Do you want to live

that night , 

Larry walked into a situation that would traumatize him for ever . 

Larry's breath hitched.

He followed the blood trail—leading from the door to the center of the room.

His brother, Greyrat, was sprawled on the floor, his right arm missing, his face contorted in unimaginable horror. The blood leaking from the stump pulsed in slow, uneven bursts.

And in front of him—

A child.

A mere boy, no older than nine, standing over him with a blood-drenched sword. The blade trembled faintly in his hand, not from weakness—but from anticipation. Like the weapon itself was hungry for more.

A pair of blue eyes flicked toward him.

Cold. Emotionless. Inhuman.

Larry's body froze.

For the first time in his life, a feeling unlike any other took hold of him.

Terror.

True, absolute terror.

This was no ordinary child.

This was a monster.

Here's a refined version with more depth and emotional weight:

And he had just walked into its den.

Larry wanted to move—wanted to run—but his body refused to obey. His breath hitched, his legs locked in place, and a sickening chill crawled up his spine.

Before him lay a corpse—John's lifeless body, his eyes frozen in terror—and beside it, a severed arm, pooling in fresh blood.

Zed stood amidst the carnage, his expression eerily calm, his blade still dripping red. He barely spared Larry a glance as he raised his sword and pointed it toward Will, his voice detached yet absolute.

"Oi, you. Cover his arm before he bleeds out."

The words cut through Larry's paralysis like a blade. His body jolted back to life, and he rushed toward his brother, hands shaking as he tore off a strip of cloth and tied it around the mangled stump where Will's arm had once been.

"Brother—what happened here?" Larry stammered, his voice cracking with fear.

Will gasped, his face twisted in agony, his good hand clawing at Larry's shirt as if holding on for dear life. His voice trembled as he choked out, "That… that kid… he killed John… and—he… he took my arm."

Will's breathing turned ragged, panic overtaking pain. "Larry… that kid is a monster."

His grip on Larry tightened, his eyes pleading, despite knowing the futility of it.

"Larry… save me."

But they both knew—deep down—Larry couldn't do a damn thing.

Still, Will begged.

Because it was human nature to cling to hope, even in the face of certain death.

after cloth was knotted zed spoke , " what your name " pointing his sword at Larry 

Larry seeing the blood made him sick but he spoke because of the fear "i am larry greyrat , i am ... i am his young brother"

Zed's lips curled into a smirk, his cold blue eyes gleaming with interest.

"Haa… good. No, it's even better."

He then turned his gaze to Will, his voice eerily calm.

"Do you want to live?"

The moment Will heard the word live, something inside him snapped. The proud, arrogant noble who never once lowered his head—not even to his father—collapsed into pure desperation. He clung to whatever shred of hope he could grasp, pleading like a beggar on the streets.

"Yes! Please… please let me live! I swear I won't speak a word about this to anyone! I'll even reduce your debt! I'll do anything—just spare me, please!"

Larry watched in utter disbelief as his once prideful brother groveled at Zed's feet. The man who mocked the weak, who scoffed at those who begged, was now on his knees, hands trembling, eyes filled with sheer terror.

And in that moment, only one thought ran through Larry's mind.

"What the hell happened here? And when did Lord Zed become such a terrifying person?"

Zed tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting with a sadistic amusement.

"Anything?"

Will, desperate, nodded frantically. "Yes! Anything!"

Zed let out a soft chuckle, then, without a word, walked to the door. He shut it with an eerie calmness, then sat down on a chair, positioning himself in front of the entrance—the only escape.

A blood-drenched sword clattered onto the floor in front of Will.

"Then kill your younger brother," Zed ordered, his voice carrying no malice, just cold indifference.

Larry froze, his breath hitching. His heart pounded so violently it felt like it might burst from his chest.

"Will… you wouldn't… right?" Larry's voice trembled, his hands shaking. He turned to his brother, waiting for reassurance, for denial—for anything but silence.

But Will didn't look at him.

His teary eyes were fixated on the sword as if it were calling to him, whispering promises of survival.

"Will?" Larry took a hesitant step back. "Will, say something!" His voice rose in panic.

Then, in a broken voice, Will muttered, "I'm sorry, Larry… but if I want to live, you must die."

A fresh wave of terror gripped Larry's chest as he watched Will—his own brother—grasp the sword with his trembling left hand.

And then, without hesitation, he swung.

Larry barely ducked in time as the blade cut through the air, missing his neck by mere inches.

"Will, stop!" Larry shouted, backing away, his feet stumbling over the blood-streaked floor. "It's me! Your brother!"

But Will kept swinging, each strike wild and desperate, his breathing ragged, his mind clouded by sheer survival instinct.

Larry bolted, running around the room, dodging, weaving—fighting to live.

Zed watched it all unfold, resting his chin on his palm, his expression unreadable.

Will tried—he truly did. 

His trembling grip tightened around the dagger, his breathing shallow and erratic. He raised the blade, aiming for Larry's throat—but his hands wouldn't move any further. His body refused. His mind screamed at him to do it, to survive at any cost, yet something deep inside wouldn't allow it. 

His arms shook violently, his breath hitching in ragged sobs. "I… I can't…" 

Zed sighed, stepping forward. 

"You really are useless," he murmured. 

In one fluid motion, Zed knelt beside Larry, his presence cold and suffocating. Before Larry could react, Zed's hand wrapped around his, gripping it firmly. The dagger in Larry's grasp felt heavier, as if his very soul weighed upon its edge. 

"See?" Zed's voice was eerily calm as he guided Larry's trembling hand. "It's so easy… Just like this." 

With controlled force, Zed pressed down, driving the dagger across Will's throat. 

A wet, gurgling sound filled the room. 

Will's body convulsed, his eyes wide with sheer horror as blood poured from the deep gash. He clawed at his slit throat, gasping—desperate for air that would never come. His legs twitched, his fingers curled inward. 

Larry could only watch. 

His hands, still gripping the dagger, were slick with his brother's blood. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. 

He had killed his own brother. 

A part of his mind shattered in that moment. 

His breath came out in broken sobs as he stared at the dying corpse beneath him. Will's body twitched once more before going still, his glassy eyes fixed on Larry in a silent, eternal plea. 

Larry let out a choked laugh—a hollow, unstable sound. His hands trembled violently, his mind slipping into a dark, bottomless abyss. 

Zed watched him with detached amusement, his expression unreadable. 

"Well," he said, wiping the blood from his hands. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

back to reality 

Habil's body trembled as he listened. His mind reeled from the gruesome details, and his stomach churned violently. Overcome by the weight of Zed's words, he collapsed to his knees, retching onto the cold floor. 

His son… his foolish, arrogant son… had begged for his life before dying by his own brother's hands. 

The sheer brutality of it all made his skin crawl. 

As he wiped the bile from his lips, he forced himself to look up at Zed—his gaze filled with a mix of horror, hatred, and despair. "Why…" His voice came out hoarse and broken. "Why did you do all this? I don't believe you went this far for a few guards and a mere maid." 

Zed tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "No," he admitted, his voice calm, almost bored. "I did it because your bastard son tried to have his way with my sister." 

Habil's breath hitched. 

His mind went blank for a moment as the weight of those words settled over him. 

Zed leaned in slightly, his blue eyes gleaming with a quiet, terrifying intensity. "I didn't tell you this so you could mourn your son's death. No." His voice dropped, each word sharp as a dagger. "I told you this so you would understand exactly what happens when someone dares to touch my beloved ones." 

Habil felt his blood run cold. 

Zed exhaled slowly, straightening his posture. "I wanted to kill you," he admitted, his tone almost casual. "But your idiotic son came crawling to me, pleading for your life." A small, chilling smirk tugged at his lips. "So, as a man of my word, I am letting you live." 

Habil's breath came in short, uneven gasps. He wanted to speak, to curse, to scream—but he couldn't. 

He had stepped into the lion's den. 

And now he understood. 

This boy before him—no, this monster—was not someone to be trifled with.

As Zed turned away, he strode toward his chariot, his footsteps echoing in the heavy silence. His gaze swept over the battlefield, passing over broken bodies and blood-stained ground—until he caught sight of Roadie. 

The man was barely clinging to life, his breaths shallow, his body twitching ever so slightly. 

Zed raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. 

With a quiet chuckle, he muttered under his breath, "This bastard's still alive?"