The room was deathly cold as Alice’s legs began to tremble, the weight of Yokubo’s words pressing down on her like a suffocating fog. Her stomach churned violently, threatening to betray her resolve. Beads of sweat trickled down her temples as the silence stretched unbearably, broken only by the faint crackling of the torches on the walls.

Her body felt frozen, but her mind raced, screaming with the implications of his command.

This wasn’t just another mission.

This wasn’t even an order.

This was a death sentence.

Yokubo’s hollow, predatory smile widened as he watched her struggle. To him, it was a show—a display of his control, of her inability to defy him. He thrived on fear, nurtured it like a garden, and Alice was his favorite bloom.

"Do this..." he said, his voice slow and deliberate, dragging each word like the edge of a blade across her nerves. "And I will grant you your freedom."

Her throat constricted, her breath shallow and erratic. The glass vial containing the potion in her hand felt impossibly heavy, like it might shatter at any moment. With great effort, she slid it back into her bag, her trembling fingers betraying her despair.

The room seemed darker now, the shadows more oppressive. The air itself felt poisoned by his presence. She clutched the fabric of her cloak tightly, her nails digging into the material as if it might anchor her to reality.

But then, slowly, she lifted her head.

Despite the tears pooling in her eyes, her expression was firm, her voice steady.

"Yes, Sir."

Her words rang out, defiant even in submission, and Yokubo’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement. His smile stretched unnaturally wide, and for a moment, the monster beneath his regal guise seemed to peek through.

Alice felt her chest tighten, but she refused to look away. If she was going to face death, she would do so with her head held high.

The heavy doors to the throne room suddenly burst open, slamming against the stone walls with a deafening crash.

"Sir Yokubo!"

A knight stumbled into the room, his face pale and drenched with sweat. His armor rattled as he dropped to one knee, struggling to catch his breath.

Alice stiffened, her senses snapping into focus. Frank, standing beside Yokubo, raised an eyebrow, his usual stoic demeanor giving way to mild curiosity.

But Yokubo simply leaned back in his throne, resting his chin lazily on one hand. "What is it?" he asked, his tone light, almost bored.

The knight gulped, his voice trembling. "Axel the Reaper has been spotted in Southrade!"

The name hit Alice like a hammer to the chest. Her ears twitched, her vision blurring as her mind desperately tried to reject the truth.

Yokubo’s smile curled into something far more sinister. "Perfect timing," he murmured. He gestured with a single finger, urging the knight to continue. "Describe him."

The knight’s voice was barely above a whisper, thick with fear. "He... he wears a black cloak... Two horns, black as night, protrude from his head. His eyes... they glow gold, piercing the darkness like fire."

Alice’s knees buckled, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

"No... it can’t be..."

Her mind conjured an image unbidden, vivid and inescapable: a man shrouded in mystery, his gaunt face pale as bone, those golden eyes staring into her very soul.

"Josh."

The name echoed in her thoughts, each repetition a nail driven deeper into her chest. Her hands trembled as the realization hit her like a crashing wave. The man she had traveled with, shared meals with, and fought beside—the man who had called himself Josh—was Axel the Reaper.

Her breathing quickened, but she forced herself to remain still, though a single tear betrayed her, slipping silently down her cheek. She clenched her jaw, swallowing the sob rising in her throat.

Yokubo turned his gaze toward her, his smile growing sharper.

Without warning, he flicked his fingers, and a small ember of flame materialized at his fingertips.

The knight’s eyes widened in horror, but before he could react, the fireball struck his face.

Screams filled the room as the knight collapsed, writhing and clawing at his burning skin. The acrid smell of scorched flesh filled the air, but Yokubo remained unperturbed, his gaze fixed on Alice.

"You have all the information you need," he said coldly, as though the charred body at his feet were no more significant than a broken piece of furniture. "Frank will prepare a horse for you. I expect you to leave immediately."

Alice’s head hung low, her hair shadowing her face. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. Her body trembled, but her voice, when it came, was steady.

"Yokubo..."

Her tone caught his attention, soft yet resolute.

He leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "Yes, dear?"

Alice raised her head, her tear-streaked face filled with a fiery determination that cut through the despair.

"If I defeat Axel..." Her voice wavered, but her gaze did not. "If I kill him... will you grant freedom to both me and my sister?"

For the first time, Yokubo seemed taken aback. His black eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her, then his lips curled into a crooked grin.

"Of course," he said, his tone dripping with false sincerity. "If you can defeat Axel, both of you will be free."

Alice unsheathed her blade in one fluid motion, the metallic ring echoing through the chamber. Her tears were no longer of sorrow but of rage and determination. She pointed the blade toward the heavens, her resolve unshakable.

"I’ll fight," she declared, her voice ringing with defiance. "And I’ll win. I will come back alive... and free."

She sheathed her sword with a decisive snap and turned on her heel, striding toward the heavy doors. They groaned shut behind her, the sound reverberating through the now-silent room.

Frank exhaled sharply, turning to Yokubo. "Are you sure about this, Master? She’s one of your strongest knights. Sending her after Axel is—"

"Exactly why I’m doing it," Yokubo interrupted, his grin returning. "She’s growing too strong, Frank. That defiance in her eyes..." He chuckled darkly, his expression turning venomous.

"Better to let them destroy each other. And if, by some miracle, she survives..."

He leaned back, his fingers steepled, his grin stretching unnaturally wide.

"I’ll deal with her myself. Slowly. Painfully."

His laughter echoed through the empty hall, cold and malevolent, as he savored the thought of Alice’s final moments.

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- In the depths of BlackShield Castle, the dungeon -

The heavy iron door groaned as it opened, its echo reverberating through the cold, hollow dungeon like a mournful wail. The clanging sound of it shutting behind her sent a shiver down Alice’s spine, as if the place itself was swallowing her whole.

A lone knight stood guard near the entrance, his dark armor blending into the oppressive shadows. He gave her a passing glance but said nothing, his presence more like that of a statue than a man. The air here was heavy with moisture and the sickening stench of decay, a toxic blend of rot and despair that clung to every surface.

The dungeon stretched into a seemingly endless corridor, lined with cells whose iron bars were rusted and brittle yet still unyielding. The floor was riddled with puddles, a mixture of stagnant water and filth that seeped through the cracked stone and moss-covered walls. Every step Alice took echoed sharply, a reminder of how alone she truly was.

Her ears drooped as her gaze darted from one cell to the next, her trembling pupils taking in the horrors within.

Women.

Each cell housed women not unlike herself, yet the light in their eyes had long been extinguished. They sat on the cold, damp floors, their bodies frail and broken. Some bore bruises that painted their skin like grotesque mosaics. Others were so emaciated their bones jutted out like jagged peaks beneath their pallid flesh.

And then there were those who were already dead.

Corpses lay forgotten, crumpled in corners, their limbs twisted unnaturally. Maggots squirmed in the decaying remains, and roaches scuttled across the floor, their presence indifferent to the despair around them.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Alice’s breath hitched, and she quickly averted her eyes. She had seen this before, but it never got easier.

“Just keep walking,” she told herself, forcing her legs to move despite the suffocating weight of guilt and sorrow.

She neared the end of the corridor, where a single cell lay shrouded in shadows. The silence here was deafening, yet the oppressive air felt thicker, heavier, as if the misery emanating from this place were alive.

Alice stopped before the cell and exhaled shakily. Her hands fumbled as she unlocked the door, the loud click and creak of rusted hinges breaking the oppressive stillness.

The cell was emptier than the others, devoid of the cluttered despair that filled the rest. But the silence here wasn’t comforting—it was absolute, a vacuum of sound that seemed to amplify the sorrow within.

From the darkness, Alice’s eyes adjusted to make out a figure on the bunkbed.

Her sister.

Annabelle sat on the edge of the bed, her frail frame leaning against the wall. Her knees were drawn up slightly, her hands resting atop them in an almost reverent pose. Her face was pale, the once vibrant glow of her cheeks now replaced by sunken hollows. Bruises dotted her arms and legs, dark purple and blue against her ashen skin. Her eyes, once lively and full of wonder, were vacant, staring at the wall as though it held answers to her suffering.

Yet, despite the lifelessness in her gaze, there was something indescribably sorrowful about her—an overwhelming purity of pain.

Alice knelt before her sister, her trembling hands brushing against Annabelle’s frail ones. Her heart clenched at how cold they felt, the warmth of life all but drained from them. She hesitated before gently tucking a loose strand of Annabelle’s hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering for just a moment.

“Hey, sister,” Alice murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter Annabelle entirely.

Annabelle tilted her head slowly, her pale lips curving into a faint smile. “Alice... You came back.”

Alice’s chest tightened, her throat burning as she forced a smile. “Of course I did. You didn’t think I’d leave you here, did you?”

Annabelle’s gaze flickered with something faintly resembling life, but as her eyes lowered, the faint light dimmed again. She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her tattered sleeve. “You shouldn’t have,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

Alice’s stomach sank, but she forced her tone to remain steady. “Don’t say that,” she replied, gripping Annabelle’s hand tightly. “You’re my sister. I’d do anything for you.”

Annabelle didn’t meet her gaze. Her frail fingers tightened slightly around Alice’s, but her shoulders sagged, and her lips quivered as if forming unspoken words.

“You’re always so strong,” Annabelle whispered, barely audible, “but sometimes I think... maybe you shouldn’t have to be. Not for me.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and her hand began to tremble.

Alice froze, the words hitting her like a blade to the chest. She wanted to respond, to deny the guilt buried in her sister’s tone, but the lump in her throat was too thick. Instead, she reached into her bag, pulling out the small bounty she had gathered.

“Here,” she said, her voice trembling. “Fruits, vegetables, water... and this.” She placed the tiny potion in Annabelle’s lap. “It’s not much, but it’ll help you heal.”

Annabelle stared at the vial, her hands shaking as she picked it up. For a moment, she said nothing, then asked, “How much did you spend on this?” Her voice was light, but the question carried the weight of worry, of guilt she couldn’t quite hide.

“Doesn’t matter,” Alice said firmly. “You need it more than I do.”

The room fell silent. Annabelle’s eyes glistened, and she bit her lip, her grip on the vial tightening. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, fragile. “You’re always giving. You don’t have to do this for me... I... I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

Alice’s breath hitched. The pain in her sister’s words was almost too much to bear, but she couldn’t let it show. She reached out, brushing Annabelle’s cheek with the back of her hand.

“I’d do it a thousand times over,” Alice whispered. “Because you’re worth it.”

Annabelle’s lips trembled, but she nodded weakly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She clutched the potion tightly against her chest, as if trying to hold onto Alice’s determination.

“You’re leaving so soon?” she asked suddenly, her voice breaking.

Alice froze. The words were soft, almost pleading, but there was something else beneath them—a deep sorrow, and something sharper, more painful. Guilt.

She hesitated, her hand brushing against her sister’s. “I’ll come back,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I promise, Annabelle. I’ll come back for you, and we’ll be free. Together.”

Annabelle didn’t reply. Her lips parted as if to say something, but she closed them again, her fingers curling tighter around the potion. She watched as Alice leaned forward, pulling her into a careful, gentle embrace.

The hug lingered, warm and fragile, but when Alice pulled away, she saw something in Annabelle’s eyes—a flicker of longing, of desperate hope tinged with resignation.

As Alice stood to leave, her legs felt heavier than ever. She paused at the door, glancing back one last time. “Hold on for me,” she said softly, her voice trembling with a mix of determination and sorrow.

Annabelle managed a small nod, but as the door creaked shut, her hands fell limply to her sides, and her gaze dropped to the floor. The vial trembled in her grasp. She held it to her chest, curling into herself as tears silently slipped down her cheeks.

“I wish... you didn’t have to come back,” she whispered to the empty cell. Her voice was barely audible, a confession meant only for the darkness…

The walk down the corridor felt endless, each step dragging as she forced herself forward. The weight of her mission pressed down on her, but her resolve burned brighter than ever.

She would face Axel. She would survive. And she would return.

For Annabelle.

For freedom.

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- Meanwhile, somewhere in Southrade Town -

The wind howled through the empty alleys, carrying with it the faint stench of ash and decay. The streets were dark, cloaked in shadow save for the occasional flicker of torchlight far away. Rats scurried along the damp stone paths, their tiny claws scraping against the silence.

But from one alley, a faint, flickering glow spilled out—a whisper of orange firelight cutting through the gloom. Inside a crumbling blacksmith’s workshop, the flames of a forge raged, casting jagged shadows that danced like devils on the soot-streaked walls. Chains hung from the ceiling, swaying faintly in the heated air, their iron links clinking softly against one another. Scattered across the room were rusted tools of war: swords dulled with age, axes that gleamed wickedly in the firelight, and a row of crude, blood-stained knives.

In the center of it all, three men sat bound to chairs, their heads covered with rough cloths, their muffled cries swallowed by the crackling fire. Each of them trembled, their bodies slick with sweat, their struggles to break free growing weaker with every passing second.

From the shadows, a figure emerged. Axel.

His silhouette was monstrous, his elongated frame unnaturally thin yet exuding a feral power that seemed to warp the very air around him. His black cloak billowed slightly as he moved, his horns catching the light like jagged obsidian. His golden eyes burned in the dark like twin beacons of madness, their glow so intense that even the bound men could feel their searing presence through the cloth that covered their faces.

Axel strolled forward, his steps deliberate, his boots crunching on the scattered debris of the room. He stopped before one of the captives, his head tilting slightly as he observed the man like a wolf savoring its prey.

In one swift motion, Axel drew a dagger from the knight’s belt and slashed the cloth binding his mouth. The man gasped, hyperventilating as the sudden rush of air burned his lungs. Tears streaked his dirtied face as he looked up into the glowing abyss of Axel’s eyes.

“Where is Yokubo?” Axel’s voice was unnaturally low, calm—a velvet blade.

The knight’s lips quivered, but no words came. His terror rendered him mute.

Axel sighed, his glowing eyes narrowing as if in disappointment. Then, without warning, he drove the dagger deep into the knight’s thigh.

“I asked you a question.”

The knight screamed, his body jerking violently against the ropes. Blood poured from the wound, pooling beneath the chair as Axel twisted the blade. The sound of metal scraping bone echoed through the room.

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” the knight sobbed, his voice ragged with pain.

Axel leaned in closer, his face inches from the man’s, his smile razor-sharp and gleaming in the firelight. “I’m listening.”

But before the knight could speak, a voice broke the tension.

“Don’t listen to him!”

Axel turned slowly, his glowing eyes landing on the source of the interruption: another of the bound knights, his face pale but defiant. The man clutched a small necklace with trembling hands, the insignia of the church dangling from its chain.

“Stay strong, brothers,” the knight said, his voice shaky yet resolute. “God will protect us from this demon. Have faith, and He will strike him down!”

The other captives fell silent, their gazes flickering between the defiant knight and the towering figure of Axel.

For a moment, the room was still. Then, Axel began to laugh.

It started as a low chuckle, but quickly escalated into a manic cackle that echoed off the walls, filling the room with a chilling resonance. He stepped toward the defiant knight, his movements slow and deliberate.

“You think your God can save you?” Axel sneered, his voice dripping with venom. He extended a long, claw-like finger toward the man, tapping the insignia dangling from his trembling hand. “Let’s put that theory to the test.”

Without another word, Axel raised his hand, and the knight’s body convulsed violently. A deafening bang filled the room as the man’s chest exploded outward, a crimson spray painting the walls and ceiling. The chair collapsed beneath him, reduced to splinters.

The remaining knights screamed, their eyes wide with horror as chunks of flesh and bone rained down around them. Axel stood still, his glowing eyes fixed on the carnage, a wicked grin stretching across his face.

“Where is your God now?” he whispered, his voice soft but carrying an unholy weight.

He turned back to the first knight, who was now trembling so violently that his chair shook beneath him. Axel crouched low, his glowing eyes boring into the man’s soul.

“Let’s try this again,” Axel said, his tone mockingly gentle. “Where is Yokubo?”

The knight stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “H-his castle... It’s... it’s further south... near the ravine at the border...”

Axel smiled, patting the knight’s shoulder. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

In one swift motion, Axel gripped the man’s head and twisted. The sickening snap of vertebrae echoed through the room as the man’s lifeless body slumped forward. Axel casually tossed the severed head onto the floor, blood dripping from his gloved fingers.

The final knight thrashed against his bonds, his screams muffled by the cloth over his mouth. Axel turned to him, his smile growing wider, more grotesque.

“You’ve been quiet,” Axel said, striding toward the man. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you.”

He ripped the cloth away, exposing the man’s tear-streaked face. The knight’s voice broke as he sobbed, his words barely coherent.

“You’re a... a monster...”

Axel’s grin stretched impossibly wide, his golden eyes flaring with a blinding intensity.

“Perhaps…”

The man’s head exploded in a burst of blood and bone, his body crumpling lifelessly to the floor. Axel stood amidst the carnage, his cloak billowing faintly in the heated air. Blood dripped from the ceiling, pooling at his feet.

The room fell silent, save for the faint crackle of the fire. Axel turned, his footsteps echoing as he strode toward the exit. As he disappeared into the shadows, a low, haunting whistle filled the air, trailing after him like a ghostly melody.