The body lay crumpled in the center of Elias’s living room, its iridescent blood shimmering like liquid fire in the dim light. The air was thick with the metallic tang of it, the smell curling into his nose and searing into his memory. Elias sat on the floor near the couch, his back pressed against it, his knees drawn to his chest. His hands trembled, flecks of the strange blood smeared across his skin where he’d tried to push the scene out of his mind.

But it wouldn’t leave.

It was the first time he’d seen someone die—really die. Not the distant, sanitized version from movies or news stories, but here, in his home, close enough to feel the faint, dying vibrations in the floor beneath him when it happened. And the blood… it wasn’t human. That alone made his chest tighten, his breaths shallow and uneven.

Elias’s mind spiraled, flashes of the Oni’s blade, the agent’s distorted powers, and the eerie, metallic sheen of the blood playing on repeat. What the hell is this? What the hell am I part of? He rocked back and forth slightly, clutching his knees tighter, his body shaking with silent sobs.

But then another thought broke through, sharp and cutting: You can’t leave it here.

He forced himself to move, his legs trembling as he pushed himself upright. The world tilted, his vision swimming, but he grabbed the edge of the couch to steady himself. His breaths came in short, shallow gasps as he stared down at the body.

What do I do? How do I—

His thoughts fractured, chaotic and scattered, but the urgency of the situation forced him to act. He couldn’t let it sit there. Someone would notice. Someone would come. And if Axiom saw this…

He didn’t let himself finish the thought.

Elias worked silently, his movements stiff and mechanical as if he weren’t fully in control of his own body. He avoided looking at the agent’s face—or what was left of it. The mask had cracked during the final moments, revealing a glimpse of something unnatural beneath: pale, waxy skin stretched too tightly over an elongated jaw, and eyes that glinted with a faint, unearthly light even in death.

He wrapped the body in an old blanket from his closet, his hands fumbling as he tied the ends together. The blood seeped through the fabric, staining his hands again as he hauled the bundle toward the door. It was heavier than he expected, the weight dragging against him with every step. His ribs screamed in protest, the pain from his earlier beating flaring with every movement.

He didn’t think. He couldn’t. If he stopped to process what he was doing, he might collapse entirely.

The streets were eerily empty as he dragged the body to a nearby construction site, his mind a blank slate of panic and dread. He shoved it into a half-filled dumpster, his stomach churning as the body landed with a sickening thud. The shimmering blood clung to the edges of the blanket, catching the faint light of the streetlamp overhead.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Elias turned and staggered back toward his apartment, the weight in his chest heavier than it had been when he left.

When he returned, the living room felt colder, emptier, but no less oppressive. The faint smears of blood on the floor mocked him, glinting faintly as if to remind him that no amount of scrubbing would ever erase what had happened. He grabbed a towel and cleaned frantically, his movements frantic and uneven, until every trace of the shimmering liquid was gone.

When the room was clean—or as clean as he could make it—he stumbled into the bathroom and scrubbed his hands under scalding water, the heat burning his skin but failing to remove the phantom sensation of the blood. His mind spiraled further, paranoia creeping in like a dark fog. What if someone saw me? What if they’re watching now?

He glanced toward the bathroom window, convinced for a fleeting moment that someone was there. But the alley beyond was empty, silent. He closed the blinds, his breath hitching as he slumped against the sink.

Elias didn’t remember falling asleep. He woke with a start to the sound of knocking—soft, almost hesitant, but insistent enough to pull him out of the haze. His heart raced as he sat up, his body stiff from the night’s chaos.

The knock came again.

He stumbled to the door, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. When he peered through the peephole, his breath caught.

It was Lila.

He hesitated, his mind a jumble of fear and confusion. Why is she here? How does she always know when to show up?

Another knock. “Elias?” Her voice was soft, concerned. “It’s me. I know it’s late, but… Can we talk?”

He hesitated for a moment longer before unlocking the door and pulling it open. Lila stood there, her hair slightly disheveled, her coat hanging loosely on her shoulders. She smiled faintly, but her expression was tinged with worry.

“You look like hell,” she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

Elias closed the door behind her, his stomach twisting as he watched her glance around the room. Her eyes lingered on the couch, the coffee table, the faintly damp towel he hadn’t thought to hide.

“I… I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she said, turning to face him. “I was worried about you. You haven’t been answering my calls.”

He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to the floor. “It’s been… a rough couple of days.”

She stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. Her touch was warm, grounding, but it only made the knot in his chest tighten. “Elias, what’s going on? You’re not yourself.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. She tilted her head slightly, her expression softening in a way that felt too deliberate, too practiced.

“You know you can tell me anything,” she said. Her tone was gentle, but there was something behind her eyes—a flicker of something sharp, calculating, that made his stomach churn.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, stepping back. “Just tired. Work’s been… intense.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but the concern in her voice deepened. “Elias, you’re scaring me. I just want to help.”

The words should have comforted him. They didn’t. Instead, they felt like an interrogation, like she was trying to pull something out of him. His paranoia flared, the events of the night compounding the unease that had been building for weeks.

“I appreciate it,” he said, his voice tight. “But I’m okay. Really.”

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. Then she nodded, stepping back toward the door. “Alright,” she said softly. “But if you need anything, promise you’ll call me. No matter what.”

“I will,” he lied, forcing a faint smile.

She lingered for a moment longer before stepping out into the hallway. “Goodnight, Elias,” she said, her voice warm but distant.

When the door closed behind her, Elias leaned against it, his legs trembling. He didn’t know if he could trust her anymore.

And that terrified him most of all.