"Please—please don't cut off my hand!"
The desperate plea echoed through the dimly lit chamber, bouncing off the cold stone walls. The scent of damp earth and blood filled the air, thick and suffocating. The torches lining the walls flickered weakly, casting long, jagged shadows across the room.
In the center, kneeling on the rough ground, was a man drenched in sweat. His body trembled violently, his wrists bound behind his back with thick iron cuffs. His eyes, wide with terror, darted around the room, searching for mercy in faces that held none. He swallowed hard, trying to wet his dry throat as he stared up at the silhouette of the monster before him.
A heavy silence followed.
Then—
A low, amused chuckle. Deep. Cold. Menacing.
The shadowed figure leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers clasped together in a relaxed manner. The dim light caught the ink sprawled across his arms—dark tattoos winding up his biceps, disappearing into the rolled sleeves of his shirt. His broad shoulders, sculpted with raw power, gave him an almost godlike presence.
Alpha Killian.
The Devil himself.
The traitor's breath hitched as he tried again, his voice breaking. "Please, I swear by the Moon Goddess, I did try! I did! I—"
Another chuckle, this one darker, more mocking.
"You want me to spare you?" Killian's voice was deep, rough, filled with a quiet kind of malice. He tilted his head slightly, watching the man shake. Pathetic.
The traitor nodded frantically. "I promise, Alpha. I'll do anything. I'll go back, I'll get the intel. Just—please—spare me!"
Killian exhaled, sitting back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on the man before him. He wasn't in a rush. He enjoyed watching his prey squirm, relished the taste of their fear. It was intoxicating.
"You went to our rival's pack on a mission," he mused, his voice calm, deliberate. "A mission that required nothing but stealth, precision, and loyalty."
The kneeling man shuddered.
"And yet…" Killian leaned forward again, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You went there and spent the night in some filthy brothel with cheap whores. And now…" His voice dropped to a near whisper, lethal and laced with venom. "You expect me to believe you were doing your job?"
"I-I wasn't thinking, Alpha—"
"That much is clear."
The room fell silent again. The only sound was the soft crackling of the torches. The other pack warriors stood in a rigid line along the walls, their expressions void of sympathy. They knew better. There was no redemption for betrayal.
Killian stood, his movements slow, calculated. The man flinched at the sheer size of him, the way his muscles tensed beneath his black shirt, the deadly grace in his stance.
A sharp glint of steel caught the light.
The traitor's eyes widened in horror as he recognized the weapon in Killian's grip—a gleaming blade, curved and wickedly sharp.
"N-no, please, Alpha—please, I swear—"
Killian exhaled, tilting his head as if considering. Then, with a ghost of a smirk, he spoke the words that sealed the man's fate.
"Swearing by the Moon Goddess means nothing when you have no honor."
And then—
A scream.
A sickening, wet sound of flesh parting beneath cold metal.
Blood splattered across the stone floor. The traitor's cry of agony ripped through the chamber, raw and unfiltered. His severed hand dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
Killian wiped the blade clean against the man's shirt, watching him writhe. He felt nothing.
Turning to his warriors, he spoke, his voice firm, emotionless.
"Let this serve as a reminder to all." He met their gazes, unyielding. "Betrayal is met with punishment. Failure is met with consequences."
Then, his cold eyes returned to the bleeding, sobbing mess at his feet.
"Dispose of him."
And just like that, the Devil walked away.