66: The Breaking Point

The weight of betrayal hung heavy in the air. The stench of blood clung to the ruins of what had once been a safe house—now nothing but a slaughterhouse. Bodies of his enemies littered the floor, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, faces frozen in the shock of death. The crimson-streaked walls bore the evidence of his merciless rampage, each splatter a signature of his wrath.

Alexander stood in the center of the wreckage, his breath ragged, his fists clenched. The rage within him had taken on a life of its own. It was no longer just anger—it was hunger. A ceaseless, gnawing need to destroy everything his father had built. He had crossed the line long ago, but tonight, he didn't just cross it. He obliterated it.

The Shadow of the Past

The fight had lasted mere minutes. Precision, brutality, and sheer force had ensured that none of them left the room alive. His enemies had screamed, begged, fought. None of it mattered. He had silenced them all, one by one, until nothing remained but the echoes of their final moments.

Eve stood at the doorway, her face pale, her hands trembling. Blood speckled her cheek, her lip was split, and her knuckles were raw from a fight of her own. But it wasn't the physical pain that made her look at him like that—it was something deeper. Something he didn't want to name.

"Alexander," she whispered. It was almost a plea.

He refused to meet her eyes. He was afraid of what he'd see. Afraid of the reflection of what he'd become staring back at him.

"I told you to stay out of this," he said, his voice rough, void of emotion.

Eve took a shaky step toward him. "You're not alone in this. I won't let you do this to yourself."

He let out a harsh laugh. "Do what, Eve? Finish what I started?"

Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "This isn't who you are."

Alexander's head snapped up, his eyes dark, unforgiving. "Then who the hell am I?"

She hesitated, her throat working as she searched for the right words. The air between them was thick with unspoken truths, with the weight of everything they had survived, and everything they had lost. But the man standing before her was no longer the Alexander she had once known.

"You're more than this," she said, softer now. "You don't have to become him."

Something inside him cracked. Just for a moment. A flash of hesitation, a flicker of the man he used to be. But then, the weight of his father's legacy came crashing down again, snuffing out the momentary weakness.

"You wanted me to be your monster?" His voice was low, venomous, as he took a step closer, invading the space between them. "Then watch me burn your kingdom to the ground."

The Edge of the Abyss

Eve reached out, but he pulled away before her fingers could touch his skin. It was easier this way. He needed to sever whatever remained between them before it ruined her, too.

"Get out, Eve."

"No."

His jaw clenched. "Don't test me."

"Or what?" she challenged, fire flashing in her eyes. "You'll throw me out like everyone else? You think that makes you strong? It doesn't. It makes you a coward."

The word cut through him like a blade. But he didn't react. He couldn't afford to. Instead, he turned his back to her, wiping the blood from his knuckles as if that would cleanse him of the sins he had just committed.

"I can't save you, Eve."

"I don't need saving."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I don't know how to stop."

Her silence stretched between them, heavy and unbearable. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Then let me remind you."

She stepped closer, placing a tentative hand on his arm. It was the first time anyone had touched him without violence in what felt like forever. The warmth of her fingers seeped through the coldness in his veins, grounding him. He hated it. He needed it.

Alexander closed his eyes, just for a second. One second where he wasn't a weapon, where he wasn't drowning in his own darkness. One second where Eve was enough to make him feel human again.

But one second wouldn't change the war that was coming.

And he had already chosen his path.