"Roman!"
Alistair's ears perked up as he heard a name from his left: the sound had a piercing tone with a tinge of ghastly quality.
The sound was… familiar and strange, cruel and kind. With his heart beating like church bells, Alistair turned toward the source with a crack of his neck, and his breath released a cold mist.
As he turned, Alistair witnessed his father with a grim and decrepit expression. And his eyes were like that of a starving wolf as he gazed at a big-bodied man.
The bearded opponent gripped his dim wooden ax harder, as if his life depended on it.
As the two locked gazes, Alistair swore he noticed a thick mist spring into existence, swirling like waves at a stormy sea permeated by bolts and bolts of lightning.
'Who the hell is that?' Alistair thought while feeling alarmed and curious. He nudged his mother's arm with his elbow. The act caused her to stop inspecting the otherworldly organic apparatus and glance at him.
Alistair then asked, "Who's that guy?"
Upon hearing the question, she looked at his fingers and where they pointed.
When she did, Penelope's hand flew to her forehead at the question, massaging the tense muscles there as she watched the two men facing off. 'Of all times?'
Penelope took a deep breath and looked at Alistair. "That, my little Alistair, is Ro-man. He's what you call a scumbag, the lowest of the low. A waste of sperm even. That is the kind of person you should aim to be the opposite of… In fact, come with me."
She grabbed Alistair by his hands and strode forward. Soon after, they arrived next to Revan. The two fighters lost focus and stopped hurling beautiful and sentimental insults. They glanced at them.
Roman beamed as he saw Penelope. "Ahh, if it ain't the Red Witch, Penelope! Huh, to think that both of you cele-bri-ties GOT married… isn't it Ironic!?" Roman laughed like a drunken sailor and had an expression that screamed, 'I own the world, peasants.'
"Oh my lord, a stupid lass like you finally chose to get married. HAHA, never would I have thought you would go so low, Revan, ma Boí–"
He stopped talking after Revan's left fist made contact with his face. Roman lost his footing and fell on his backside.
The booming sound from the collision made everyone on the platform pay attention to the two. Whispers echoed around the place, spreading faster than a ghost rumor.
The sounds alerted the guards; however, they looked away after seeing it was Roman and Revan.
"Y-Yo-You…" Roman stuttered with a stinging pain like a burn searing his cheek. Embarrassment crept into his mind, and hate flashed in his eyes. One emotion acted stronger, burning the rest with righteous intensity.
… Fear.
His mind, being, and form could not comprehend. How in the Nine Hells did Revan attack him so quickly, so silently, and so — easily? Their ranks were once equal. No, he should have been on top—so how?
"… you." Roman's tone lowered. The eyes that looked down on him dawned on his consciousness. Those eyes peered into his soul and shredded it apart. Roman's courage dwindled. Arrogance besmirched with shame. Gaze lost. The battle of wills was over before it even began.
Roman slowly stood up while he shook. His eyes shed a drop of tear, glistening under the light of the cave like a pearl in the river, so beautiful and sweet, heavenly and etheric.
.
.
.
The tears cleared as soon as it started, and Roman snaked his hands on the axe, causing it to cave in with a loud crunch.
He glared with animosity seeping from his gaze.
His eyes met with Alistair's for a instant. The entire act happened in the blink of an eye. The hand-rearing, corking, and throwing: no one would have expected.
Roman, too, did not expect it. That all his plans would be stopped by the grim-stone-like-sword hanging above his neck like a grim reaper's scythe.
The little courage he possessed dropped to the sea's depths. One time: A coincidence, two times a fact. Roman knew that a third would be death.
'If he didn't die, that is.' Roman thought as he laid witness to the murderous father looming above him.
"Hmph. Despite the pardon you received. It's surprising to see you are still very much… a trashy human being," Revan muttered, bringing his blade close to Roman's Adam's apple and fiddling it around. "Haha… pathetic."
Revan smiled as he prepared to deliver his verdict. The look on his face was — unhinged, wrong. His hands pushed forth, drawing a crimson fluid that dribbled down the blade's dark edge.
"Oh, so you will kill me?" Roman said with a laugh. "You won't fucking do it, bastard! I know your type… if it's not an order, you won't even hurt a fly."
His words failed to stop Revan's blade: and more blood spilled.
Right after, the pain got unbearable. Yet he tried to keep up his previous arrogant demeanor, but Revan did not look like he was about to stop. The pain intensified.
Roman panicked and uttered: "Wait, what are you doing, stop!!!"
He gripped the axe and swiped at him, but Revan stomped his arm, and he shoved Roman to the hard ground.
The sword's edge settled on Roman's throat. His eyes went wide, breath raspy. He looked at Revan — No, his killer. He tried to beg. He cried. He pleaded.
Then silence.
The blade moved.
.
.
.
Roman waited. He lingered for the intimate touch of death. He won't run anymore; neither will he hide. Despite all the years of running, it had caught up—
—'Why am I not dead yet?'
Opening his eyes, he saw. Reven held the blade, with another hand on his hair. But the only difference was Penelope, who touched and caressed Revan's shoulders. The two shared a look, a talk, and a conclusion.
After the conversation, Revan glanced around him and noticed everyone staring at him in fright. They murmured words he knew were insults, praises, and plain random talks. However, one thing was certain, the consequences of slicing this man's neck might be too much for him — and his family.
So with a disgruntled grunt, Revan pushed the man from him and said: "It seems I will let you get away one more time, pest."
Roman did not linger and make any sarcastic comments. With a speed that he did not know he had, Roman bolted down the stairs, almost tripping multiple times. Fear kept him safe and steady.
Revan watched with contempt and grief as the man's fleeing back shrunk in his eyes.
But with a silent voice, Revan swore to one day end that man–and cut his head off for all to see.