The Devil Himself

"Please—please don't cut off my

hand!"

The desperate plea echoed through the dark chamber, bouncing off the cold stone walls. The scent of damp earth

and blood filled the air, thick and suffocating. The torches lining the walls

flickered weakly, casting long, jagged shadows across the room.

In the center, kneeling on the rough

ground, was a man drenched in sweat. His body trembled violently, his wrists

bound behind his back with thick iron cuffs. His eyes, wide with terror, darted

around the room, searching for mercy in faces that held none. He knew he was in big trouble, and there was no way he would come out of it alive.

He had been starved for days, without food or water. He swallowed

hard, trying to wet his dry throat as he stared up at the silhouette of the

monster before him. The devil, as they would call him.

A heavy silence followed. A deafing silence, one which could make you wonder, what was gonna happen next.

Then, his voice came….

A low, amused chuckle.

Deep.

Cold.

Menacing.

The shadowed figure leaned forward,

elbows resting on his knees, fingers clasped together in a relaxed manner. The light which was dim, adding more tension to the scenery, caught the ink sprawled across his arms—dark tattoos winding up his

biceps, disappearing into the rolled sleeves of his shirt. His broad shoulders,

sculpted with raw power, gave him an almost godlike pres

Alpha Killian.

The devil himself. That’s what he liked to be called.

The traitor's breath hitched as he tried again, his voice breaking. "Please, I swear by the Moon Goddess, I did try! I did! I…” His desperate pleas, were cut short by a chuckle, this one darker, mocking, showing non-chalance.

"You want me to spare you?"

Killian's voice was deep, rough, filled with a quiet kind of malice. He tilted his head slightly, watching the man shake.

Pathetic. That’s what he thought about the fucking traitor. The fool thought, he could betray his pack, and walk away freely, and now, here he was begging for his life.

The traitor nodded frantically. "I

promise, Alpha. I'll do anything. I'll go back, I'll get the intel. Just please, spare me”. He pleaded, crying bitterly.

Killian exhaled, sitting back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on the man before him. He wasn't in a rush. He

enjoyed watching his prey squirm, relished the taste of their fear.

It was intoxicating. It satisfies him when they begged for mercy, it made him feel like a god, and he was one, both in the human realm, and in the supernatural realm.

"I sent you on a mission, to our rival pack," he mused, his voice calm, deliberate. "A mission that required nothing but stealth, precision, and loyalty."

The kneeling man shuddered, his head bent in shame.

"And yet…" Killian leaned

forward again, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You went there and spent the night in some filthy brothel with cheap

whores. And now…" His voice dropped to a near whisper, lethal and laced with venom. "You expect me to believe you were doing your job?. Do you know how many of my men I lost, because your foolish actions on giving us the wrong intel?" Killian asked, fisting his hands, like he was about to throw a punch.

"I…I wasn't thinking, Alpha…” He replied, sniffing like a child.

"Hmmm….That much is clear” Killian replied, uninterested.

The room fell silent again. The only sound was the soft crackling of the torches. The other pack warriors stood in a

rigid line along the walls, their expressions void of sympathy.

They knew better.

There was no redemption for a betrayer!

Only death, was the punishment, befitting for one.

Killian stood, his movements slow, calculated. He licked his lips, and looked anywhere else, but at the coward kneeling before him.

The man flinched at the sheer size of him, the way his muscles

tensed beneath his black shirt, the deadly grace in his stance.

A sharp glint of steel caught the light.

The traitor's eyes widened in horror as he recognized the weapon in Killian's grip, a gleaming blade, curved and

wickedly sharp. He knew, it was time.

"N-no, please, Alpha—please, I

swear". He yelled at the top of his voice, crying bitterly.

Killian exhaled, tilting his head as if considering his plea, smirked, and then, with a ghost of a smirk, he spoke the words that sealed the man's fate.

He crouched down to the man’s level, and whispered "Swearing by the Moon Goddess means nothing when you have no honor."

And then…

A scream.

A sickening, wet sound of flesh parting beneath cold metal. Blood splattered across the stone floor. The traitor's cry of agony ripped through the chamber, raw and unfiltered. His severed hand dropped to the ground with a dull thud.

Killian wiped the blade clean against the man's hair, watching him writhe.

He felt nothing, than pleasure, watching as the blood dripped down the man’s hand.

Turning to his warriors, he spoke, his voice firm, emotionless.

"Let this serve as a reminder to

all." He met their gazes, unyielding. "Betrayal is met with

punishment. Failure is met with consequences."

Then, his cold eyes returned to the bleeding, sobbing mess at his feet.

"Dispose him." And just like that, the Devil walked

away.