Samira was a bit bored.
She twirled one of her daggers absentmindedly, the blade spinning smoothly between her fingers as she moved behind Aisha, keeping the boy trapped between them. Not that he could hope to escape, weak as he looked.
There was a lazy confidence in the way Aisha moved toward him, a predatory grace that came from years of experience. She would know, she saw the same thing when she looked in the mirror.
"We were actually waiting for you on the bottom floor of the tower…" Aisha's voice was smooth, teasing, and Samira fought the urge to laugh. They'd waited all of five minutes before Aisha had declared the guy dead and moved on. Pure luck had brought them back here, stumbling upon him now.
'He's good,' she thought, casting a quick glance at the corpse of the Killer Ant he'd just taken down. Not a scratch on him. Between six months and a year as an adventurer, she estimated. But she couldn't say for sure.
'For a human errand boy, heh,' she smirked, finally letting her gaze settle on the pitiful...
"Huh."
Samira did a double-take, blinking as she saw the sheer joy in the male's eyes as he met their gazes. It was as if he were a parched traveler, gazing upon a lush oasis for the first time. Aisha seemed just as puzzled, raising her cute eyebrows in a silent question.
"You… are all so, so, so beautiful…"
The male's voice was soft and warm, like the first rays of dawn breaking over a frozen landscape. It wasn't filled with the lust she expected. Instead, it had the awe of a child admiring a delicate flower.
A strange, tingling sensation ran down Samira's spine, and she couldn't help but smile, a genuine, involuntary reaction. She almost had to force herself not to blush.
'What a charmer,' she thought, glancing around quickly to see if the other girls felt it too. From the looks on their faces, she wasn't the only one moved by the raw emotion in his tone. For women in their line of work, whether adventuring or… providing comfort to others, genuine emotion was a rare, precious commodity.
"Even if I can't quite place it," she mused, her hips swaying slightly with playful confidence, enjoying the way his eyes stayed locked on their faces, never straying lower than their necklines.
"Heh, soft-spoken ones ain't really my type, but for you, I might make an exception…" she whispered just loud enough for her friends to hear. They giggled in response, eyes twinkling with amusement as Samira finally took a proper look at the boy's appearance.
He was tall, with a decent musculature that suggested some training—probably between eighteen and twenty, if she had to guess. His body was riddled with scars, both old and new, crisscrossing his chest like a roadmap, and even more adorned his back, she knew. His short dark hair framed a face that was… not bad.
Overall, not good not terrible. His dark eyes held a strange intensity that was intriguing, though his overall presence was underwhelming given his current strength. A pitiful Level 1, and nowhere near reaching Level 2.
"Well, thank you for your compliment, handsome," Aisha replied, her voice dripping with flirtation. She seemed genuinely touched, having a front-row seat to his sincerity. "Now, how about you come with us, and we can get to know each other on the way…hmm?"
"What are you doing?" Aisha's question broke through Samira's thoughts, and she found herself equally perplexed. The boy had suddenly brought four fingers to his mouth—two from each hand—as if attempting to whistle.
But there was no sound. Only the expectant silence of a dungeon, holding its breath.
Samira saw it first—the confusion on her friends' faces turning to horror. The man's fingers clawed into his own mouth.
Skin tore like paper. Blood gushed. His fingers went deeper, piercing through his cheeks. They pushed and pulled. Ripping.
Muscles tore apart, like wet fabric being stretched to its limits and beyond.
Blood ran down his chin, a waterfall of red staining his chest and arms.
"What the fuck is this..." Samira whispered. Not to the man, but to Aisha. Her hand found Aisha's arm, yanking her back, away from the lunatic who kept tearing.
More skin peeled away. A strap of flesh hung loose, swinging like a torn flag in the wind. His jaw cracked open, splitting all the way to his ears. Bone glistened white through the mess.
The Amazons stood frozen. Paralyzed. They watched as the man—no, the monster—mutilated himself.
The bottom half of his face was gone now, just a raw, gory mess. Yet, he still looked at them with those eyes.
The same ones, shining only with joy, whom had them hot and bothered moments prior. Blood soaked his scarred body, dripping onto the ground. It was grotesque. Horrific.
'That isn't fucking joy,' a small voice whispered in Samira's mind, a cold realization settling in her stomach like a stone. And this wasn't a man, could not be called so.
It began to speak.
"For sssuch beautiful ladiesss…" His voice was almost identical to before, soft and warm, but now it whistled through the gaps where his cheeks used to be. Where once his words were soothing, they now sent shivers down her spine, crawling under her skin. "I can only show my biggest smile…"
Silence fell, thick and suffocating, as they all processed what they had just heard.
"Why would you... do this to yourself?" Lena, sweet, naive Lena, was the first to regain her senses. She extended a trembling hand towards the madman, as if to caress his wounds, to offer some kind of comfort. But Aisha yanked her back by the scruff of her neck, her grip firm, eyes sharp with understanding.
Aisha turned her gaze to Samira, and in that look, Samira knew what needed to be done.
This thing needed to die.
"I would LOVE to join your familia, so many beautiful flowers…" The monster's mouth kept moving, spilling out words tainted with madness. Samira wasn't listening anymore. Her focus was on her surroundings, on the space between her and her friends.
The Amazons' tight circle around him had disintegrated, each of them taking cautious steps back when the bastard began "smiling."
They were all Level 2, save for her and Aisha. It was supposed to be a simple delve to the middle floors...not...this.
Now, as Aisha guided the others away from the madman, Samira could see the signs of nightmares to come etched into their expressions. They didn't look back as they walked away, save for Aisha, who gave her a nod.
Samira nodded back, steeling herself.
And then, she was alone with the monster.
The air was thick. Heavy with the smell of blood and sweat permeating the cave. The silence was broken only by the slow drip of blood hitting the stone floor.
His eyes—those pure, innocent eyes—stared at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, even as his mouth hung open, torn and gaping, the stench of death rolling off him like a wave.
There was no need for words. Words would be wasted on such a creature.
Samira moved, her body a blur of motion. The monster couldn't even react. It was merely a Level 1, but she found this offered her no comfort whatsoever.
Her sword sank deep into his abdomen, cutting through skin, muscle, and bone with ease. The monster fell to the ground, giggling.
A child's giggle. Like a game.
Like he was being fucking tickled instead of run through by a sword.
He lay there, blood pooling around him. His eyes stayed open, unblinking. Even as life drained from them. His breath slowed, but still...those eyes. Still looking. Still watching.
His voice, barely a whisper, but it echoed.
It echoed in her mind.
Crawled into her ears.
"Why so serious...little flower..."
Samira, high-ranking executive of the Ishtar Familia, felt her grip on the sword falter, her hand trembling. She stepped back, her breath shallow, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum.
She turned away. Walked. Back to her comrades.
The laughter followed her.
Even in silence, it followed. It was in her head now. She knew it.
"Damn you, Aisha... this... had been a mistake," she whispered. Her voice cracked. No one answered.
Thankfully, no one answered.