The world felt muted.
Commander Elric stood paralyzed before the two severed heads, his breath hitching. The faces, twisted in agony, were not his wife's and daughter's. Swollen, bloodied—yes—but not them. The hair was too short. The features, off.
A tiny ember of hope flickered in his chest.
They're alive… they have to be.
He staggered forward, voice cracking, "Miriam! Liora!"
His boots pounded against the wooden steps as he stormed inside.
The house was deathly silent.
Shadows danced across the walls. The hearth was cold. Furniture lay overturned. Dried blood crusted the floorboards like paint from a nightmare.
"Liora? Miriam?!"
He burst into the living room, eyes straining in the gloom.
Then—
A voice. Low. Calm. Haunting.
"Commander."
Elric spun, sword instantly drawn.
The voice continued, steady and full of venom. "They held on longer than I expected. Clinging to the hope that you would come… that their protector would save them."
His heart dropped. "Who are you?! Where are they?!"
A dim lantern flickered to life at the far end of the room.
In the sudden orange glow, a figure became visible—seated on a wooden chair, legs crossed. Dressed in black, his face still hidden beneath a hood.
In his hands…
Two heads.
Miriam. Liora.
Their mouths locked open in eternal screams. Their once bright eyes—gone, gouged out. Blood matted their hair. Their expressions etched into Elric's soul like a brand.
Ren let their heads tumble from his grip. They rolled to Elric's feet with a sickening thud.
Silence.
Then the commander dropped to his knees.
"No… no…" he whispered, voice breaking, hands trembling.
He looked around in horror. Pieces of bodies littered the floor—arms, legs, a tiny hand with a bracelet he had gifted his daughter. The walls were soaked in blood. Her drawings were still pinned to the wall behind Ren, now stained red.
How long did they suffer?
Tears flowed freely.
Elric's knuckles went white as he gripped his sword, eyes burning. "WHY?!"
He lunged with a scream, swinging the blade down with everything he had.
But before the blade could land, a hand shot up—bare, scarred—and caught it.
Steel sliced into the hand, drawing blood… but Ren didn't flinch.
Instead, he stared at the commander with hollow eyes as the wound rapidly closed.
Elric's eyes widened. "What… are you?"
Ren's expression didn't change. He simply clenched his fist and drove it into Elric's stomach.
The punch landed with a crack of bone.
Elric flew backward, crashing through the front door, tumbling into the dirt, gasping for air. Blood spilled from his mouth. His vision blurred. His ribs—shattered.
He barely managed to rise to one knee, clutching his gut.
"Just… who are you?" he rasped. "What did we ever do to you? What did my family do?!"
Footsteps.
Ren stepped out into the moonlight, slow and deliberate. He reached up and pulled down his hood.
The wind tugged at his hair as it fell loose.
Elric's breath hitched again.
The face was unfamiliar—older, colder, warped by rage and pain. But the voice…
"Oh, Commander," Ren said, smirking. "My face might be different. But surely… you remember the Hero's voice."
Elric's heart stopped. "That's impossible. The Hero is dead. He died years ago!"
Ren's eyes narrowed.
"Exactly," he whispered coldly. "Your Hero… is dead."
Elric's mouth opened, but no words came. His mind reeled. A storm of memories—training grounds, laughter, betrayal, cruelty—flashed through him.
And then—
Ren tilted his head, a sick grin spreading across his face.
"But you know, Commander…" he said with mock innocence. "Your wife tasted… divine."
Something inside Elric snapped.
With a roar of rage and grief, he grabbed one of the spears that had held the knights' heads and charged.
He drove it into Ren's chest.
Blood burst from Ren's mouth, dripping onto the ground.
Elric staggered back, breathing heavily. "You're dead now…"
Ren's eyes widened…
Then slowly, twisted into a smile.
"Am I?" he whispered.
Elric's blood ran cold.