The yellow-haired elf sat peacefully, his posture exuding a kind of languid boredom, on the ground with his back pressed firmly against the trunk of the huge tree. He wore no armor—only a long-sleeved black shirt, matching trousers, and sturdy black boots. Every inch of his clothing was streaked and stained with blood, the crimson painting his dark attire in a grotesque, almost artistic shade of red. Cradled in his arms, as tenderly as if he were holding a child, was a sword whose blade gleamed coldly in the moonlight, its surface and hilt slick with blood from recent violence.
The elf's dark, almost obsidian gaze fell on Alex with an air of plain boredom, as if what he saw before him was utterly unremarkable. It was as though Alex had failed to meet some unspoken expectation, as though he had disappointed the elf merely by existing. A sharp pang of fear twisted in Alex's gut, for the elf's eyes were not only bored but also laced with a cruel mockery, making Alex feel as if his very presence was beneath contempt. Perhaps that was the reason the elf had not yet killed him, keeping him alive just long enough to nurture a spark of hope before extinguishing it at his leisure; the elf seemed to know with chilling certainty that he could end Alex's life whenever he pleased. Power was radiating out from the elf's frame, and though blood covered his body and clothes, his face itself was untouched—remarkably clean, unmarked by even the smallest bruise or cut.
"So, you finally noticed me," the elf remarked, his voice dripping with blatant mockery. It was as if he was genuinely disappointed that Alex only noticed him so late.
"Who are you?" Alex shouted, his voice raw and broken, the sound scraping from his sore throat. He pressed trembling fingers to his neck and felt the warm, wet slickness of blood. The elf had sliced his throat with surgical precision, leaving only a shallow cut—one that would not kill him instantly, but was enough to sting and bleed. He was certain the wound was the elf's doing, for just moments before the elf had been cradling his sword, and now the blade rested in the elf's right hand. Alex could not recall feeling the cut happen; he only noticed the thin, burning line beneath his bruised fingers as he touched his neck.
With the sudden surge of fear, Alex forced himself upright, pushing off the ground and tightening his grip on his sword with desperate determination. Before he could even gather his thoughts or steady his breath, the elf moved—faster than anyone Alex had ever seen, faster than Lara. In the blink of an eye, the elf was in front of him, a pale hand shooting out to seize Alex's neck, lifting him effortlessly off his feet.
Alex's grip on his sword slackened and the weapon clattered to the ground. His back was crushed against the rough bark of the tree, the supposed protection of his armor now pressing painfully into his flesh rather than offering any meaningful defense. The metal dug into his bones, making each breath more agonizing.
Alex's chest tightened, and his heart hammered so violently against his ribs that he feared it might burst free. "W-Why... are you... s-so... strong?" he gasped, his words strained and broken, each syllable forced out on a choked, ragged breath. His lungs screamed for air, but the elf's grip on his throat was so unyielding that breathing became a torturous labor. The earlier cut on his neck only made the pain sharper, the burning sensation compounding his terror and helplessness.
The elf spat contemptuously on Alex's armor, the glob of saliva sliding down the dented metal. "Tsk. To think you are this weak," he sneered, his tone a mixture of harsh disappointment and open mockery.
Unable to restrain his anger at being so openly mocked, Alex forced out a hoarse, defiant shout. "Ki...kill me, you bastard! Why .. m..mock me?" His words came out ragged, fragmented by his labored breathing. He coughed, choking on his own saliva, and managed to spit directly onto the elf's pale, beautiful face.
The elf's expression twisted instantly into raw fury, and without hesitation, he began to pummel Alex's face with savage, relentless blows. The assault continued mercilessly until Alex's features were battered and swollen, bruises blooming across his skin and blood pouring from his split lips and broken nose. His azure eyes were nearly swollen shut, the elf's fists having found their mark again and again, leaving Alex barely recognizable.
"Why are you doing this?" Alex sobbed, tears streaming down his battered face as he finally broke under the pain and despair. "Just kill me!" he screamed, his voice shredded and choking on the agony that wracked his body.
The elf wiped Alex's spit from his face with a look of cold disgust, and at last, Alex felt the grip on his neck begin to loosen. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself a fragile hope—that perhaps now the elf would finally kill him and release him from this torment.
But the elf did not let him go. Instead, with a casual cruelty, he seized Alex by the leg and began to drag him across the ground. Alex's body hit the earth face-first, rocks and roots scraping his skin as he was pulled along by someone who, despite his inhuman power, looked no older than Alex himself—perhaps a year or two older at most, but still just a boy in appearance.
***
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