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Sonny's eyes darted desperately between faces, searching for mercy in a desert of judgment. From his position on the ground—bleeding, broken, betrayed by his own jealousy—he thought he saw salvation approaching.
"Lucian!" His voice cracked with desperate hope. "My brother, my friend! I swear I won't compete with you for Yuna anymore! Please, ask Russell to spare me! I didn't mean it, I was controlled, I—"
Russell ignored the pathetic display, turning instead to face the three teammates who'd approached. Lucian stood at their head, his usually perfect hair disheveled from battle, exhaustion etched into his features. Yet despite everything that had happened—despite the things he'd said under the Eye's influence—his expression remained perfectly composed.
Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just spent ten minutes declaring Russell the messiah of Northgate University.
"I'm not trying to stop you," Lucian said calmly, stepping closer to Russell. "But if you were to do this, it would inevitably tarnish your reputation."
Hope bloomed on Sonny's face for exactly two seconds before Lucian's meaning sank in.
"Lucian... brother... what are you saying?" His voice had gone small, childlike.
Lucian sighed—not with regret but with the weariness of someone forced to handle an unpleasant chore. He crouched beside Sonny, close enough that the betrayer could see his own terrified reflection in Lucian's eyes.
"I always knew you liked Yuna," Lucian said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "That part never bothered me. But the depth of your hatred? The willingness to let us all die for your jealousy? For the reputation of Northgate University, you need to disappear."
"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" Sonny's voice cracked into a shriek. "The school will investigate! They'll know! They'll—"
Russell laughed, the sound cutting through Sonny's hysteria like a blade through butter.
"Really? You think anyone will question it when we report you died heroically fighting demons?" He gestured at the devastation around them—craters, rubble, the lingering smell of ozone from Ming's attacks. "This place is a warzone. Casualties are expected."
The color drained from Sonny's face as the reality hit him. Four witnesses. One story. His word against theirs, except he wouldn't have any words because he'd be—
Lucian's hand moved toward Sonny's face. "Don't worry. I'll make it quick. No pain."
"Wait."
Jean stepped forward, having restored her glasses and blank expression. If not for the deep crimson flush still staining her cheeks—evidence of her earlier display—Russell might have thought her completely unaffected.
Without a word, without even a change in expression, she made a swift gesture.
"AAAHHHHH!"
Sonny's right arm separated from his body at the shoulder, the cut so clean it took a moment for blood to start flowing. Jean wiped her card on her pants, then leaned against nearby rubble, watching quietly.
Russell raised an eyebrow. "It seems everyone wants you dead."
Sweat poured down Sonny's face, mixing with tears and blood. The physical agony was nothing compared to the psychological horror of watching his former teammates calmly discuss his execution.
Yuna approached last, trembling. Not with fear or regret, but with something else—resolution, perhaps. Or just the need to belong, to not be excluded from whatever dark bond was forming here.
She looked down at Sonny, closed her eyes, raised her foot—
CRUNCH.
The stomp landed directly on his remaining arm, shattering bones with a sound like stepping on dry twigs. Sonny's scream transcended human vocals, becoming something primal and animal.
"Good," Lucian said softly, examining his teammates' faces. Each had now participated. Each had blood on their hands, literally or figuratively. "No one's innocent. No one can talk."
He turned back to Sonny, whose screams had devolved into whimpers.
"I'll tell the school you died a hero," Lucian said, his tone almost gentle. "Your parents will receive full compensation. Your name will be on the memorial wall. You'll be remembered as someone who gave everything for Northgate."
"Please—"
Lucian's hand covered Sonny's face.
"Sleep."
The crack of skull breaking was surprisingly quiet. Anticlimactic, even. One moment Sonny was a person—jealous, bitter, treacherous, but still human. The next, he was meat.
Lucian stood, meticulously wiping blood and brain matter from his hands with a handkerchief he'd produced from somewhere. His movements were precise, practiced, as if he'd done this before.
Or at least thought about it extensively.
The three of them turned to Russell, waiting. They'd made their choice, proven their loyalty through shared atrocity. Now came judgment.
Russell smiled, and Arrogance's tentacles erupted from his form. But instead of reaching for his teammates, they engulfed Sonny's corpse, grinding it into unrecognizable paste. Bones, flesh, blood—all of it reduced to a consistency that could have been anyone or anything.
"Now we're all accomplices," Russell said simply.
The other three stared, understanding dawning. They'd acted to give Russell leverage, to put their fates in his hands as proof of loyalty. But by destroying the evidence himself, Russell had reversed it. Now they all shared equal guilt. Equal risk.
Equal trust.
"Let's go," Lucian said, a genuine smile breaking through his exhaustion. "We need to report this."
"Today was rough," Russell agreed, his voice harmonizing with Arrogance's undertones.
"That's the understatement of the century."
Coach Carter sat in his van at the secret realm's entrance, on his seventh cigarette and seriously considering switching to something stronger. The mission should have been routine—reconnaissance, maybe some light combat, nothing a team of silver-levels couldn't handle.
The portal shimmered. Carter quickly stubbed out his cigarette, trying to look professional.
Four figures emerged.
Four.
"Where's Sonny?" The question came out sharper than intended.
"The demons had unexpected abilities," Russell replied, his expression appropriately somber. "Sonny died completing the mission."
"Dead?" Carter couldn't hide his disbelief. This realm had been vetted, cleared, verified as safe for training. "How is that possible?"
Lucian stepped forward, looking like he'd been through hell. Pale, shaking slightly, clothes changed—clearly they'd taken serious damage.
"There was a demon with something called the Heart-Eye. It wasn't in any briefing. It could..." He trailed off, shuddering. "It could manifest psychological attacks. Sonny got separated from the group. By the time we reached him..."
Carter lit another cigarette with trembling fingers. "Get in the van. Tell me everything."
They climbed in, Russell sitting alone while Lucian and Yuna pressed together and Jean huddled in her corner. Carter didn't notice the new seating dynamics, too focused on not panicking about losing a student.
As the Death Van coughed to life, Russell began their rehearsed story. Ming's power, the psychological attacks, the giant form, Sonny's heroic sacrifice buying time for Artoria's final attack. Not a word about betrayal, jealousy, or murder.
"Jesus," Carter muttered when they finished. "You kids went through hell. I'm just glad only..." He stopped, realizing how that sounded. "I mean, losing anyone is tragic, but it could have been worse."
If Russell had died, I'd be unemployed. And probably dead, once Blake found out.
"Take the day off tomorrow. Rest. I'll report this to the administration. And don't blame yourselves for Sonny. These things happen in our line of work. The dead are gone, but the living must continue."
Russell had to close his eyes to keep from smiling at the irony.
Back at school, Carter rushed off to find administrators while the four survivors stood in awkward silence.
"Well," Russell said finally, "that happened."
"It did," Lucian agreed.
"We should probably never speak of it again."
"Probably not."
"Good talk."
Russell vanished into shadows, eager to get home and examine the Eye that Ming had dropped. Material from a boss they shouldn't have been able to beat, powered by who knows how many sacrificed eyes? This could be interesting.
Behind him, his three accomplices stood in the fading light, bound together now by shared sin. They'd crossed a line together, become something darker than they'd been that morning.
Lucian cleaned his glasses one more time, though they were already spotless.
Jean adjusted her frames, hiding behind blank expression and scholarly demeanor.
Yuna stared at the ground where Russell had vanished, processing what she'd done for belonging, for love, for acceptance.
They were killers now. All of them.
And tomorrow, they'd go to class like nothing had happened.
(End of this chapter)
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.