Alone once again

The flickering torchlight danced across the cold stone walls of the hideout, casting long, distorted shadows. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and old blood, remnants of countless battles and betrayals.

Then—

"Well, well… what do we have here?"

Luig froze.

A chill crawled up his spine as his fingers instinctively reached for his sword. At the entrance of the hideout, standing tall with a smug smirk, was Prince Henry.

The man who had ruined his life.

His presence was suffocating, his golden armor reflecting the firelight with an almost mocking glow. His piercing gaze locked onto Luig, eyes filled with twisted amusement.

Tulip's breath hitched. No… not him.

"Luig, let's go!" she whispered urgently, tugging at his arm. "Hurry, we have to run!"

But Luig didn't move. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. His body trembled—not with fear, but with pure, boiling rage.

"So it was you… bastard." His voice was low, deadly. His grip on his sword tightened, knuckles turning white. "I will kill you."

Henry chuckled darkly, stepping forward. "Oh? Is that so?" His voice was laced with amusement. "You've grown, Luig. But tell me… do you think you've grown enough to kill me?"

Tulip yanked Luig's arm. "What happened to you? Snap out of it! We have to go!"

"Huh…?" Luig blinked, snapping out of his rage-filled trance. He exhaled sharply, his breath shaky. His hatred burned like an uncontrollable flame, but he wasn't ready yet. Not now.

"Yes… let's go." His voice was still dripping with anger, but this time, he let Tulip pull him away.

As they turned and ran, Henry simply stood there, watching them with a knowing smirk.

"Run, little rats. Run as much as you want. But there is no escape."

---

Outside the Hideout – Moments Before the Attack

The cold night air carried the distant howls of wolves, blending with the crackling of torches held by the advancing soldiers. The hideout loomed ahead, a silent sanctuary—soon to be a slaughterhouse.

A cloaked figure kneeled before Henry, his head bowed in obedience.

"My lord… you summoned me?" The voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

Henry didn't look at him immediately. Instead, he gazed at the hideout, the devious smile never leaving his face. "Yes…" He spoke softly, almost savoring the moment. Then he turned to the kneeling man, eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation. "Tell me… are there any secret passages?"

The mysterious man hesitated for the briefest second before nodding. "Yes, my lord. There is one… it leads to Yung Hoo River."

Henry's smirk widened.

"Very well then… you alone will go there." He clapped a hand on the man's shoulder, the touch deceptively gentle. "I know someone will be there."

The man's fingers twitched, but he kept his head low.

"Understood, my lord."

Henry turned back toward the hideout, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword.

"Tonight… no one leaves alive."

The hideout trembled with tension. The flickering flames from the torches painted the cavernous walls in hues of orange and red, casting eerie shadows over the remaining members of the troupe. The air felt heavier—thicker—like an invisible force was pressing down on everything.

Prince Henry took a slow step forward, his armored boots clicking against the stone floor. His gaze swept over the scattered corpses of his fallen men, slain by the very outlaws he had come to exterminate. His smirk, ever present, widened, but there was no amusement in it now—only malice.

"You pests…" His voice was dangerously low, carrying the weight of unspoken fury. He exhaled sharply, cracking his neck as if shaking off an inconvenience. "You killed my men."

His cold, golden eyes flickered with something sinister.

"Instantly."

Novanga, still gripping his bloodied sword, took a cautious step back, sweat beading on his forehead. The atmosphere was changing—warping—something unnatural was stirring.

Henry sighed, raising a gloved hand lazily. "But I don't want to waste time with insects." He rolled his shoulders, as if preparing for something. "Just give me a moment."

Then—

His fingers began to move.

With unholy precision, Henry's hands danced through a series of rapid, intricate signs, weaving symbols in the air. His movements were too fast, too precise—almost inhuman. The temperature in the room dropped, and a faint, sinister glow pulsed from his fingertips.

A deep, haunting whisper filled the air. It wasn't from Henry—it was coming from the shadows themselves.

Then, suddenly—

A scream.

"AAAAAARGH!"

Novanga convulsed violently, his body jerking as if being electrocuted. He dropped his weapon, hands clawing at his throat. His veins bulged, glowing a sickly orange.

"W-What is happening…? H-Hey! You bastards! W-What have you done to me?!"

His shrieks turned guttural, raw. He stumbled forward, eyes wide in pure, undiluted horror.

Then—flames.

Fire erupted from within him.

Bright, searing flames burst from his eyes, his mouth, his ears. His flesh bubbled and cracked as his insides were consumed by hellish fire. His screams turned to choked gurgles, then—

He collapsed.

His body convulsed one last time before going still, his lifeless, burnt-out eyes staring blankly at nothing. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air.

Silence.

Then—

"BASTARD!"

Rogar, fists trembling with rage, stepped forward, his entire body shaking.

"I WILL KILL YOU!"

Without a second thought, he lunged at Henry, his blade raised, his face twisted with fury.

But—

He never reached him.

The moment Rogar took a step, his entire body froze. His eyes widened, his mouth opening in a silent scream.

Then—ashes.

Before he could even move an inch closer, his body disintegrated into black dust.

No fire. No struggle.

Just nothing.

His sword clattered to the ground, the only sound in the suffocating silence.

Henry tilted his head, watching the ashes scatter like forgotten memories. He smirked, dusting off his gloves.

"Tsk… disappointing."

The remaining members of the troupe were paralyzed with fear. No one moved. No one even breathed.

Henry's golden eyes glowed.

"Who's next?"

The hideout was dead silent. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt flesh, and only the faint crackling of dying embers remained where Rogar had stood moments ago. The other members of the troupe were frozen, their eyes wide with terror as Henry stood before them, untouched, unshaken—his lips curling into a twisted grin.

He dusted off his hands as if brushing away specks of dirt.

"Oh no," he sighed mockingly, "I'm wasting my time here, aren't I?" His voice was casual, almost bored. Then, with a smirk, he continued, "Sorry, humans, I won't burn you."

The remaining troupe members exchanged nervous glances, their faces stretched into frightened, forced smiles.

"Y-Your Majesty..." one of them stammered, their voice barely above a whisper.

"SHUT UP!" Henry's voice exploded through the cavern, making the walls tremble.

And then, without hesitation, he reached up and gripped the skin of his own face.

A sickening, wet tearing sound filled the chamber as he ripped the flesh away in one swift motion. Blood splattered to the ground, sizzling like hot oil on stone.

What lay beneath was not human.

The troupe members gasped, their eyes widening in sheer horror.

Henry's true face was now revealed—a demon. His skin, once fair and regal, was now charcoal-black with veins of crimson energy pulsating beneath it. His eyes, no longer human, burned a deep, hellish red. Sharp, jagged teeth gleamed as he grinned at them, his elongated claws twitching with anticipation.

For a moment, no one moved. No one even breathed.

Then Henry spoke, his voice lower, darker—no longer belonging to a man, but to a monster.

"What's wrong?" he taunted, stepping forward slowly. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Oh… wait. You thought I was human?"

A chilling laugh escaped his lips.

"You fools… you never even questioned it, did you?"

The troupe members were paralyzed. Their bodies refused to move, their minds unable to process the horror before them. Henry—no, the demon—stood before them, his crimson eyes glowing with sadistic pleasure.

Then, it happened.

In less than a second.

Henry's mouth stretched unnaturally, grotesquely—his jaw snapping open wider, wider, even wider, until it seemed as if his entire head had split apart. Rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth lined the abyss within, dripping with dark saliva.

"No—!" Miara's scream barely left her throat before the darkness rushed forward.

CRUNCH!

Her body vanished inside his monstrous maw.

Krosov stumbled back, his hands shaking. "D-Demon! H-He's not human—!"

Before he could turn, Henry's elongated tongue lashed out, wrapping around his neck like a serpent. With a single, violent yank, he was dragged into the abyss.

"NO! NO! HELP ME—!"

SNAP!

His muffled scream ended in an instant.

The remaining members tried to run.

Too late.

Henry's body lunged forward unnaturally fast, his expanding mouth swallowing two more whole.

Helgar and Durnan barely had time to lift their weapons when a powerful gust of wind—no, a vacuum—sucked them in.

CHOMP!

Silence.

Blood dripped from Henry's lips as he licked his fingers, savoring the taste.

All that remained of the troupe was scattered bones and the lingering stench of death.

Henry's jaw slowly snapped back into place, his monstrous mouth shrinking to its original form. He let out a satisfied sigh.

"Tsk, humans are so fragile."

Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned toward the secret passage—where Tulip and Luig had fled.

The night was silent, save for the rhythmic crashing of waves against the shore. The sand of Yung Hoo River was cold under the moonlight, untouched—until a faint creaking echoed through the night.

From beneath the sand, a small wooden door slid open.

A moment later, Tulip emerged, gasping for air as she pulled herself up onto the shore. Her clothes were soaked in sweat, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion. She quickly turned back, extending her hand.

"Luig, hurry!"

Luig gritted his teeth as he climbed out of the narrow passage. His hands grasped Tulip's, and with one strong pull, she hoisted him up. The moment his boots touched the sand, he let out a deep breath.

They made it.

Or so they thought.

WHIZZ—!

Before either of them could react, a black arrow ripped through the air.

SHLK!

Tulip's body jerked forward.

A deep, wet gasp escaped her lips.

The arrow had pierced her stomach.

Her fingers trembled as she slowly looked down, eyes widening in disbelief at the dark shaft buried deep in her flesh. Blood—warm and thick—seeped from the wound, staining her clothes.

"T-Tulip…?!" Luig's voice wavered as he caught her before she collapsed.

From the bushes, a figure stepped out.

A man clad in dark leather armor, holding a bow. His face was sharp, cold, yet strangely familiar.

Tulip's breath hitched. Her vision blurred, but she recognized him instantly.

"No... it can't be…" she whispered, pain mixing with shock.

Luig's grip tightened on her. He turned towards the man, eyes burning with rage. "Who the hell are you?!"

The man exhaled, lowering his bow. A smirk curled on his lips.

"Took you long enough to get here."

He took a step forward, the moonlight revealing his face.

It was Arvan.

A former ally. A brother-in-arms.

Once part of the troupe.

Declared dead years ago.

And now—he stood against them.

Tulip's voice trembled. "Arvan… why?"

His smirk deepened, but his eyes were cold.

"Why?" he echoed, tilting his head. "Because, Tulip... some debts are never forgiven."

Tulip's breath came in short, ragged gasps as she clutched her stomach, warm blood spilling between her fingers. Luig held her up, his jaw clenched in fury as he locked eyes with Arvan—the man they once fought beside, the man they had buried in the past.

"You…" Luig growled, his hands trembling. "You were supposed to be dead."

Arvan exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, that's what they thought when they left me behind." His voice was calm, but underneath it was a bitterness that had festered for years.

Tulip winced, forcing herself to stay upright. "We didn't leave you… you were—"

"Save it." Arvan's voice turned sharp, his smirk fading. "You all turned your backs on me. I was bleeding out, begging for help, but you ran. Like cowards."

Luig's eyes flickered with confusion. "That's not what happened!"

Arvan let out a hollow chuckle. "Oh, but that's what I remember."

He took a step forward, bow still in hand. The firelight from the distant torches of the ruined hideout flickered behind him, casting his face in shadow.

"Henry found me first," Arvan said, tilting his head slightly. "And you know what? I finally realized something. Humans like you? You're all the same. You fight for survival, you call each other family, but the moment things go bad—"

His smile turned into a sneer.

"You choose yourselves."

Luig's fist clenched. He wanted to believe that Arvan was lying, that he had twisted his memories to justify his betrayal. But deep inside, a shadow of doubt crept into his mind.

Had they really abandoned him?

No.

No, something wasn't right.

Arvan shifted his grip on the bow. "Enough talk." He knocked another arrow, aiming directly at Luig. "Step aside."

Tulip's breath was shaky as she lifted her head. Despite the pain, she glared at him with defiance. "If you think... I'll just let you kill us…" She tightened her grip on her dagger, blood dripping from her fingers. "You're dead wrong."

Arvan smirked. "You already look half-dead to me."

Then—he loosed the arrow.

In a blink, Luig pushed Tulip aside and caught it mid-air.

SNAP! The arrow shaft shattered in his grip.

Arvan's eyes widened. "What the—"

Before he could react, Luig lunged.

His blade flashed in the moonlight, slashing toward Arvan's throat—

But Arvan was fast. Too fast.

He twisted away, flipping backward into the shadows of the trees. His voice echoed from the darkness.

"I was hoping for a fight, but not tonight."

Luig snarled, his body tensed to attack, but Tulip's weak grip on his wrist stopped him.

"We… we need to move," she panted. "He's stalling. More are coming."

Luig bit back a curse, watching as Arvan's silhouette disappeared into the trees.

The betrayal still burned inside him.

But Tulip was right.

This wasn't over. Not yet.

Gritting his teeth, he lifted Tulip onto his back. Without another word, he turned toward the darkness—

And ran.

To be continue