Raven walked down the narrow hallway, his boots creaking against the broken wooden floorboards. Each step echoed with an eerie, hollow sound, a grim soundtrack to his captivity. As he moved, he couldn't help but notice the faint whispers and muffled sobs bleeding through the doors lining the corridor.
"Just how many people have these guys locked up in here?" he thought grimly.
Ahead of him, the man with the scar sauntered carelessly, his heavy boots thudding against the wood. Raven's sharp eyes caught the glint of a small knife tucked into the man's belt at his back. It was long enough to pierce a heart with ease.
"Are there many others you've kidnapped besides me?" Raven asked, his tone unnervingly calm.
The scarred man halted abruptly and turned, his scar twisting as his lips curled into a dangerous smile. He stared at Raven for a long moment before speaking.
"You're one lucky princess," he said finally, his voice laced with mockery.
Raven frowned, unsure of the strange reply. "What do you mean?"
The man resumed walking, his casual strides more menacing than any deliberate threat. "Let's just say I drew lots to decide whether to kill you now or later. Lucky for you, you won. So, later it is."
A chill ran down Raven's spine, but he masked his unease, keeping his expression neutral.
The man's voice dropped, a low growl vibrating in his chest. "Princess, if you don't want me to do another lucky draw, I suggest you keep that pretty mouth shut."
Raven didn't reply, opting instead to fall into a tense silence. His thoughts raced, piecing together what he had learned. The unsettling sounds from the rooms, the mocking words of his captor—it all confirmed his suspicion. He wasn't the only one these Scythes had brought here.
As they approached the end of the hallway, a large wooden door loomed ahead, its surface scarred and worn. Raven guessed this was their destination.
The man with the scar reached out and pushed the door open, its heavy creak breaking the oppressive silence. Raven stepped through into a cavernous room.
It was dark, save for a pale beam of moonlight streaming through a large crack in the ceiling. The silver glow illuminated the center of the space, where a simple wooden chair sat. Occupying it was a figure who seemed otherworldly under the moonlight.
The man was young—eerily so—with snow-white hair that shimmered in the pale light. His storm-gray eyes were piercing, set in a face so unnaturally beautiful it seemed carved from marble. Raven blinked, unable to reconcile the ethereal appearance of this man with the reputation of the Scythes' leader.
"This is him?" Raven thought. "The leader of one of the deadliest criminal organizations? And he's just… a teenager?"
The white-haired man's eyes met Raven's, unblinking and cold. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until Raven broke it.
"Why bring me here?"
[SLAM!]
Raven crumpled to the floor as the man with the scar delivered a brutal blow to the back of his head.
"Know your place, princess! How dare you speak to the boss like that!" the man snarled.
Raven let out a grunt of pain, his hands pressing against the splintered floor. Blood trickled down his forehead, staining the white bandages that already wrapped his battered body.
"Shut it," came a voice, low and icy.
The room seemed to freeze. The white-haired man's calm but emotionless command sliced through the tension like a blade. The scarred man stiffened, his bravado crumbling under the weight of his boss's gaze.
"But, boss—"
A single look from those storm-gray eyes silenced him. Murder flashed in the leader's expression, promising death if another word was uttered.
"Get out."
The scarred man hesitated, his body trembling, before throwing Raven a hateful glare. Without another word, he stomped out, slamming the door behind him.
Raven pushed himself to his feet, his blood dripping onto the floor in crimson splatters. He leaned against his knees for support, his breathing ragged, as his dark eyes locked onto the white-haired man.
"Nice to meet you, son of Augustus Morrigon," the man said, his tone devoid of warmth.
Raven's stomach twisted. Now he understood why he'd been taken.
The man continued, his gaze never wavering. "I'm the leader of the Scythes. You can call me Cielo."
For a moment, Raven said nothing, his hollow eyes staring back at Cielo. Then, he asked, his voice flat, "What's going to happen to me?"
Cielo tilted his head slightly, as though the question had caught him off guard. For the first time, a faint flicker of emotion crossed his face—surprise.
"Don't you want to know why you're here? Or where you are?"
Raven's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Why waste my breath? My fate's already been decided by you bastards."
Cielo's eyes widened ever so slightly before a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Smart boy. Smarter than the last fools."
Raven's suspicions solidified. The muffled cries he'd heard in the hallway weren't just his imagination. The Scythes had taken others—children like him—and subjected them to whatever fate awaited.
"My answer?" Raven asked, his voice steady.
Cielo chuckled softly, an almost predatory sound. "Your answer? Well, that's up to you, isn't it?"
The leader of the Scythes leaned forward, his silver hair catching the moonlight. His dangerous smile deepened.
"It's your move, Raven Morrigon. What happens next depends entirely on you."