The room plunged into a hushed stillness as the two assassins completed their sinister task.
With cold, calculated precision, they drove their daggers into Levi's vulnerable neck, causing blood to gush forth in rivulets, staining the once pristine sheets.
In that harrowing moment, the world lost Levi. Death embraced him, its icy grip extinguishing the flickering flame of his existence.
The assassins believed their mission was accomplished, and their duty to their leader was fulfilled.
But unbeknownst to them, their triumph was an illusion, a twisted trick played by fate.
For the body they had slain, lying prone upon the bed, was not Levi himself but a perfect simulacrum—an unyielding water clone crafted by his mystic abilities.
Levi shrouded in the ethereal veil of the shadow, observed the assassins as they severed the head from the lifeless body.