The air was thick with gas, and a family lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious. A figure in a gas mask stepped inside—the source of the gas and the orchestrator of this grim scene. This half-man, Thron, was the commander of the trap squad.
He knelt beside a young girl, gently taking a teddy bear from her limp grasp. "Hayley would like this," he murmured, thinking of his own daughter waiting for him at home. He tucked the teddy bear into his pack, his gloved hand brushing over its worn, stitched smile. For a brief moment, the harshness in his eyes softened.
"Sorry, kid," he whispered, casting a glance over the unconscious family. "Just doing what I must."
Rising with practiced precision, Thron scanned the room, ensuring his work was complete. He'd perfected these tactics—silent, methodical, and unrelenting—and had long accepted that his line of work was rarely clean. But he consoled himself with the thought that, for his daughter, he'd do anything.
A voice crackled in his earpiece, snapping him back. "Thron, status?"
"It's done," he responded curtly, heading toward the door. Outside, he took one last look back, clutching the teddy bear a little tighter.
"They'll be out by sundown," he sighed, boredom creeping into his tone. He reached into his pack and pulled out a carefully wrapped sandwich his beloved wife had made, the scent bringing a rare moment of comfort. Just as he took a bite, a sudden crunch of leaves made him pause.
Turning, he spotted a tall woman with silver hair, crimson eyes, and two pointed fangs gleaming in the dim light. The princess of Noctis had found him.
"So, you're the pest responsible for these murders!" she spat, her voice sharp as she tightened her grip on her sword.
With a mocking grin hidden beneath his mask, Thron spread his arms, letting the wisps of toxic gas swirl around him like a dark halo. "Can't a man enjoy spreading a little of his own 'flowery perfume'?" he taunted, his voice dripping with dark amusement.
The princess's gaze narrowed, her crimson eyes flaring. "You'll pay for what you've done here," she growled, her voice thick with righteous fury. She took a step forward, her silver hair catching the faintest glimmer of light as her sword gleamed in her hand, ready to strike.
Thron laughed, low and hollow. "You think you're the first to try?" He stepped back slowly, his hands casually to his sides but ready to reach for the hidden daggers strapped beneath his cloak. "I'm just a man trying to make a living. Isn't that what royalty's all about, too?" His gaze sharpened beneath the mask as he sized her up, every muscle tense in anticipation.
With a snarl, she charged, her sword a blur of silver as she lunged. Thron twisted, narrowly avoiding the blade, but he felt the deadly edge slice through his cloak, close enough to graze his side. He grunted, the pain sparking something sharp and primal in him. "You're quicker than you look," he muttered, a begrudging respect lacing his tone.
Without hesitation, the princess spun on her heel, her sword arcing in a deadly follow-up. Thron rolled, dodging just in time as the blade embedded itself into the ground where he'd been standing. He sprang up, gas canisters clinking at his belt as he withdrew a small vial of noxious smoke, tossing it between them.
The princess coughed, momentarily disoriented, and Thron took advantage, slipping out of her immediate reach. "You want to play hero, but your kingdom's hands aren't clean either," he taunted through the thickening cloud. "I know what Noctis has done to those who dared to stand in its way."
The princess, regaining her composure, slashed through the smoke, her eyes blazing. "Noctis may have its flaws, but we don't slaughter innocents. Whatever twisted excuse you have for your crimes, it ends here."
Thron smirked beneath his mask, but he could feel her words land somewhere deep. "Believe what you want," he retorted, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But when it comes to survival, even saints get their hands dirty."
With that, he launched forward, drawing a blade with lethal precision. The battle had only begun, the silent forest bearing witness to their clash of ideals, each determined to see the other fall.