[Rowan's POV]
"Stay away."
The words hit harder than any blade ever could. They carved through the euphoria in my chest, leaving something raw and hollow in its place. My breath caught in my throat.
What?
I blinked, the bloodied room around me warping, my vision tunneling in on Elias. His face—pale, rigid—like he was staring at something unrecognizable. At me.
Why?
Why does he look at me like that? Like I'm some kind of thing—a monster creeping from the shadows?
I turned to Talia, searching for something, anything, that would make sense of this moment. But her stance was tight, shoulders drawn, her fingers curled into a trembling fist.
Like she was ready to fight.
Like she was bracing herself.
Like I was the threat.
The thought twisted in my gut. It didn't make sense. This was supposed to be a victory. My hands clenched at my sides, my breath coming faster now, shallower, burning.
I did it.
I avenged her.
Victor's corpse lay at my feet, the blood on my hands still warm. He was dead.
The weight I had carried for so long was supposed to be gone, ripped away with every stab, every wound I carved into his flesh.
Then why?
Why does it feel like I lost something instead?
Then, something inside me snapped.
Like a fraying rope finally giving way, like glass under too much pressure—silent, inevitable.
And then… nothing.
No pain where my heart should be. No heat, no ache, no weight. Just emptiness.
My face settled into something cold, indifferent. Elias and Talia didn't understand. They didn't need to. Their fear, their hesitation—it wasn't my burden to carry.
There was still work to do.
I turned and started walking, the blood beneath my boots sticking like tar. Pain rippled through my limbs with every movement, but it was distant, an afterthought.
I had lived in pain for too long to let it stop me now.
Elias and Talia didn't speak. They just stood there, rigid, their gazes burning into my back like they were watching something they no longer recognized.
I didn't look at them. I didn't slow.
If they couldn't see—if they refused to accept what had to be done—then that was their problem.
Not mine.
I walked forward. Steady. Unwavering. The weight of my injuries pressed down on me like chains, my ribs screaming, my limbs leaden—but I didn't falter. I couldn't. The pain was nothing compared to the weight of broken ties, of burned bridges, of bonds shattered beyond repair.
Then, I stopped.
Even I had to pause at the sight before me.
Bodies.
Dozens. No—hundreds.
Strewn across the bloodstained ground like discarded dolls, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing, their final moments frozen in grotesque stillness. The air reeked of iron, smoke, and something deeper—something fouler.
Death.
Destruction.
The opposite of life.
But I didn't care. It had to be done. For me. For her.
No one else had lifted a finger to stop these men. No one had cared about the suffering they caused, the lives they shattered, the families they ruined. Yet they would call me the monster.
Hypocrites. Fools.
I pressed forward, my steps squelching in the crimson mud, until I reached her.
Valerie.
She stood among the corpses, giving orders, scanning reports, her expression composed but weary. She was strong, sharp—but she had no idea that her time had already run out.
"It should be any minute now," I murmured to myself, my pulse steady.
Any moment now, the filth would finally be wiped from this world.
Her eyes flicked up, taking me in. "Viper, you're here..." Her voice carried the faintest edge of exhaustion. Then, after a beat—realization. "That means?"
"Dead," I rasped. "As promised."
Pain wracked my body with every syllable, but I ignored it. My work wasn't finished.
I shifted my gaze beyond her, and there they were.
The Hounds.
My allies. My hidden hand. The ones no one saw coming.
Sixty of them, moving like shadows, like a storm rolling in—silent, inevitable.
I could almost hear William's voice in my head, from over a month ago, when we met with Theron. A name no one dared whisper, an old tie no one had suspected. We give him his throne, and he gives us our victory.
And now, the deal would be sealed in blood.
The moment hung in the air, stretched thin, fragile—then I shattered it.
In a single motion, I drew my broken dagger and buried it in her skull.
Valerie barely had time to widen her eyes before she crumpled, her body hitting the ground like an afterthought.
Dead.
And then—chaos.
Screams. Shouts. Steel against steel. The second wave crashed over them like a tidal force, wiping away the remnants of the Spiders in a whirlwind of betrayal.
I turned my gaze to Handy. His head hung low, as if he could shut out the reality around him, as if refusing to look could somehow ease his conscience.
Then there was Tobias.
His face twisted in horror as he watched his so-called friends—the men he had laughed with, fought beside—get butchered before his eyes.
I had warned him. I had told him not to get too close, not to form attachments, not to let himself care.
But he never listened. He never did.
And now?
Now he was paying the price for that defiance.
Tobias stormed toward me, his face twisted with rage, his breath ragged. I stepped over Valerie's corpse to meet him.
My boots pressing into the blood-slick ground as if the body beneath me meant nothing. Because it didn't. Not anymore.
"What the fuck, Rowan!?" His voice cracked with the weight of betrayal, his hands clenched into trembling fists. He was unraveling, barely holding himself together.
I didn't react. My face remained impassive, a mask of stone.
"What?" I asked, my voice devoid of emotion.
Predictable as ever, he swung at me. A wild, desperate punch—messy, unfocused. I barely had to move to evade it, even with my broken body screaming in protest.
Before he could recover, I struck back, a single blow to his ribs. He staggered, gasping.
"Stop," I said, my voice cold, final. "Your tantrum won't change anything."
His teeth ground together, his whole body shaking with the effort to contain himself. But he didn't strike again.
Good.
Then came Talia. And Elias.
I turned to face them, my movements slow, deliberate.
Talia—my sweet Talia—looked horrified. Her wide eyes darted between the slaughter, the unfamiliar men tearing through our so-called allies, and me, standing there as if I hadn't just turned the world upside down.
She dropped into a stance, muscles tensed, prepared to fight.
I lifted a hand, stopping her before she could make the mistake of opposing me.
"Talia," I said evenly. "These are allies."
She froze. Confusion flashed across her face, twisting her features. "What do you mean?" she demanded, voice sharp, fraying at the edges. "The Spiders were the allies!"
I shook my head slowly, deliberately. "Not anymore."
Her jaw clenched so tightly I could hear the grind of her teeth. Her hands trembled at her sides, but she didn't move to strike.
At least she knew where she stood.
Then there was Elias.
His eyes locked onto mine, and I saw it—pure, unfiltered terror.
Not anger. Not confusion. Fear.
He looked at me the way one looks at a nightmare made flesh.
As if I were something inhuman.
As if I were a beast.
And just like that, it was over.
The Spiders were gone—scattered, slaughtered, erased from the slums like they'd never existed. In their place, new hands reached for power, eager to fill the void. This was the real deal I had struck. Not with Valerie. Not with Victor. But with the city itself.
And with him.
Theron. The man who had the best relationship with the city's ruling class, who had learned to bow just enough to stay standing. He had no illusions of freedom—only control, only survival. And he played his role well.
I promised him the slums, the crown neither Valerie nor Victor were fit to wear. She was too clever by half, too ambitious—given time, she would have become just another Victor. And I had no interest in wearing that weight myself.
So that left Theron. The man who willingly became the city's pawn in exchange for power.
I had nothing against him. He wasn't cruel, at least not needlessly. He kept his word. Someone I could almost—almost—trust.
He approached through the battlefield of bodies, stepping over the dead with the ease of a man accustomed to such sights. Long dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, his sharp eyes found mine.
I extended a hand. He clasped it. His grip was firm, but not unshakable.
"Theron." I nodded once.
"Rowan." He returned it, though there was something in his gaze—something cautious, unreadable.
"The deal's done," I said, voice even. "The slums are yours. Just make sure the bodies burn." My fingers tightened around his. A small, almost imperceptible wince crossed his face before I let go.
His eyes flickered to my crew—Tobias, Talia, Elias. Their postures were stiff, their stares sharp, offering nothing that resembled welcome.
He noticed. Of course, he noticed. But it didn't matter. The ink on this deal was blood, and blood did not wash away.
"Sure, Viper." His lips barely curled around the name. "Just don't go back on your promise of not interfering."
I inclined my head. A slow, deliberate nod.
"And I hope I don't have to remind you," I continued, tone sharp as a blade, "what will happen if I see you becoming anything even remotely close to Victor."
The words hung between us. Heavy. Unspoken but understood.
Theron held my gaze.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
Just like that, over two hundred lives were snuffed out. The slums, already fractured, had been shattered beyond repair.
Blood soaked the streets, the echoes of screams still clinging to the air like ghosts that refused to fade. And at the heart of it all—me.
But this?
This was not the end.
This was only the beginning.