Inside the cave, the world ceased to exist.
There was only darkness—and Rafael's fragile hope of saving his mother, burning like a dying ember in his chest. He stepped forward blind, each breath heavy, each heartbeat echoing in his ears.
Then a flame bloomed. Malrek's fire magic flickered to life, casting trembling light across the stone.
That was when it appeared.
A face filled the air before Rafael—so close he could feel its breath. Twisted flesh clung unnaturally to bone, features warped into something that mocked humanity. Its eyes were too wide. Its grin too wrong.
Rafael's stomach lurched. For a split second, the hardened killer he had once been nearly lost control—his throat tightening, puke rising.
This wasn't just ugly. It was wrong
The figure chuckled inches from Rafael's face.
Rafael forced himself to breathe, clamping down on the rising panic and hardening his expression into a scowl. Behind him, Malrek gagged, barely holding back bile as the creature stepped into the firelight.
He was a man—barely.
Tall and unnaturally slender, his limbs stretched long and thin, as though starvation had sculpted him over the years. His ribs pressed visibly against sickly skin. Ragged trousers hung loosely from his hips, a half-torn shirt clinging to his frame. He was barefoot, his feet blackened and cracked like old stone.
The laughter stopped. Slowly, deliberately, the man lifted his head and locked eyes with Rafael. Even as Rafael steadied himself, fear crawled through him—cold, primal, indescribable. Something deep inside screamed at him to run. Not fight. Not think.
Run.
The man's lips curled into a crooked smile. "How do you want to die, little rabbit?"
Rafael didn't answer. His body betrayed him—muscles locking, breath caught in his throat. "Duck!" Malrek shouted. Rafael spun as Malrek hurled a knife with all the strength he had left. Rafael dropped low— The blade missed the man by a hair. No. The man dodged it.
The realisation snapped something inside Rafael. If Malrek—injured, bleeding—was still willing to stand and fight, then so was he. Rafael stepped back, gripping his machete until his knuckles whitened. He and Malrek moved together, standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the monster.
"You ready?" Rafael muttered. Malrek let out a shaky breath. "No. Not really. But do I have a choice?" Rafael's eyes hardened. "Then let's do this."
They charged. The man remained smiling—wide, delighted—spreading his arms as if welcoming them. Rafael attacked high, swinging for the head. Malrek went low, slashing for the legs. In the blink of an eye, the man leapt. He sailed over both attacks with effortless grace. Rafael followed through, swinging upward as the man was still airborne— The man twisted midair, dodging, and landed lightly on his feet.
Malrek hurled another knife. Then another. The man weaved between them and caught the last blade between his fingers. He smirked. "Yes," he said softly. "Little rabbits like you will make a nice meal."
The knife vanished from his hand—Then reappeared, flying toward Rafael at terrifying speed. Rafael barely twisted aside. The blade grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. The man laughed again. And this time, the sound echoed through the cave like a promise.
"Missed," Rafael said, his voice low, almost taunting, as he shifted his stance and prepared to charge. The man tilted his head, lips curling. "I wasn't aiming for you, foolish rabbit." Rafael's breath caught. He turned. Malrek stood frozen, eyes wide, staring down at the knife buried deep in his chest. The blade jutted out at an unnatural angle, crimson spreading rapidly across his clothes. Already injured, already slowed—he never had a chance to dodge.
Horror twisted Malrek's face as his legs gave out. He collapsed. "Malrek!" Rafael shouted. Something inside Rafael snapped. Rage—pure and consuming—flooded every vein in his body. He lunged forward, swinging his machete wildly, mercilessly, pouring everything he had into each strike.
The man laughed. Not a normal laugh—an unhinged, ecstatic sound that echoed off the cave walls. "Yes," the man crooned. "Succumb to it. Rage makes the meat so much tastier." "Shut up!" Rafael roared.
His blade finally connected—cutting across the man's face. It wasn't deep, but it was enough. Blood spilled. The laughter stopped instantly. The man touched his cheek, staring at the blood on his fingers. The smile vanished. "…Alright," he said coldly. "Time to die, little rabbit." He lunged.
Twin daggers flashed into his hands. He moved faster than Rafael could track—steel slicing the air. Rafael barely twisted away, the blades missing him by inches.
Think, Rafael told himself desperately. I need to kill him fast, then save Malrek.
The man stepped in close. "Die."
Pain exploded through Rafael's body. Once. Twice. The daggers sank into his gut. Rafael staggered back, gasping, blood pouring freely from the wounds. Before he could recover, the man struck again—steel tearing into his shoulder, then his neck.
Rafael's strength vanished. His machete slipped from his fingers. He fell. Blood pooled beneath him as the world dimmed. Defeated. For the first time in both his lives, Rafael had lost.
He stared at the jagged ceiling of the cave, vision blurring. Memories flooded him—his former life in the mafia, the battles he had dominated, the confidence he once carried. So this is how weak I am now, he thought bitterly.
His breath came shallow. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Malrek… I failed you. You didn't deserve this." His chest tightened. "Mom… I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry for leaving you alone."
A tear slipped from the corner of his eye. "And you… Veleina," he murmured, addressing the goddess of death. "I failed you, too." Rafael's eyes slowly lost focus. The cave grew quiet.
And death reached out to claim him.