Another soldier stood by the lever, his hand hovering over it, ready to pull it the moment he received the signal. The soldier holding Riley seemed inexperienced, his grip loosening as if he was unsure of what to do next. Maybe it was his first day on the job, but Riley didn't care. He saw an opportunity and seized it.
Of course he would allow himself to be killed, he has a sister in the waking world, and he had to fulfill is promise, the one he made to his mother as she drew her last breath.
Riley always kept his promise no matter what, and this time he would also try his best to keep that promise.
In one swift motion, Riley twisted around and got behind the soldier, shoving him forward so that the rope tightened around the man's neck instead.
"Abracadabra!" Riley shouted, a manic grin spreading across his face.
No one expected this turn of events. The crowd gasped in unison, their shocked expressions a stark contrast to the grim inevitability they had anticipated. Never had they imagined someone would fight back against the king's orders. It seemed that the people had been conditioned to accept their fate, whatever it might be, without question.
The soldiers were slow to react, their shock momentarily paralyzing them. Riley took advantage of their hesitation, grabbing the sword from the soldier who was now struggling to free himself from the noose.
With a swift and precise motion, Riley beheaded the soldier standing by the lever, the one whose hand had been ready to end his life.
"Gasps!"
The headless corpse crumpled to the ground, and the lever moved on its own. A small compartment in the platform opened, and the inexperienced soldier, still trapped in the noose, fell through, his body thrashing as the rope cut off his oxygen supply.
The other soldiers finally snapped out of their stupor, drawing their swords and letting out a battle cry. They charged at Riley with deadly intent, their faces twisted in rage.
But they were no match for him.
Riley had spent years training in the clan's grounds, honing every possible martial skill. The training was brutal, designed to forge elite killers from a young age. Many didn't survive the grueling sessions; only those who could endure the pain and mental strain made it through.
They were trained to be a cold blooded killer.
As the soldiers charged him, Riley moved with a fluid grace that belied his supposed uselessness. With quick precision, he placed the sword on the ground, securing it with his foot so that its tip pointed upward.
In a smooth motion, he sliced through the rope binding his hands, freeing himself completely. He picked up the sword just in time to parry an incoming attack from the nearest soldier.
"I always keep my promise" Riley screamed making sure the leader of the soldiers heard him.
The clash of steel against steel echoed through the courtyard— the ring of death echoed in the ears of the onlookers— the dance of death had begun, blending with the terrified screams of the onlookers and the rising battle cries of the soldiers.
Inside the manor, the sounds of conflict reached every ear. Jasmine was the first to rush out, her eyes wide with shock as she took in the scene.
Her brother—the one their father had dismissed as a fool, a burden—was dispatching trained soldiers with terrifying efficiency.
This was not the weakling she had grown up mocking. This was someone else entirely, a warrior who seemed to know every move his opponents would make before they made it.
"This isn't my brother…" Jasmine whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. She couldn't believe what she was witnessing.
There was something unnervingly different about him ever since he woke up from that supposed coma. The doctors had said he'd be out for weeks, if not months, yet he had risen as if nothing had happened.
More disturbing still was the fact that he was involved in case No. 87 and survived.
Her father would be mad if he knew she had eavesdropped.
Everyone who had translated case No. 87 and those who subsequently read it met the same end—death by their own hand, driven to madness by the knowledge it contained.
But Riley was standing here, alive and seemingly enhanced, moving with skills she had never seen before
"It has to be case No. 87…" Jasmine realized, her mind racing.She turned and bolted back toward the manor, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear and greed.
If the book had given her brother this power, then it was an asset far greater than anyone had realized. If she could control that power—or better yet, get it for herself—it could change everything for her.
She ran straight for her father's study, intent on informing him before it was too late.
Bursting through the double doors of the study, Jasmine didn't even pause for the guards. They knew better than to stop her.
"Father!" she cried out, her voice filled with a mixture of excitement and fear. The grey-haired man looked up from his desk, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
He was the picture of calm, but Jasmine could see the flicker of irritation in his eyes at her sudden interruption.
"What is it, Jasmine?" he asked coolly, not bothering to look away from the documents he was reviewing.
"It's Ryan!" she gasped, breathless from her sprint. "He's killing the guards—using a sword style I've never seen before!"
The old man's eyes widened slightly at that, a reaction Jasmine rarely saw from him. For her to say she didn't recognize the style meant something significant.
She was a prodigy in martial arts, having mastered dozens of techniques by a young age. If this was a style unfamiliar to her, then it was either ancient or newly discovered—either way, it was something that piqued the old man's interest.
Without another word, he pushed back his chair and stormed out of the study, his pace quickening as he headed for the courtyard.
Jasmine followed close behind, a mix of anticipation and unease in her heart. She couldn't shake the feeling that this sudden change in her brother was far more dangerous than it appeared.
When they reached the scene, they found a massacre. The bodies of soldiers littered the ground, blood pooling beneath them, staining the cobblestones.
And there, standing among the corpses, was Riley. His once-disregarded son, the supposed fool, stood with a cold, expressionless face, holding a bloodied sword as if it were an extension of his own arm.
The moment their eyes met, Riley smiled—a chilling, twisted smile that sent a shiver down the old man's spine. For a fleeting moment, he saw something terrifying in his son's gaze—a flicker of malevolence, a devilish grin that held no warmth, only cold calculation.
The devil was smiling at him.
--
Hector had long stopped seeing his youngest child as his son. Ryan, in his mind, was more of an unfortunate byproduct of fate—a curse. He had given up on the boy when he was still just a child, convinced there was nothing left to salvage.
Even Ryan's mother had always insisted there was something wrong with him, something beyond her understanding. She'd lock him away in dark, empty rooms, blaming every minor infraction on some supposed darkness lurking within him.
As the years went by, Ryan began to reflect the madness— inform of foolishness— she imposed upon him, turning into the very monster she claimed him to be. Now, standing before that same boy—no, that creature—Hector could only see the culmination of years of abuse, neglect, and resentment. But this was far beyond what even his worst nightmares had ever imagined.
Before him lay the corpses of soldiers—not just any soldiers, but the Steel Wings— Elite warriors bred and trained from birth to serve the royal family with unwavering loyalty. Each one of them was a living weapon, an instrument of death designed to kill with precision and discipline.
Yet here they lay, shattered and discarded like broken toys, felled by a single, blood-soaked figure who stood among them as if the carnage was a mere inconvenience. Regret gnawed at Hector's insides. He should never have let Ryan get involved in Case No. 0-87.
"Demon!" a voice hissed behind him, trembling with fear.
Hector turned to see Jasmine, cowering in horror as she peeked at Ryan from behind him. Her eyes were wide with terror, her hand gripping her cross like a lifeline.
"He's a demon… a demon in human skin!" another voice joined in from the back, drawing murmurs of agreement from the onlookers.
The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on, a shared panic that spread like wildfire among the remaining servants and guards.
Riley's eyes, empty of any warmth or humanity, slowly swept in their direction. The weight of that gaze silenced the murmurs, sending icy chills down the spines of everyone present.
It was like staring into a void—an abyss that threatened to consume them whole if they dared to stare back for too long.
As the crowd held its breath, two men made their way forward, contrasting in appearance yet united in their purpose.
The first was a bishop, robed in white and gold with the holy symbol of his faith resting on his chest.
His face was stern, but there was a softness in his eyes, the kind born from years of delivering comfort to those in pain. Beside him was an imam, his crimson attire flowing as he walked with measured grace and a cap of same color. His expression was unreadable, save for the faint crease between his brows that hinted at deep concern.