, "Who are you trying to call? Here!" He yelled, "If you're going to do something, aren't you supposed to do that well? Can you see things if you're doing it behind your back?! Try to call whoever you're trying to!" He forcibly placed the phone on the old man's fingers.
Dean has now gone completely insane and is standing while pointing the edge of the sword in front of Henderson's eyes.
Henderson was at a loss for words and quivering, but he obeyed out of fear of being killed. He positioned the phone to his ear and waited for someone to respond, but then he heard a declined tone. No one responds to the phone, and he looks momentarily at Dean, who is smiling with fond eyes. Henderson shakes his head, indicating that no one answered the phone.
"That's strange..." Dean frowned, and a smirk returned to his face. "Oh! I almost forgot I cut off the lines connected for obtaining connection!" he added, laughing wildly. "I shouldn't waste my time here," he said abruptly.
"Why are you doing this?! Are you going to betray me now?! After all that I've done for you?" Henderson exclaims.
"Betray? Hahaha!" Dean's laugh echoed throughout the room; amid the silence, they were the only ones who could hear themselves.
"So you believe me because I trusted you to agree?! That's how you come up with the idea that I could be trustworthy?! Hey old man, no one can use be besides 'that' man," Dean said subtly. Henderson jumps to the conclusion that Alexis is commanding him to do this. Dean reads his mind and says, "Don't look at me like that, I do it of my own will." The gap between the edge of the sword and Henderson's eyes narrows. He was certain he would be killed in an instant.
He knelt, begged, and said, "P-please, I-I'll give you anything you want... Just spare me, Ok?! I'll do anything for you, I'll even work for you!" Henderson said, kneeling at the mattress.
"Bullshit. I can't let you off the hook. If you catch a big fish, will you let it go?" he said, walking behind him and sitting. He then places the sword to his throat, hears Henderson take a gulp, and says, "Mess with what's mine and you'll face death in an instant. You can sense it right?! The embrace of death?" That was the last thing Henderson heard before dying in Dean's hand, slitting his throat, tearing his limbs apart, and cooking and feeding it to the animals in the forest.
(I wouldn't bury a sinner who deserved to die the way he did); he thinks after killing him. He left the manor house with hundreds of corpses, not caring if they rotted. The traces were left behind, but not the evidence. It will vanish and appear as if nothing happened.
The moon is much brighter than it appeared earlier. This is just the beginning; I will kill anyone who dares to mess with him.
He wanders the street amid the late hours of the night, unable to regain his composure. He doesn't want to stay, especially in such a run-down mansion.