"Isn't this the same as betraying the team?"
The sound of dripping water echoed in the dark, damp room.
Bound to a chair, a man covered in blood gasped for breath, shivering, barely conscious. Yet, his eyes still burned with anger. In front of him stood a man with white hair, a faint smile on his face, holding a dagger still wet with blood.
His gaze was sharp, seemingly unfazed by the words or the blood spilling from those around him.
"You know, Gilbert, the agreement never applied to anyone here but me. If they can't survive, then they don't deserve to stand by my side," the white-haired man replied, shrugging slightly with a tone of disdain.
"The same goes for you."
Gilbert, the man in the chair, tried to respond.
"You know… you're killing people who… could've been useful," he sneered, coughing as fresh blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"The woman who loved you… you took her life with your own hands, and now you're killing your friends one by one…"
The white-haired man stared at Gilbert without emotion.
"That woman? Love? I never understood that word. You may call this betrayal, but I'm just weeding out the weak."
He stepped closer, the moonlight illuminating his face.
His blue eyes glinted cold as ice, reflecting the moon's glow with a look that seemed gentle yet dangerous, his thin lips curved into a piercing smile.
"Think about it. This isn't about race or loyalty. I don't care if you're human or a monster. If you're weak, you're nothing but a burden," he continued, pressing the dagger into Gilbert's hand.
Gilbert laughed, though each breath brought searing pain.
"You know… words like that will lead to your downfall… sooner than you think," he hissed.
The man merely snorted, then whispered, "I've always been ready for that. Disaster or death won't make me flinch. Even if hell calls, I'll be prepared to fight there."
A moment later, he raised the dagger, pointing its tip at Gilbert's neck. As the blade pierced his skin, Gilbert couldn't help but think about the irony of his fate.
He was once a feared leader, now a victim of someone he never considered a threat.
As his head drooped, the man sighed, ignoring the blood staining his hands. He gazed at Gilbert's body one last time, then turned towards the door, leaving behind a room now occupied only by the corpses of those who once fought alongside him.
Blood pooled on the floor in its wake.
"Aamon," a faint voice came from the corner of the room.
A woman lay slumped, her breathing shallow. A large wound in her abdomen still bled, though she held it with trembling hands.
"Why… are you doing this?"
Aamon turned to face her.
"Because I have a mission bigger than any of you. You're all just obstacles that need to be removed."
The woman managed a faint smile, though her eyes shone with hatred.
"You'll be destroyed… by your own hatred, Aamon. You may think you're stronger, but… you're just like us… only mortal."
Aamon frowned, but his smile remained. He let her linger in her last moments of pain before she finally collapsed, her last breath leaving her body.
He stared at her briefly before turning away, stepping out into the quiet night.
Memories of the family he once had and the childhood he kept buried flashed through his mind. He knew his mission had only just begun.
"I'll find a way, even if it means leaving everything behind," he whispered to the night that bore witness to his departure.
And in the silence, Aamon vanished, leaving behind a trail of blood and destruction known only to him.