"It turned out that the three of them
were hiding the spy,
and so the two brothers engaged in battle."

・ ・ ・

He's here.

Storm jerked back, retreating from the window while keeping an eye onSlayen. His heart pounded, thundering in his ears. Hands quivered, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. Gasps fell from his lips.

Slayen is here.

The criminal was half-shrouded in the shadows of a cabinet, crimson eyes glowing with malevolence. "You...?" he murmured, a voice so hoarse and hushed that it made Storm's skin prickle with dread. There was that sense of apprehensive vulnerability, striking deep into his chest like a dagger through his soul.

Slayen was standing right in front of him, an ominous presence in the midst of joyous reunion. His father's murderer, his mother's killer; the sinner who disrupted the tranquil peace of the kingdom by committing the foulest, gravest of crimes. He was right there, in Karza's house, observing them all with a monstrous glare.

... Karza knew.

Storm whipped his head around to see the said boy still chatting relaxedly with Tesarah, Minara and Yelena.

Karza has been helping Minara hide Slayen.

That was why they could never find him. Slayen had been hiding in the deeper parts of the slums, where everyone was either an ally or neutral with his existence. Where the people banded together to raise their chances of survival.

All of them were friends.

Storm turned again to look for Xenor. He needed to tell his brother about Slayen. About what was happening, what he realised.

But Xenor was nowhere to be seen.

Where is he? His mind flew into a panic as he whirled around in search of his missing brother. He was just here. Chest heaving. Palms sweating. Back burning where it was in contact with his short sword, fingers itching to take it out and brandish it.

If only to stop the chill thrumming through his body, his blood.

The last time he saw the murderer was before the fire. He was kneeling on the execution platform, head low in resigned silence, waiting for his demise. But now Slayenwas drawn to his full, intimidating height, stare unfaltering. Eerie, still as a statue. Fingers curled. Hateful suspicion in his red, red gaze.

He had recovered. He had healed. He had survived and was back, hiding behind his sister and friend like shields, advancing like a predator with the Avalons as his prey.

Did Yelena know about Slayen too? It was likely, seeing how close she was with Minara and Karza. They had yet to notice the criminal's appearance, too caught up in their conversation.

But Tesarah said Yelena didn't know, Storm pondered, recalling the girl's words. Does that mean she lied? To me?

He shut down the thought in an instant, refusing to doubt his friend. His first friend. She had been nothing but helpful so far. Perhaps she truly didn't know about Yelena's situation, and told them what she hoped instead.

Storm turned back to Slayen, meeting his gaze. Crimson orbs as hard as steel, narrowed into scrutinising slits. "I know you," hissed the criminal, taking a step forward. "I know those eyes."

And he was out of the house, leaping through the window, darting towards Storm in the blink of an eye. A hand reached out, extending, grasping, filling up the entirety of Storm's vision before he could force his frozen body to move.

Beyond the hand, wide glowering eyes glinted like blood in the sunlight.

And fire overwhelmed all.

Move.

Storm jerked backwards, forcing himself to bend as his feet staggered. Slayen's hand grazed his cap, and there was the clicking of a tongue as crimson leered.

A gasp. Storm collapsed. Stumbled back to his feet. Retreated from the danger before him, hands raised and ready to yank out his sword from behind him. He had to defend himself, he had to defeat Slayen, he had to capture him, he had to avenge his parents, he had to—

"Slayen!" Yelena hissed, eyes widening in distressed alarm as she spotted the redhead's threatening figure. "What are you doing outside?" Her gaze darted to Storm. Her skin paled, and she rushed over to him, arms moving frantically to push him back. "Xen, this isn't what it looks like—"

Storm stared at her. So she did know about Slayen. She knew all along, and pretended not to know, if only to preserve both the criminal and herself.

Just how deep were their bonds of friendship that they would do such a thing?

"Yelena, move the fuck away," Slayen growled, reaching for his belt. Storm saw the gleam of blades as he drew out a pair of daggers— polished steel daggers with weathered hilts, crafted almost as finely as the Ultra Titanium weapons they had in the Palace.

Did Karza make them? A pause. Storm registered his situation— Slayen was trying to advance on him, Yelena was trying to protect him, still unaware of his true identity. ... I shouldn't be thinking this right now.

"Slayen, stop it," Minara snapped. Fingers curling, she strode towards her brother, blocking his path. "You said you won't harm anyone anymore!"

"I said I won't hurt them. I didn't say I won't kill them." Grip tightening on his daggers, Slayen's glare never left Storm's face. It was a violent expression, one of immense acrimony and wariness.

A ravenous bloodlust.

The urge to destroy.

Storm shrunk back, unable to tear his gaze away from the criminal's piercing eyes. His skin was prickling, breaths shallow and desperate. The bickering shouts around him intensified as Karza joined in, attempting to push Slayen back, to hide him once again.

But none of it sank in.

All Storm could see was the pervasive flow of blood, of fire. All he heard was the palpitating beat of his heart in his ears, drowning everything away. His gut clenched and roiled. The intense animosity he could feel directed at him made him sick. Queasy. Someone was shaking him, but he could barely feel it.

There was the sound of familiar maniacal laughter, echoing somewhere in his head.

And all he saw was red.

Get it together. Get it together, get it together...! Storm blinked, shaking his head to clear the suffocating fog in his mind. His hands were trembling, fingers frigid and numb. He licked his lips to get rid of their dryness, swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth, easing his sapped throat.

He could handle Slayen, he told himself. He had handled him once, however brutally he had done it.

He could handle him again.

But Storm found his feet frozen, rooted. His body wouldn't move, wouldn't listen.

And then there was a flash, and the fire drew closer. Ever so close. Jerking, shoving, escalating yells and screams.

"I know you." Slayen was right there in front of him. "I know those eyes." Daggers raised, prepared to strike.

"Those blue eyes."

Storm's breath hitched. His strength failed. He could only stare, speechless, because Slayenknew. He knew who he truly was.

Move, his mind whispered. Move, move!

Slayen swung down. Storm barely managed to scramble back, the blade nicking his arm as he did so. A zap of pain, and he cradled his arm, staring as a tiny droplet of red oozed from the small cut.

And the images of mutilation, of destruction, of blood and gore and death flipped through his head, the ghastly picture book returning to haunt him once more. Fading blue, fading green, scarlet spreading across sheets and clothes of white like a blossoming flower. Stained forever, to always remain.

"Stop, I'm not—" he croaked out, vision whirling.

He had to go. He had to go, he had to go, he had to leave—

"I am an Eltros, Highness! A proud Eltros. The very last of my kind! And you would be wise to stay on guard at all times, because I'm coming for you next!"

—or Slayenwas going to kill him.

Slayenwas going to kill him like he killed Bayne and Liss. Then Xenor was next, wherever he was. On and on, until the entire Avalon family was terminated.

Like what almost happened in the old days, according to their history, when the Eltros were still abundant and running amok. To his ancestor, King Riyane Avalon, who was murdered ruthlessly by them.

Breathe. Storm kept his gaze on Slayen, trying to steady his quaking nerves, his frantic heart, his uneven breaths. The redhead was approaching, observing ever so silently. Expression dark and fierce, eyes glaring. There were scars on his face, scars on his fingers, scars on his arms and legs. Horrendous burns and telltale signs of continuous violence.

"You're no 'Xen'," Slayen hissed, crimson pupils turning to slits. Muscles coiled, teeth bared. Snarling.

A beast ready to devour.

"You're no 'Xen' at all. You're Prince Storm."

"What?" Yelena, Minara and Karza all gasped, jaws dropping.

The baker turned to Tesarah, wild horror in her wide eyes. "Tesarah, did you know about this? You brought him along!"

Tesarah was flustered, her cheeks flushed. She shook her head, lips trembling, choked words falling. All of it was incomprehensible gibberish as she backed away, skin pale.

Slayen turned ferocious crimson eyes on the frozen girl. "So that's it. You're in cahoots with the Avalons," he growled, stabbing a dagger in Storm's direction. The blade neared his face, and Storm flinched, edging back from the threatening weapon.

"No— Wait, please— I didn't—" Tesarah gasped, her frame shaking as she desperately tried to defend herself. She caught Storm's gaze.

Help me.

"How could you, Tesarah?" Minara's expression was stricken with heartbreak. "I thought we were friends! You promised to help us."

"We are! It's just—"

"It's just a misunderstanding, right?" Karza's gaze was alight with pinched fear and confusion. "You didn't know about it too, right?"

"That's—"

"I knew something was off about you." Yelena's face contorted into one of distaste as she glowered at Storm. "Your voice, the way you acted— it didn't seem right."

Escalating shouts, accusations flying back and forth. Storm couldn't wrap his head around what was happening, not when Slayen was giving him a death glare that could rival Xenor's, sending shivers of dread down his back. The criminal gestured his blade at him again. "You will stay right there," he growled.

And he whipped around, dashing straight towards Tesarah. Daggers out, teeth clenched, knuckles white. Amidst the clamouring hollers, his lips moved in a whisper. Fire flared.

Down came the blades.

The white-haired girl screamed.

Blood sprayed.

"STOP!" The word left Storm's mouth before he could think things through, before he could comprehend what was happening.

And he was running, hands reaching behind him for his sword, drawing it, brandishing it, charging at the redhead even though his mind screamed at him to stop, stop, stop.

Slayen turned to meet him, and their blades clashed. Metal screeched, sparks flew. Storm pushed him back, away from the fallen figure of white who was crying and drenched in bloody, bloody red.

Grunting, shoving, shallow breaths. A kick to Slayen's shin sent him stumbling back, and Storm charged again, heaving him further away. "Don't hurt her!" he yelled, and he found that his voice had become strangled and raw, hitched in his throat. The murderer snarled, and their blades met again, striking, striking, striking.

Slash from the side. Block. Stab from the front. Block. Whirling metal sending sparks flying at their faces.

Slayen was strong. The force he exerted was overwhelming, and Storm struggled to overcome it. Muscles aching, blood roaring in his ears.

One dagger came down.

The other came from the left.

Fast, like lightning, stained red with innocent blood.

Storm dodged, but not before the second dagger sliced his arm. A wince. Gritted teeth, attempting to withstand the sharp pain searing through his flesh, his bones.

Slayen whirled his daggers in his hands and struck again. Wrists snapping, blades dancing.

Again, again, again.

All Storm could do was duck, parry, guard, counter. There was no room for rest, no chance to relax. Then there were hands, grappling, wrenching, trying to pull the both of them apart. Yells in his ear, violent jerks. Red, yellow, green.

"Stop it! Stop fighting!" someone screamed— the voice of a girl, tight and agonised.

And Storm was sent tumbling back, his cap falling off his head, revealing the signature hair of the Avalon family. Gasps resounded, guttural sounds. Dust kicked up around him. He stepped on a puddle of bright scarlet red.

Slayen was there, pushing against Karza, who was trying to hold him back. Minara grasped one of her brother's hands. Yelena grabbed the other. They pulled, struggling to restrain him. "Stop it, Slayen!" the baker pleaded. "Don't make things worse!"

Storm tried to calm himself, frazzled after the little scuffle they had. His arm throbbed, leaking fresh blood, and he grimaced at the pain. A plaintive moan from behind him, and he whirled around, glancing down.

Tesarah lay trembling and curled into a ball, hands pressed against her side. Her dress was soiled red, as was her hair, and her skin had become frighteningly ashen. Red pooled beneath her, feeble, anguished gasps leaving her thin lips, tearful turquoise eyes flickering and glazed over. It was her blood he had stepped on, coating his shoes in stark scarlet.

Great Guardian Spirit, no.

"No, no, no," Storm rasped out, forcing his frozen legs to move to her. He crouched beside her, setting his sword down, hands out but unsure of what to do. "Tesarah, stay with me. Stay with me, please."

Her lips moved, forming soundless words. A cracked groan. Broken wheezes.

And the tears continued to fall.

Storm shrugged off his hoodie. He had to stop the blood. He had to prevent any more blood loss. He couldn't let her die.

He couldn't lose anyone again.

"Use my hoodie to stem the blood." His voice was hushed, frantic, as he gingerly peeled Tesarah's hands off her wound. Thick strands of blood stuck to her palms from the source, squelching, sickeningly sweet and metallic in smell. She whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut, body shuddering, convulsing.

The wound was a large gash, stretching from her hip to below her shoulder blade. There was another near her ribs, smaller in size but equally deep, and Storm had to choke back the nausea that rose in his throat at the sight of it. "It's okay," he whispered, biting back his sobs, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill. "It's going to be okay. You'll be fine." His voice cracked, and he pressed his lips together to stop himself from wailing.

The girl rasped something out, eyelids drooping. Behind them, harsh barks resounded, followed by begs and pleas to cease the violence. Storm pressed his hoodie against the wounds after dusting it off as much as he could, applying pressure to attempt to stop the bleeding. "Stay awake, Tesarah," he croaked. "Look at me. Look at me, please."

Turquoise eyes fluttering, anguished breaths, reminding him of when Liss fought to say her final words. What was he supposed to do next? He didn't know, he never learned. He had no medical supplies because they never thought to bring any, even though they brought weapons.

Because the situation was not meant to take such a drastic turn.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Storm glanced back at Slayen. The criminal was still arguing with the three holding him back, hurling caustic insults dripping venom and hate. His gaze was animalistic. There was a single-minded drive to kill, to mutilate, to destroy.

He was a monster.

Storm had to force himself not to flinch, clasping his bleeding arm while still pressing down on Tesarah's wound with his hoodie. "Why did you attack her?" he asked, voice hoarse. "Tesarahdidn't do anything wrong!"

"She helped bring you here to find me. So now she's my enemy. Any helper of your family is my enemy, Highness," Slayen snarled. "And I'll kill every last one of you, no matter how long it takes."

"But she—" A cold, quivering hand grasped Storm's pinkie, and he turned to see poor, poor Tesarah staring at him. A small, weak shake of her head. He took in a shuddery breath, seeing the sorrow in her eyes, and bundled her into his arms. His hoodie was already dyed red with blood.

Her blood.

There was so much of it, and he felt sick.

"Is she okay?" Karza whispered then, his expression torn. Slayen lunged forward. He pushed him back, arms out to block him. Storm could only shake his head, and watched as the boy's face became more anxious.

"Get outta here, sir," he said. "Get outtahere, and bring Tes too."

"Karza, you fucker—" Slayen snapped.

"Shut up, you bloody tomato arse!" Grabbing the redhead's collar, Karza shook him vigorously. "You tried to kill her!"

"She betrayed us—"

"She must've had her reasons!" Minara sobbed, clutching her brother's arm like it was a lifeline. "Tesarah always has her reasons."

Slayen scowled. "And what would those reasons be? Money?" He glowered at Storm. "She asked for money, didn't she, Highness? Greedy lil' bitch just wanted some cash so she could live a better life, didn't she?"

Storm met his gaze with a level one. Tesarah twitched in his arms, breaths harsh and haggard. The sound of it made his heart clench, and he pursed his lips. "... She didn't ask for money," he said. He gave Minara a pointed look. "She just wanted to help her friends."

"'Help'?" Slayen's laugh was harsh, mocking. "What 'help'?"

"Not you." Storm scowled at him. "Them. The three of them."

"What do you mean?" Yelena's voice was soft, torn. Her brows were furrowed as she squinted at him while wrestling with Slayen's bicep- an expression of genuine confusion and worry.

"Because Slayen is a wanted criminal. A murderer." Storm swallowed, brushing aside the onslaught of ghastly memories. He shakily got to his feet, heaving Tesarah's limp form up with him, carrying her in his arms. "Tesarah doesn't want you to hold on to him any longer because you'll be punished for it, even if you didn't hurt anyone."

Yelena's grip loosened as she registered his words. Minara stiffened, eyes glassy. Karza's lips formed a small 'o'.

And Slayen used the brief, stunned silence as the opportunity to strike.

"Shut the hell up!" he roared, wrenching his arms away from his sister and the baker. He shoved Karza aside- his dagger struck the boy across the chest, tearing his shirt and carving a thin red line into his flesh.

A strangled cry, a shout of horror, a desperate wail.

Charging, Slayen spun his daggers, slashing at Storm's face in a wide arc. Storm dodged, then stumbled and almost slipped on the blood on the ground. He held Tesarah closer to him, heart palpitating, sweat dripping down his forehead. Another frenzied slash which bit into his hip.

With his arms occupied, he couldn't pick up his sword. He couldn't defend himself. Dodge. Keep dodging. Keep dodging...!

Just get away from here!

So Storm ran.

More yelling, more anxious screeching and caterwauls as Slayen gave chase and the other three tried to stop him. Storm didn't look back. Didn't dare to look back. He had to focus on escaping and giving Tesarah the proper medical attention she required. He couldn't let her die.

The pain and guilt would be too much. Far too much.

Storm made as many sharp turns as he could, hoping to lose his deranged pursuer. On and on, unaware of his surroundings, of the lingering people around him who watched as he ran. Rounded another bend, and realised that he had trapped himself in a maze. There were buildings, there were walls, split and zigzagging paths that led to who-knew-where. Everything looked the same. He forced himself to stop, looking desperately to and fro for at least one recognisable road.

Where am I? Where's the exit? Which route did Yelena use to get here?

He tried to recall the winding path the baker took, but found that he could not. It was all the same. No matter where he looked.

Great Guardian Spirit, help me. I'm lost.

The shouts behind him grew louder. Storm gazed down at Tesarah. Her eyes were half-lidded and she was mumbling in a delirious daze. "Come on, Tesarah," he murmured, nudging her in an attempt to rouse her. "It's going to be okay. You'll be okay. We'll get help soon. So stay awake, alright? Please."

A pinched whine, and she lifted a shaky hand to grasp his collar, tucking her head closer to his chest. Her wheezes were pained, lips cracked.

Storm pulled himself together, ignoring the ache in his arms, the sting of his wounds, the dryness in his throat. He took in a deep breath, deciding to rely on his instinct to find a way out of the slums. And so he continued to run, pushing down the rising despair in his chest.

He had to be fast. He could get away. He had to get away—

A stab of pain ran up his leg, a burning, excruciating sensation. He fell with a cry, dropping Tesarah. The girl coughed and groaned, fingers digging into the dirt as her face contorted into one of anguish. His blood-soaked hoodie lay beside her, leaving her wounds open to the surroundings once again.

Storm hissed as he moved, turning to look at his leg, and saw a dagger embedded in the flesh of his calf. A familiar steel dagger, splattered with his blood.

"Here you are," came a breathless, half-maniacal voice, and he looked up to see Slayen. His chest clenched. His blood went cold. The murderer grinned.

An expression of lunacy.

"Can't have you running all over the place, Highness," he sneered, approaching. Storm ripped the dagger out of his leg and tried scrabbling back to his feet, clenching his teeth at the jolt of agony going up his thigh.

But Slayen was quicker.

With a gleeful laugh, he stepped forward and slammed his foot down on Storm's back, effectively pinning him to the ground. Storm grunted, his chin scraped and head spinning from the impact. Tesarah lay curled in front of him, breaths getting weaker and weaker, the little life in her eyes flickering away. She tried to pick herself up, but collapsed again, jaw tight and lips thin.

No.

He had to get back up. He had to escape. He had to help Tesarah. He couldn't let her die, he couldn't let her die, he couldn't let her die...

Never again.

"What's wrong, Highness?" Slayen mocked. He lifted his foot and slammed it back down again, sending a wave of pain down Storm's spine. "What happened to all that anger you had? All that hate? Didn't you wanna kill me? Get revenge?"

Again, the foot pressed into his back, and Storm bit his lip, refusing to cry out at the crushing pain being inflicted on him. He wasn't going to give the redhead the satisfaction of knowing his attacks were hurting him.

He couldn't give in.

Slam, slam, slam. Continuous stomping, pushing him down further into the ground. Like he was a filthy animal, like he was dirt. Grunting, coughs. And each time, the pain worsened. There was a sharp crack as his shoulder blade was pushed down on, and Storm's breath hitched.

Slayen's laughter was one of madness, of morbid ecstasy. "Looks like you've grown weaker, Highness. You're weak." Heel digging into Storm's spine, the murderer grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it. Storm choked, grimacing, and a satisfied grin formed on Slayen's face. "You can't do a damn thing, can you? You can't save anyone. Look, look at her."

And Storm was made to look at Tesarah. She was limp, unmoving, face pale like her hair, skin smudged with soil. Her dress was rumpled and torn, bloodied red, her wounds a terrible sight to see on her slender frame. Hazy turquoise eyes, crusty tears at the sides. The only indication that she was still alive, barely holding on, was the slight rise and fall of her chest, rapid and tremulous.

"She's as good as dead," Slayen sneered, throwing Storm's head back. His chin hit the ground, and there was a sharp pain through his mouth. Then the coppery taste of blood.

He had bitten his tongue.

"What're you gonna do, Highness? Are you gonnatry and save her?" A taunting cackle. "Bullshit! You can't do anything! You're just a weak lil' prince. You let your mom die in front of you, remember that?"

Storm wavered, vision blurring and eyes burning as he stared at Tesarah. Of course he remembered what happened. Liss died right before his eyes, and he had done nothing but watch. He could only cry, as he did in front of his mother's body, in front of his father's dismembered form. What Slayen said was true.

There was nothing he could do, because he was weak. So weak. He couldn't do anything. He could never do anything.

"How does it feel, Highness?" Slayen laughed. "How does it feel watching someone die in front of you again? Bleeding to death, suffering from pain, not able to escape their misery. It fucking hurts, doesn't it? You wanna help her, don't you? But you can't!" Bringing down his dagger, the murderer stabbed it into Storm's shoulder.

At first, there was nothing. Just a simple jerk. It felt cold, numb, and Storm wondered if he really had gotten stabbed. There was no pain, nothing—

Then Slayen brutally pulled the dagger out, and a scream ripped from Storm's throat as it was then the pain came, like a burning wave that sent jolts down his arm. It was searing, and he felt the wetness of his blood as it gushed out of the wound. He couldn't stop the whimpers that followed. It made his head whirl, his vision turning momentarily white from the blinding agony.

And the tears started to fall.

The mockery continued, the humiliation unending. "You're just a big crybaby." Slayen bashed the wound with a fist. Another scream, choked with sobs. "You're useless, you're all talk! You can't do shit. All you can do is sit there and whine." A kick, sending a fresh flood of agony.

Kick, kick, kick.

Storm's vision was starting to grow dark. His chest felt tight, his breathing ragged, the pain coiling through his body and making him tremble. The warm blood that poured out of his wounds felt like fire against his clammy skin.

Which reminded him yet again of Bayne and Liss.

His father's mutilated body, ripped into pieces. Torn flesh, dried blood, one eye gouged out. Hollow blue, kindness gone. Then there was his mother, stabbed in the heart, desperate gasps and struggling lips. One eye removed too, blood spilling, final words choked out in whispers. Dying green, love gone.

Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.

And it was all his fault. The night before they discovered Bayne's body, he had been relaxed and comfortable. Even though he sensed something wrong, he ignored it. Bayne could have been saved, but he ignored it. Ignored his father. And that caused his death.

When Liss got stabbed, he hadn't done anything to help her, to save her, instead pushing it all to Zana. He only cried, he only blamed the cleric for not doing her job even though she tried so, so hard. And then his mother died.

Useless, worthless, helpless. Feeble in strength and mind.

He was nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

The despair thudded in his chest, pulsed through his veins. The hopelessness shrouded his mind, swallowing him in heavy darkness. It suffocated him, encased him, devoured him, and amidst his anguished cries and the ruthless attacks on his shoulder, Storm pressed his forehead to the dirt ground, letting the tears continue to fall.

I'm nothing. I can't do anything. I'm useless, I'm hopeless. I can't fight, I can't protect anyone...

I can't save anyone.

Because of his lack of strength, because he hadn't stopped Slayen from attacking her, because he was unable to protect her... Tesarahwas going to die too. Even though she didn't do anything wrong.

Even though all she wanted to do was help.

Everything Slayen said was true. Everyone was going todie, because of him.

And the only thing he could do was watch.

"Suffer!" Slayen cackled, lips curled into a psychotic grin. "Despair! Then die. Die, die, die!" Another laugh, one which rang in Storm's ears like a deafening bell. "You arrogant, snobby Avalons all deserve to die! Sitting on your fancy chairs and looking down on all of us like we're all trash, ignoring all of our pains while enjoying riches the poor can only dream of!"

Another kick. Blood spurted out, and Storm sobbed. His chest tightened, as did his throat. His head spun, round and round and round, vision blurring into reds and whites and browns.

The redhead continued to spit his insults, his curses. Unfaltering like his vicious assault, like his constant deranged laughter. "You deserve to die. Your whole bloodline deserves to die! For taking everything away, for destroying lives, for being so fucking greedy!" Pressure on his chest, heel crushing against the throbbing gash. Storm gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. "And I'll do that. I'll kill all of you, every last one of you!" Slayen hissed.

"Like what your wretched family did to mine."

More demented howling. Storm's ears burned, and as the tears slid down his bruised chin to stain the dirt ground, his vertiginous vision wandered to Tesarah's still figure lying in front of him.

I'm sorry, Tesarah. I'm sorry for being so weak. I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I'm sorry everything has to end this way.

Slayen's cackles melded together, distorted and heavy. Storm could no longer make sense of what was happening around him. It was dark, it was smothering, and he was drowning in the utter hopelessness of his situation.

What was the point of fighting back? In the end, hewas going to die. There was no chance to survive his ordeal, because Slayen was powerful. There was no hope of defeating him.

This was meant to be a simple reconnaissance mission, but now it was the end.

"It's time to die, Highness," he vaguely heard Slayen say. Gleeful words of manic anticipation. The sharp sound of a blade whirling through the air.

I'm sorry, Mother, Father. I'm sorry for not being able to avenge you. I'm sorry for being such a disappointment. Storm closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

Why did I even bother to try?

He could only hope that his brother was safe, that he could last, wherever he was. At least Xenor would still be left to rule the kingdom. The rightful heir, the stronger prince. Xenorwould be able to stand his ground against the crazed murderer, being the outstanding prodigy he was.

Even though there was a little voice in the back of his head telling him that Xenor knew the mission would end in disaster and hence left him to be killed by Slayen, Storm was relieved. Xenor was still his brother. His strong, intelligent, brilliant brother.

At least Brother is alright...

Xenor always had uncanny instincts and exceptional cunning. He would be able to survive well enough. The Avalon family would be able to continue for a while longer. There was no need for Storm's presence— he was less intelligent, weaker, a coward.

At least he would no longer be a burden on anyone, after his death.

And the thought brought a wry smile to his face.

His hearing was becoming more warped, unable to comprehend the rabid speech Slayen was spouting out. His vision was fading away into black, dotted with vibrant red and dying white.

The world was cold. So cold.

Numb.

Lost.

The convoluted shadow of a dagger on the ground in front of him. He watched it wearily, watched as it hovered, pointed at his head with solid conviction.

Then down it went, plunging towards him.

A final hysterical laugh, echoing in the distance.

And then there was green.