Lanor Haval, once the embodiment of noble aspirations, stood on the precipice of his past, gazing down the chasm of shattered dreams.

The corridors of time echoed with the whispers of a destiny cruelly interrupted by the capricious hand of the 'Enderman.' Lanor, who had been destined to elevate his house to glory, found himself cast adrift on the turbulent seas of a mercenary's life.

As he stood before Enevar Lifer, bound to a wooden post, memories surfaced like ghosts from the recesses of Lanor's mind.

The nobleman turned mercenary traced the lines of his own journey through the fragments of his past. A child once brimming with ideals, now weathered by the storms of hardship, had become something else entirely— perhaps more of a warrior, and less of what he should have been. Lanor's eyes, once filled with the sparkle of noble ambitions, reflected the harsh realities of a life molded by circumstance.

Enevar looked back at Lanor with eyes that had witnessed the ebb and flow of time. The wooden post held the old man's weary frame, bound by coarse rope, and Lanor's judgemental eye.

The flickering flames of the campfire cast shadows on Lanor's face.

There were stories, tales, about a man, mercenary, and monster, which spoke of horrors in children's bedtime— the Enderman— they call him, wicked, greedy, and violent.

Lanor could roughly recall the memories of when such a man came to his home and then proceeded to massacre his kin.

The Enderman, once the usurper of happiness, now appeared as a relic of a shared history before him.

In the silence that hung heavy between them, Lanor's gaze bore into the aged eyes of his former nemesis. The confrontation was not just physical; it was a reckoning of two lives entwined by the playful spinner of fate. As memories flashed like lightning, Lanor grappled with the weight of the past, seeking closure for wounds that time had failed to heal.

As the moon ascended to its zenith, Lanor, his gaze still lingering on Enevar Lifer, addressed his mercenaries with a tone that bore the weight of command. "We will be leaving at past midnight, go and prepare. Leave me and the old man some time... to talk..."

The mercenaries, a silent cohort bound by the unspoken rules of their trade, dispersed without a word. Yet, Kael, a figure of defiance, remained rooted in place, his eyes fixed on Lanor.

"If you are thinking of sparing him, don't," Kael asserted, his voice carrying the cold certainty of a seasoned... killer. "Trust me, you have to kill him."

Lanor, undeterred by Kael's dissent, met his gaze with an unwavering determination. "You don't get to decide that. I am the leader here. Our hierarchy might not be as strict as the military, but that doesn't mean you get to disobey me. If I tell you to go, then go..."

A tense silence lingered in the night air, the unspoken tension crackling between them.

Without uttering another word, Kael inclined his head slightly, a terse nod, before turning on his heels and disappearing into the night.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Silence reigned for a moment, and when Lanor made sure it was just him and the old man, he began.

Lanor's voice carried a mix of disbelief and resentment as he confronted Enevar. "I cannot believe I did not recognize you, you monster. I only realized it was you after that..."

As memories of the ill-fated revisit flashed through Lanor's mind, the ring on the shelf served as a haunting reminder of the Enderman's legacy. That was when Lanor lost control. Before he knew it, he was already pummeling the old man, his metallic gauntlets bloody and his face contorted with rage.

At that time, Lanor only wanted to try convincing the old man a second time to be more hospitable. But as chance had it, that was when his eyes stumbled on the innocuous ring that once had symbolized Lanor's fear.

Enevar's voice, gravelly and resolute, cut through the air. "Kill me."

Lanor, facing the old man tied to a wooden post, shook his head. "I wouldn't, my mercy will be my punishment to you."

Enevar's warning held an ominous undertone. "Kill me, or you would gravely regret it... I am an unforgivably, very, petty, old man."

Lanor, embracing his own pettiness, retorted, "I am just as petty, and that is why I would spare you. Die old and miserable, Enevar Lifer."

Leaving Enevar bound and battered, Lanor retreated to the barn. Meanwhile, the mercenaries, eager to escape with their ill-gotten gains, prepared to depart past midnight. Shortly after, Enevar fell unconscious, asleep, tired, and wanting rest.

In the shadows, Kael, silently dissenting from Lanor's decision, approached the tied Enevar. Kael's steps were deliberate, echoing the weight of a decision made in the crucible of moral ambiguity... or maybe, a sense of certainty.

The moon cast an ethereal glow on the scene, illuminating Kael's face filled with sureness of what he ought to commit. The muted sounds of departing mercenaries faded into the background as Kael's hands deftly worked to release the bonds that confined Enevar.

In the silence that enveloped them, Kael's thoughts resonated with the gravity of the moment.

Doing what was necessary, not just what was right—that mantra echoed through Kael's mind like a refrain.

Kael was used to this, so there was no need to hesitate.

Dragging Enevar away from the homestead, Kael's thoughts ran in parallel to a destination in mind, a place he had vaguely discovered in his short scouting. Soon, he heard it, a familiar crashing of water from a high place.

The waterfall's soothing cascade provided a cover for what he intended to do.

Whether the old man resisted, fought back, or screamed, it would be muffled by the sound of the waterfall.

Enevar stirred as consciousness returned, his weary eyes meeting the shadows around him. "Kill me," he rasped, a plea that echoed through the dim expanse of the forest. "Make sure... you kill me..."

Kael's response was a somber acknowledgment. "Yeah, and that's why I returned to begin with..." In the hushed stillness, Kael's blade found its mark, plunging into the old man's chest with a swift and decisive thrust.

Enevar's death throes erupted with a bitter retort. "You... You imbecile!" The words hung in the air, hateful and angered.

Before Enevar could utter another syllable, Kael pushed him towards the lake's edge. The water embraced him, and his weakened limbs floundered in the depths. The lake, serene and unfazed, accepted the burden of a life... slipping away.

The moonlit ripples bore witness to the culmination of such murder, ending the Enderman. Enevar's fading protests were swallowed by the waters, leaving only the echoes of a vendetta that had taken a final, unexpected turn. "I wouldn't know about an Enderman, but I knew what a pathetic old man looked like if I saw one."

Kael, standing at the edge of the lake, watched the color of crimson spread until finally, he fled, rejoining his mercenary compatriots.

> In the caverns of the human heart, a shadow lies,

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> An echo of the Enderman, where darkness vies.

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> Anger, a tempest in each breath we take,

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> Greed, a hunger that refuses to slake.

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> The pettiest heart, a most hateful man,

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> Behold the creature, the Enderman.