As he brandished the knife, a savage grin spread across his face, his eyes dancing with a sadistic glee. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, the sharpened edge of the knife piercing the skin of his cellmate like a hot knife through butter.
Lucian made sure he stabbed the knife directly in the spot he had kicked the man.
Arghhhh!
A scream of pain erupted from the man's lips, his body convulsing in agony as the sharp metal dug deep into his flesh.
The metallic tang of blood filled the air, mixing with the acrid scent of fear as he writhed between the cold bar, his eyes wild with pain and terror.
The man's screams escalated to a feverish pitch, his body shaking uncontrollably as he stared up at Lucian, his eyes pleading for mercy that would never come.
Lucian, unfazed by the wretched cries, twisted the knife as he withdrew it, each turn of the blade tearing through delicate veins and arteries, unleashing a crimson torrent that stained the man's prison uniform and pooled on the floor beneath him.
The man's face contorted in agony, his mouth opened in a silent scream, his body quivered.
Like a wounded snake caught in a hunter's snare, cellmate 3 thrashed and convulsed.
And perhaps he was a wounded snake.
With a sinister smirk twisting his lips, Lucian plunged the bloodied kinfe into the man's side once more, eliciting a primal howl of pain that ricocheted off the walls of the cell.
The man's body convulsed violently, his trembling hands clawing at the concrete floor as he begged for mercy, his voice hoarse and broken.
The chill of death had begun to seep into his bones, its icy fingers creeping through his veins as blood continued to gush from the fresh wound, pooling around him in a crimson lake.
Lucian's mind was consumed by a wave of hatred, a vicious choir that drowned out all other sounds and sensations, reducing the world to a singular, wicked purpose.The man's desperate cries fell on deaf ears, echoing into a void.
Lucian's twisted mind conjured visions of revenge and retribution, a vengeful fury that burned hot within him, searing away all semblance of compassion or mercy.
He saw the man as a symbol of everything that was wrong with the world. He thought this guy was part of all the dishonesty and crime, and he wanted to punish him for it. Lucian didn't care about the guy's screams or pleas. He just wanted to hurt him for all the things he thought the man stood for.
Lucian was relentless, stabbing the man again and again in different spots. The man had screamed and begged for his life, but Lucian didn't care. The more the man suffered, the better Lucian felt. The more blood that flowed from the man's body, the more satisfaction Lucian found in his brutal actions.Cellmate 3 was fading fast, his voice growing hoarse from all the pleading, his body barely able to keep up with the loss of blood. He was dying, and Lucian was enjoying every moment of it.
He pulled out the knife again and stabbed it in a different location, then he pulled it out again and repeated the same action.
Cellmate 3's pleas for mercy faded to a feeble croak, his voice hoarse from begging, his body limp and trembling as he lay in a pool of his own lifeblood. Yet still, Lucian continued, relentless in his torment.
Cellmate 3's form was now draped limply against the metal bars of the cell, his body a broken husk, his blood coating the cold steel.
The knife danced in Lucian's hand, its crimson edge glinting with grimness as he looked at the carnage he had done.
Blood flecked his face, and his clothes stained in a nauseating mosaic of red, marking him as the perpetrator of the violence.
But Lucian didn't care.
He kept stabbing and with each thrust of the kinfe, Lucian could feel his victim's life slip away, each stab a grim punctuation to his twisted vendetta against the world's injustices.
As the final breath left Cellmate 3's body, the man crumpled to the floor, his blood-soaked corpse a grim reminder of Lucian's depravity.
The system blinked to life.
[1 kill, +10xp]
[congrats on completing side quest, reward: +20xp]
Dropping to the ground, Lucian gasped for air, his chest heaving as the adrenaline from his brutal assault faded, leaving him with the grim reality of what he had done.
Three men, gone. Their lives snuffed out in a whirlwind of violence and fury, their deaths testament to the unfathomable depths of Lucian's hatred. Yet, even as the realization of his deeds dawned upon him, he found himself unable to deny the chilling thrill that had coursed through him with each thrust of the knife.
The savage pleasure of Cellmate 3's demise had intoxicated him, its euphoric rush more potent than any drug.
After some of his strength had returned, Lucian rose to his feet, swaying slightly as his muscles protested the effort. His body ached in a dozen places, every bruise and cut a painful reminder of the fight that had left him alone in this cell. The air was damp and cold, the stone floor beneath him unyielding. He leaned against the rough wall, letting its chill seep into his skin. For a fleeting moment, he entertained the thought of staying here. The cell, with its heavy iron bars and thick walls, felt like a sanctuary—a place where no one could reach him.
But Lucian knew better. Safety here was an illusion, one that would shatter the moment he let his guard down. He couldn't afford to linger. The assassin system's voice echoed faintly in his mind, its directives clear and unyielding. Systems like these demanded action, obedience. Some allowed failure, even offered second chances, but others… others were merciless. Punishment for disobedience could be cruel, and Lucian doubted a system born from the gods of vengeance would show him any kindness.
The cell might have felt like a haven now, but that comfort would soon sour. The corpses of his former cellmates, strewn haphazardly across the floor, would begin to rot in the coming days. He could already smell the faint metallic tang of blood, mingling with the dampness of the prison air. Soon, the stench would grow unbearable, choking him with decay. The thought made his stomach churn. Staying here wasn't an option—not for long.
Lucian let out a long, weary sigh, his breath clouding faintly in the cold air. He reached down and picked up the knife. The blade was dull and stained, but it would have to do. It had already served him well, and he doubted it had given up all its usefulness yet. His fingers curled tightly around the worn handle, the weapon feeling like an extension of his will.
He stared at the iron bars of the cell, calculating. Beyond them lay the unknown—a labyrinth of dark corridors, armed guards, and whatever other dangers the prison held. The odds weren't in his favor, but Lucian didn't have the luxury of hesitation.
With one last glance at the room that had been his shelter and his cage, Lucian took a step forward. It was time to break out.