A low hum drifted through the night. "Hmm-hmm…" Alec's voice carried like a tune twisted with malice. He was not on the battlefield, yet he watched it unfold through unnatural eyes—eyes that crawled along the ground, through shadows, through the blood itself.
He smiled as Lucan's body staggered under the weight of three blades pressing against him. Each wound, each drop of blood, was a note in Alec's cruel symphony.
"How delightful," Alec whispered, his tone almost childlike in its glee. "Look at him—frail, broken, yet still fighting. It's not enough. I want more."
His words were not mere musings; they were commands. The assassins moved with renewed ferocity, their strikes sharper, their blades hungrier. Every slash that tore into Lucan's flesh made Alec's grin widen.
"Yes… bleed for me," Alec murmured, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Every cut is a sentence. Every wound, a paragraph. Your suffering is the story I crave."
Lucan's sword clashed again, his body trembling but unyielding. He fought like a man refusing to bow, even as blood dripped steadily from his wounds.
Alec leaned back in the shadows, humming once more, savoring the spectacle. "This is only the beginning," he said, his voice echoing faintly, as though carried by the wind itself. "I will write you into torment, Lucan. Again and again, until you break."
The battlefield seemed to pulse with Alec's presence, though he never lifted a blade. He was the puppeteer, and Lucan—the warrior king—was his unwilling marionette, dancing in a play of blood and steel.
From his unseen vantage, Alec's eyes gleamed with delight. He had watched Lucan bleed, watched him stagger yet refuse to fall. But now, he wanted more. He wanted not only to break Lucan's body, but his spirit. He wanted him to crumble into his own blood.
Alec's gaze shifted to Elira, the girl Lucan had fought so desperately to protect.
His eyes narrowed. Who is this woman? Why does Lucan risk everything for her? He was someone who cared for no one. She was not one of his creations, not a pawn in his schemes. Her aura was different—strange, unordinary.
"Enough of this," Alec said, his voice sharp as a command. "Strike at the girl."
The assassins obeyed instantly, two blades turning toward Elira. Alec's grin widened, savoring the moment. He saw the fear in her eyes, the panic flashing across Lucan's face.
"That's it," Alec murmured, his tone dripping with anticipation. "Let's see what this truly becomes…"
Elira's face hardened as the two men turned their blades toward her. She backed away, step by step, her breath quickening as they advanced.
One of them lunged, his sword cutting through the air. Elira dodged clumsily, stumbling as the blade grazed past her shoulder. The second pressed in immediately, forcing her further back, her hands clutching at nothing — she had no weapon, no way to defend herself.
Lucan saw it all, but he could do nothing. The leader's strikes hammered against him, each blow heavier than the last. His body screamed with pain, his wounds burning, his strength draining. He was at his limit. His knees threatened to buckle, his vision blurred. These men weren't pawns — they were true warriors, and they were breaking him piece by piece.
Then he heard it.
Elira's scream.
Lucan's head snapped toward her. One of the crimson warriors had seized Elira by the neck, lifting her off the ground, his blade poised to end her life.
For a heartbeat, Lucan's mind froze. That girl… she is the only answer to the curse I bear.
The warrior's grip tightened, Elira's scream echoing through the clearing. Lucan's vision blurred, his body failing, but the sight of her in danger shattered the last restraint within him.
His mind went black.
A familiar surge of raw, violent energy erupted from deep inside, tearing through his veins like fire. He tried to stop it, but his strength could no longer restrain it. His wounds no longer mattered. Pain no longer existed. Only fury remained.
Lucan roared, the sound shaking the trees. His eyes glowed with a feral crimson light, his movements no longer human but monstrous. He lunged at the leader, his strike so brutal it shattered the man's guard and sent him crashing to the ground.
The others faltered, their confidence breaking. They had mocked him, called him mortal, but now they faced something far worse — a beast unleashed.
Lucan's blade carved through the air in wild arcs, each swing fueled by madness. Steel split, cloaks tore, and blood sprayed under the moonlight. He moved faster than sight, faster than thought, his strikes relentless and merciless.
The warrior holding Elira barely had time to react before Lucan's hand seized him by the throat. With a savage twist, Lucan hurled him aside like a rag doll, his body crashing against the trees.
Elira collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, her eyes wide with horror. She had wanted him to fight, to survive — but this? This was something else. It was the beast she had glimpsed the first time they met.
The clearing became a storm of violence. Lucan tore through the assassins, his blade and fists indistinguishable in the frenzy. Their precision meant nothing now; his madness overwhelmed them, breaking their rhythm, crushing their skill.
The leader, bloodied and desperate, stared in disbelief. "This… this is the madness we feared…"
Lucan's roar drowned his words. He struck with merciless fury, his blade cleaving through steel and bone alike.
Elira watched, trembling. The true Lucan was gone. In his place stood a monster — cursed, unstoppable, terrifying. The curse was unleashed.
And as the last assassin fell beneath his rampage, the forest fell silent.
Lucan stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with unholy light. Blood dripped from his blade, his body trembling with the remnants of rage.
Elira's heart pounded. She had been saved — but at what cost?
Lucan turned to face her. His steps were heavy, his presence suffocating. Elira's body froze; she wanted to run, but it was as if the ground itself pinned her in place.
Inches between them, Lucan suddenly dropped to his knees. His body convulsed, the crimson glow in his eyes flickering. She saw it — the monster being forced back, restrained by sheer will.
"I… will…" Lucan rasped, his voice torn between man and beast. Then his body collapsed to the ground, motionless.
Elira stood trembling, her legs weak, her throat raw from the warrior's grip. She wanted to run, to flee from the monster she had just witnessed, but her feet wouldn't move. Instead, she found herself kneeling beside him.
Lucan's chest rose and fell, shallow but steady. Blood stained his armor, his hands, the earth around him. Yet even in his collapse, there was something fragile — something human — in the way he lay there.
Elira's hand hovered uncertainly over him. His wounds were deep, and she knew they needed tending immediately. But how? She had no herbs, no bandages, no healer's skill, and she didn't even know which way to go. All she had was her trembling resolve.
Her fingers brushed against his shoulder, and she flinched at the heat of his skin. It was as if the curse still burned inside him, simmering beneath the surface. She whispered, almost pleading, "Don't leave me… not like this. I only have you to rely on."
Lucan stirred faintly, his lips parting, but no words came. His body was heavy, his strength drained. The beast was gone — for now — but the man was barely holding on.
Elira pressed her hands against his wounds, desperate to stop the bleeding. Tears blurred her vision as she worked, fear mixing with determination. She looked around, her heart racing. What if the forest attacks again? What if carrion hounds come? How can I fight them when he's in this state?
Of all things, she wanted to scream from the turmoil boiling inside her. She wanted to curse the one who had dragged her into this nightmare.
"Let me go home," she whispered, her voice breaking under the weight of frustration and despair.
Yet even as the words left her lips, she knew she couldn't abandon him. She had seen him as a monster, but he was also her only salvation in this nightmare. Not when he had fought so fiercely to protect her.
She understood that Lucan could very well be the reason for her death, yet he was the only person she could cling to. The feeling of being trapped between salvation and destruction was the most terrifying thing she had ever known. And deep down, she realized this was not the end — that truth frightened her even more.
She leaned closer, her voice trembling as much as her hands. "You saved me… now I'll save you."
And in that moment, Elira knew: salvation and death wore the same face.