In an old, ancient castle, there was a big hall filled with statues of ancient war heroes. Darkness filled every corner. Each statue was a memory of victory—fierce warriors captured in stone, their faces showing eternal pride. But in the middle of it all, on a black throne that seemed to swallow light, sat a man whose presence was more commanding than any of these heroes.
He was strikingly handsome, with long silver hair that glimmered like moonlight in the dimness, and black eyes that seemed to consume everything. Blood dripped steadily from his stomach, creating a crimson pool on the fancy floor. A dark, menacing sword was embedded deep within him, a weapon that seemed to hum with his suffering.
At his feet was a middle-aged woman, covered in his blood. Her silver hair, just like his, was messy, and her face, streaked with tears, showed a mix of rage and sorrow. She looked him in the eye, trembling but with a defiant fire. Looking in those bloodshot eyes, his lips curled up as he whispered in a low voice, "Mother."
"Don't you dare call me that!" she spat out, her voice cracking with venom. "I am not your mother. you MONSTER!"
He stayed silent; his face unmoved by her fury. Blood kept trickling from his wound, but even the intense pain couldn't break his stoic demeanour. He knew death was near, but he didn't care. He had feared death all his life and had survived countless deadly situations. But now, he didn't want to live anymore. He had achieved everything he wanted. He was no longer scared of death, but then why did he feel pain in his heart? His breath grew heavy. He looked at the sword that was pierced in his abdomen, but there was no pain; he had already forgotten the feeling of pain
. No injury could hurt him, but the fact that the only woman he cared about in this world, his mother, had stabbed him in the back, betrayed him. It was heart-wrenching. 'Should I kill her?' he thought as his eyes turned cold. The woman, who didn't notice the bloodlust, continued her shouts and cries.
"Why?" she shouted, her voice breaking as anger turned to despair. Tears flowed down her cheeks, mixing with the blood on her clothes. "Why did you kill them? They were your own blood! Your family!"
He felt her desperation, the tremors of a shattered heart, but his own heart was cold.
He looked into her eyes and saw a storm of hatred, fear, and something new: revenge. He wanted to say it wasn't his fault, He wanted to explain himself, but he shook his head inwardly.
'It's pointless.'
He was already at the verge of death, so there was no point in explaining his actions. But before he died, he wanted to make sure that the woman who betrayed him suffered. That's right, he was not going to kill her. He wanted her to live in this cold world and understand that it was her own fault.
That she was left all alone, with everyone she had ever loved and cherished now lying dead because of her. The mere thought sent a thrill through him.
His black eyes, void of emotion, locked with hers as his lips curled into a cruel smile. He grabbed her silver hair tightly. She flinched, a cry of surprise escaping her lips as he pulled her closer, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"It's simple," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I killed them...because I can. They died because they were weak."
Her eyes shook as she screamed, "Bastard! He was your father! You took everything from him—his kingdom, his throne, his position—everything. Was that not enough? Why did you have to kill him? Whyyyy?"
The woman cried while punching his chest with her clenched fists.
"Heh, why didn't I spare them, you ask?" he said while pulling the woman's hair, making her groan in pain. "Look at you. I spared your life that day. I even gave you a place to stay, and what did you do? "
"The moment you got your chance, you betrayed me."
His smile faded as he said in a cold tone, which sent shivers down her spine, "Y-you forced me to do it. You took everything from me. Everyone whom I loved—your father, your brother—you killed them all. Your father loved you the most, yet you killed him in cold blood. I also didn't wish to become the killer of my own child, but you left me no choice," the woman said with a pained expression.
"Loved?" the man scoffed. "You never loved me, Mother. To you and Father, I was just a test subject—a lab rat for your experiments." He tightened his grip, making her groan in discomfort.
"But I did love you!" she cried, her voice breaking. "I loved you the most. Is it wrong for a mother to want her child to be PERFECT? I wanted to make you strong, to make you invincible. You were our greatest achievement!"
For a moment, uncertainty flickered across his face, but it quickly vanished. "Your love was twisted. You used me, broke me, and then threw me in that hell."
She didn't respond, her eyelids trembling as his words sliced through her.
Regret flooded her—if only she could take it all back.
If she hadn't done what she did, would her child still be alive?
Would her husband still be by her side?
Tears welled up, spilling over as she looked up and met the devil's gaze, the same devil who had taken everything from her.
'No' she clenched her fists, a fierce resolve hardening within her.
Even if she had treated him well, he would have still killed them.
His twisted smile made her blood boil.
He smiled, enjoying her pained expression. He pulled her closer and whispered, "But you did succeed. Look around. There is no one who can stand against me. MOTHER, I became invincible just like you wanted."
Cough. cough
"But it doesn't matter anymore since I am going to die soon," he said, letting go of her hair. His hollow eyes looked up at the ceiling, blood dripping from his mouth.
The room's temperature dropped. A coldness seeped into his bones, signalling death's approach. Blood bubbled from his lips, marking his end.
The woman spoke again, "You think death will free you?" she cackled, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "No! Even in death, you will suffer! A cursed child like you will not find a place even in hell!"
In a sudden rage, she pulled the sword from his stomach and plunged it back in. Pain exploded through him like fire igniting dry grass. He leaned forward, blood spilling from his mouth, meeting her fierce glare with a steely resolve.
Then, his eyes slowly closed. As darkness swallowed the grand hall and his consciousness started fading, he could feel the weight of the throne beneath him, a reminder of power and its terrible price.
In those last moments, memories of his past flickered like fleeting flames—laughter that once filled these halls, the warmth of familial love now extinguished. He was a king brought low, not just by a blade but by betrayal and the very blood in his veins.
From the floor, the woman continued to scream, her voice a haunting wail piercing the silence. "Die! Die, just die already!" Tears streamed from her eyes.
As life drained from him, a strange calm settled over the hall. The statues of ancient heroes seemed to loom closer, their stone faces casting judgment on the fallen king. The air grew thick with an otherworldly presence, as if the spirits of the past had come to witness this final act of a tragic saga.
Suddenly, time itself seemed to stop. The river of blood ceased its flow, birds in flight hung motionless in the air, and dust particles froze. From the shadows emerged a small figure—a little girl with long blonde hair, her face a smooth, featureless void.
She approached the fallen king, her presence eerie and commanding. The room grew silent, the statues of ancient heroes seeming to bow in respect. The small girl climbed up and sat on the man's lap, her small hand touching his chest. "Even in his last moments, even in death, he dies like a king," she whispered, with a smile on her lips.
The girl leaned close to his ear. "I am waiting for our next meeting, Pa--"
With those words, the girl's form began to crack and dissolve into mist, her essence seeping into the dying king.
Drip. drip
The blood, which had stopped, started flowing again. The birds resumed their flight, and the woman's cries were heard once more. The world resumed as if nothing had happened.