Deathstalker stepped out of the taxi, his sharp gaze flicking toward the carport. Empty.
His father was already gone. As expected.
Colonel General Rauss was a man of routine—out of the house before dawn, back late at night. Even with his wife still recovering at home, duty called. His leave had run out, and as the obedient soldier he was, he had no choice but to return.
Which means I won't be interrupted.
With purposeful strides, Deathstalker made his way toward the house where he had grown up.
Despite his father's high rank, he had chosen to stay in this old residence rather than move to a secure military compound. He had even refused full army protection, trusting his home and family's safety to his adjutant and a handful of subordinates.
A mistake.
The two soldiers guarding the front gate stiffened at the sight of him. Surprise flickered across their faces, but they quickly masked it, nodding in respect.
Deathstalker didn't return the courtesy.
With a flick of his wrist, an invisible force hurled them backward, their bodies colliding midair before crashing onto the pavement. Unconscious.
Another wave of his hand sent them sliding across the ground toward the fence. Two iron bars bent, twisting around their limp forms like shackles.
Stay put.
With that, Deathstalker stepped through the front door.
He moved swiftly, his boots barely making a sound as he navigated the familiar halls. Within moments, he reached the main bedroom.
He heard her voice before he even entered.
"What do you mean she's still alive?"
His mother's tone wasn't loud, but in the silence of the house, it carried.
"Are you telling me Deathstalker failed to eliminate her?"
"I didn't fail, Mother."
His own voice answered before he even stepped inside.
"I didn't want to kill her."
With that, he pushed the door open.
His mother's eyes widened in shock as she saw him standing there.
"Quint…" she whispered, frozen mid-call.
A second later, she disconnected the line.
"What are you doing here, Son?" she asked, her voice deceptively calm.
The only response she received was the sharp slam of the door behind him, followed by the distinct sound of the lock turning.
The tension in the room thickened.
"Stop pretending to be sick, Mother," Deathstalker said coldly, his eyes scanning her bandaged form.
"What are you—"
"Cut the crap!" he snapped, his patience razor-thin.
"You weren't in the car when it was hit. I know that.
I know it wasn't Mila's organization's truck that crashed into it.
It was your company's truck!"
A flicker of something crossed his mother's face—annoyance, amusement, maybe both.
"What nonsense are you talking about? We have satellite images as evidence," she said smoothly.
"They were altered," Deathstalker retorted.
He pulled out his phone and tossed it onto her lap. A flick of his fingers and the screen lit up on its own, playing the video he had received from Mila.
"This came from a satellite your hacker missed," he added.
The video played.
His mother watched—barely half of it—before the corner of her lips curled upward into a slow, deliberate smile.
"I thought it was a foolproof plan," she murmured through gritted teeth.
Deathstalker's stomach twisted.
"Why, Mother?" he asked, his voice low, strained.
Joanna Rauss exhaled, then met his gaze.
"Because she is trying to destroy me," she said plainly.
"And you did nothing about it."
"She is my sister, Mother! Better yet, she is your daughter! Your own blood!"
His mother's expression hardened.
"Well, isn't that something she should have considered before trying to tear down everything I built?!" she hissed.
Deathstalker could barely believe the woman in front of him.
"She never wanted to hurt you—she only wanted—"
"To destroy the organization!" His mother cut him off sharply. "That is more painful than any physical wound!"
Deathstalker clenched his jaw.
His mother moved.
Despite her supposedly broken leg, she crawled forward on the bed toward him, her movements eerily feline—like a predator.
"And you…" she growled. "You didn't even care enough to protect me."
A sharp knock echoed through the room.
"Joanna?"
A voice—deep, authoritative. His master.
Deathstalker barely registered it.
"Why me?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.
"You had other Royal Knights for this mission."
"Because you are the only one she can't read!" Joanna hissed.
"You are the only one who could kill her!"
"I won't kill her!" Deathstalker snapped.
"Joanna, are you okay?" His master's voice carried concern now. The doorknob rattled, testing the lock.
His mother's eyes narrowed.
"I knew that," she whispered. "That's why I made this plan…"
Deathstalker saw red.
"You…" His entire body trembled with fury.
With one step, he lunged—his hand clamping around her throat.
"How could you…?!" he seethed.
Joanna gasped, her nails clawing at his wrist.
"Quint…!"
"Joanna?"
A louder knock. The doorknob jerked violently.
"A mother wouldn't turn her children against each other." Deathstalker's grip tightened.
"Joanna!!"
His mother struggled. "Quint… I—"
"Derrick—HELP!" Joanna suddenly screamed.
A second later—
BOOM.
The door exploded inward with a single punch.
His master stood in the wreckage, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto the scene before him—Deathstalker, strangling his own mother.
"QUINT!" His master's voice thundered through the room. "Let her go!"
"NO!"
Deathstalker flicked his wrist—every object in the room launched at his master.
Useless.
His master barely moved, dodging the attack as if it were child's play.
In a flash, the older man closed the distance—and yanked Deathstalker away.
Deathstalker barely had a moment to react before he flicked his hand again.
From outside the room—
Knives flew inward, aimed straight for his master's back.
A single snatch.
His master caught every blade in one hand.
With the other, he threw Deathstalker hard onto the ground.
"You think you can beat me by throwing furniture?" his master scoffed, smirking.
Deathstalker growled.
He punched at the arm pinning him down. No use. His master was too strong.
Then—
A single, sharp BANG.
His master roared in pain.
A bullet had pierced his back.
Deathstalker kicked him hard in the stomach, breaking free. In a blink, he was on top of his master, his fist slamming into his face—again. Again. Again.
The rage was blinding.
His next punch never landed.
A sharp, stabbing pain erupted in his neck.
His body tensed.
His fingers touched the dart lodged in his skin.
His vision blurred.
Before his world went black, the last thing he saw—
His mother.
Standing behind him.
A stun gun in her hand.
-
"Then what happened?" I ask, my eyes locked onto the man stepping out of the dissolving scene, approaching me.
"I don't know, man." He shrugs, casual, as if it's nothing. "All I know is I woke up in a dumpster. And the rest is exactly what's in your memory."
As the scene around us fades, reality shifts back into the landscape of my mind.
"You believe me now?" he asks, grinning wide.
"I do," I answer.
He claps his hands together. "That's g—"
"But I still need to eliminate you."
Before his grin can disappear, I strike—one hand clamping around his neck while my other arm coils tightly, ready to snap it clean.
"No!" he howls, his voice raw with shock. "Are you out of your damn mind?! You'll die if I do!"
In the blink of an eye, he's out of my hold, moving impossibly fast. Before I can react, my back slams against the wall—his forearm crushing my throat.
I gasp, the air struggling to pass through my windpipe.
"I'm gonna die anyway," I rasp, forcing the words out. "Because of your venom."
With all the force I can gather, I bring my knee up—hard.
His body jolts, his grip faltering.
That moment is all I need.
I break free, twisting behind him in a flash. My arms lock around his throat again.
"No, you won't!" he growls, slamming his elbow into my ribs.
I ignore the pain.
"You sure?" I tighten my hold. "Because I can feel it. My body's shutting down."
"As long as…" he chokes, struggling now. "As long as you… keep being who you are…!"
Suddenly, he bends his knees and leaps backward, flipping through the air—dragging me with him.
I react just in time, shifting my weight, keeping my grip firm. We crash against the ground, rolling, flipping—until his back slams into the wall.
I twist my body, flipping our positions.
Now it's me pressing him against the wall, my fingers crushing his throat.
"Who am I, then?" I hiss.
"You're… Deathstalker, of course…" he grits out, as if my question is ridiculous.
I shake my head. "I don't want to be Deathstalker anymore."
His eyes flash in disbelief. "You're kidding me, right?!"
He thrashes, punching, kicking, fighting.
But suddenly—his hits feel weaker.
And that's when I realize.
We're inside my mind.
My domain. My rules.
The moment the thought solidifies, I watch as his form shifts.
The powerful man in front of me shrinks—his adult frame receding, dissolving—until I am staring at a small child.
A terrified Chien Dai.
"Don't you get it?!" the boy screams, his tiny hands pounding weakly against me. "This is your destiny! You were born to be Deathstalker!"
He cries out in frustration, his body trembling.
"I was Deathstalker," I tell him, my voice steady. "But not anymore."
His breath hitches. "You're willing to die? Just to get rid of me?"
I nod. "If that's the price, so be it."
His lip quivers. "But… but you have a child… Don't you want to see him?"
My chest tightens.
"I would love to," I whisper. "But not as Deathstalker."
The boy's eyes widen.
"No… wait… WAIT!"* He thrashes as I prepare to break his neck.
Then—he surrenders.
"Okay, okay! You win!" he cries.
I pause, grip still firm. "How do I win?"
"I'll stop the venom. I'll cut the stream in your blood."
"And?"
His gaze flickers. "And what?"
I narrow my eyes. "And you'll obey me. You won't pull any tricks. You won't try to turn me into Deathstalker again."
His shoulders slump. "Fine."
"Swear it."
"I swear!" he groans. "Just let me go!"
I stare into his small, defiant eyes.
Then I release my hold.
"Good," I say, voice calm, final.
"Now cut the venom."