Zeke's gaze locked onto the attacker, who stood in front of him, trembling and broken. He could feel the pain, the regret, the madness of a man who had been consumed by something much worse than death. And yet, there was something else—something almost pitiful in the way the attacker stood, defenseless, utterly destroyed.
Zeke's voice broke the silence, cold and steady. "I see you're still alive. How does it feel? The pain, the suffering? How does it feel to be crushed from the inside out?"
The attacker opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out—only a dry, rasping cough. He clawed at his own arms, muttering incoherently, his mind spiraling into madness. It was clear that the once-proud killer was no longer the same person who had tried to take Zeke's life. He was a broken man, a shell of what he once was.
"You were so sure you could kill me," Zeke continued, his voice laced with quiet satisfaction. "But in the end, you're nothing. Just a broken man, hiding in the shadows, waiting for death. How does it feel to know that I control your fate?"
The attacker flinched, his hands trembling as he tried to claw at his own face, desperate to remove the agony that had been consuming him. His eyes were wide, filled with a combination of fear, pain, and disbelief. It was clear that the attacker's mind was unraveling, his body beyond repair.
Zeke stood there for a moment, watching him, feeling that sense of power, of control. He had done this—he had taken everything from this man. But then, something stirred deep within him. Was this really enough? Was making the attacker suffer truly what he had wanted?
Zeke hesitated for a brief moment, his expression shifting ever so slightly. He hadn't anticipated seeing this much devastation. The attacker's mind, once so certain and ruthless, had been completely shattered. But Zeke's resolve quickly hardened again. This man had tried to kill him. This man had been a part of the system that had brought him pain. His suffering was just the beginning.
But even as he walked away, he couldn't help but wonder. Was this truly the path to power, or had he just become something darker than he ever intended?
The attacker's eyes flickered toward Zeke, confusion and fear twisting his features. His body was still trembling, though he had stopped scratching at his skin. His breath came in ragged gasps, as if just speaking would take all his strength. He took a hesitant step back.
Zeke's voice was calm, almost too calm, but it carried an undercurrent of cold certainty. "I can relieve you from your pain. You don't have to suffer like this forever. Just tell me the truth. Who really sent you?"
Zeke didn't fully believe what Alistair and the captain told him so that is why he asked this question just to make sure, even though the attacker already said who sent him but what if that was a lie.
The attacker's lips trembled, his thoughts a chaotic mess. His mind still struggled to grasp the reality of the situation—what was left of his mind, at least. Every part of his being screamed for him to resist, to not give in, but there was something in Zeke's gaze that made him hesitate.
"I..." The attacker started, his voice raw, barely a whisper. "I can't... they... they'll kill me..."
Zeke leaned forward slightly, watching him closely. His eyes were sharp, unrelenting. "Who will kill you? The Lennox family? Or someone else?"
The attacker's hands clenched into fists, and he looked away, as though trying to hide the truth from Zeke. But the guilt, the fear, and the overwhelming weight of his suffering made it impossible for him to keep his secrets any longer. The slow, persistent drain of his soul, the torment Zeke had caused him, had pushed him to the edge. He was no longer the same man who had stood in the shadows of the kingdom, ready to kill for anyone who paid him. His pride, his strength—it had all been shattered.
"Lennox..." he croaked, his voice shaking with the effort. I don't know who exactly wants you dead but it is definitely one of the higher ups."
Zeke stood up from the chair, his thoughts swirling. The attacker's words confirmed what he had suspected all along—the situation was much more complicated than just a few rogue families vying for control. But now he had a clearer picture of what was happening. The bigger question was:why would the Lennox family while they are at war waste their time on me ,something was off?
And why when he tried to kill him he said that he was sent by the family head, but zeke knew he won't find any information because at the end of the day this guy was just a pawn.
"You've told me what I needed to know," Zeke said quietly, his eyes locking with the attacker's. "I will keep my promise I will relieve you from your pain."
Zeke stood motionless, his eyes cold and focused as the mist that had been trapped inside the attacker's body began to move. It started small, gathering around the man's hand like a wisp of smoke, but quickly, it expanded, spreading across his body with a terrifying speed. The attacker's body shook, his face contorted in agony as the mist consumed him, seeping into his very skin. It wasn't just physical pain—it was as if the very essence of his being was being unraveled, disintegrating under the weight of the power Zeke had unleashed.
The attacker's cries were muffled as the mist took over, his body jerking violently before it all ended in a horrifying explosion. The air was thick with the remnants of his soul as it was utterly consumed, leaving nothing but the eerie silence that followed. There wasn't even a trace of blood left in the room.
Zeke, unfazed, activated his armor just in time, a shimmering barrier of soul energy that absorbed the shockwave of the explosion, protecting him from even the smallest particle of harm. The armor's surface glinted with an almost ethereal glow, and as the last of the attacker's essence vanished, Zeke stood perfectly still—untouched, immaculate.
The mist, now freed, swirled in the air before condensing, becoming a dark, formless cloud. It slithered into Zeke's shadow, as if drawn to him, seeking refuge in the depths of his being. His connection with it had grown stronger—this was no longer just a lingering power; it was a part of him. Zeke closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the faint pulse of the mist as it settled deep within him, melding with his very soul.
He exhaled slowly, as if releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He had learned something important today—the mist was more than just a tool. It was a part of his power, an extension of his will. And it could be used to break anyone who stood in his way.
Zeke turned on his heel, his expression cold and unfeeling, the faintest trace of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The road ahead was clear now—he had no more doubts. He would hunt down the people behind this assassination, and he would tear them apart, piece by piece. But first, he needed to gather his strength, prepare for the inevitable confrontation with those who thought they could manipulate him.
As he left the room, his shadow grew darker, the mist moving with him, a constant reminder of the power he held—and the darkness he was becoming.