The air in the underground passage reeked of decay, a fitting stench for the betrayal that had transpired above. Solomon Crownbane, once a man of influence and power, trudged through the sewage tunnels beneath the capital of Carlan with what remained of his loyal guards. Their footsteps splashed through stagnant pools, the sound mingling with the distant echoes of distant chaos. The lamps they carried cast long, flickering shadows against the slimy stone walls, highlighting the fear etched across their faces. Solomon's own heart beat wildly in his chest, though his face remained composed, the visage of a man who had made his bed and now had to lie in it.
He knew there was no turning back now. The king and queen were dead—his doing. His alliance with the demons, the pact forged in the dark, had yielded the power he so craved, but at a cost even he hadn't fully anticipated. Carlan had been thrown into pandemonium, and he was now a traitor to his own blood, an outcast fleeing from the very kingdom he once sought to rule from the shadows. There was no redemption for him, no safety within the walls of the capital. His only chance was to flee, to escape into the night and find refuge where his treachery had not yet reached.
The passage stretched endlessly ahead, a maze of filth and darkness. The knights flanked him, their eyes darting nervously between the shadows as if expecting the very walls to come alive and devour them. Their grip on their weapons tightened at every creak, every whisper of wind. Despite the tension, Solomon forced himself to remain calm. He could not afford to show weakness now. His name still carried weight—at least, it had before this night.
Suddenly, the group halted. A sound, barely audible over the drip of water and the shuffle of feet, caught their attention. The echo of footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, reverberated from the darkness ahead. The knights exchanged uneasy glances, their bodies tensing as they turned towards the source of the noise. Solomon's eyes narrowed. The shadows seemed to deepen, to close in around them, as if the darkness itself were alive, eager to consume them.
From the depths of the passage, a figure emerged, bathed in the dim light of the lamps. Julian Edelman, the hero of Carlan—or so everyone believed. His gentle smile, so familiar to the people, was gone, replaced by an expression that sent a chill through Solomon's bones. There was no mistaking the malice in those eyes, the sadistic gleam that betrayed the monstrous intent lurking beneath the surface.
"Well, well, what have we here?" Julian's voice was soft, almost pleasant, as if greeting old friends. "It seems I've found a rat scurrying in the dark."
The knights immediately drew their swords, forming a protective barrier between Solomon and the approaching figure. "Stay back!" one of them barked, his voice trembling despite his bravado. "Do not come any closer!"
Julian's expression remained unchanged, the twisted smile on his lips widening ever so slightly. He didn't respond—words were unnecessary. In a blur of motion, he closed the distance between them, his movements faster than the eye could follow. Before the knights could react, Julian's hand shot out, piercing through the chest of the nearest guard with sickening ease. The man gasped, eyes wide in shock and pain, before collapsing to the ground, his life extinguished in an instant.
The tunnel filled with the sounds of screams and the clang of metal as the remaining guards tried to mount a defense. It was futile. Julian moved like a force of nature, his every strike lethal, every motion precise. He tore through their armor and flesh with his bare hands, as if their steel and skill meant nothing. The dim light of the lamps flickered, casting grotesque shadows on the walls as the slaughter unfolded. Blood splattered across the stone, mingling with the filth of the sewers, and the air grew thick with the scent of death.
One by one, the knights fell, their desperate cries echoing through the passage.
One of them, a young man no older than twenty, dropped to his knees before Julian, tears streaming down his face as he begged for mercy. "Please… spare me… I-I have a family…"
Julian looked down at the kneeling knight, his expression one of mock pity. "Oh? A family, you say? How touching."
With a swift kick, Julian sent the knight sprawling onto the ground. The young man's plea turned into a gurgling whimper as Julian's boot came down on his head with a sickening crunch.
The tunnel grew silent save for the dull drip of water and the soft crackling of the lamps.
Solomon stood paralyzed, his body refusing to move, as he watched the last of his guards perish. Now, only he remained. The man who had orchestrated the deaths of the king and queen, the man who had sought to control the throne, was now reduced to a trembling figure in the dark, cornered by a monster of his own making.
Julian stepped over the bodies, the bloodstained stone cold beneath his feet, until he stood before Solomon. "You've made quite a mess, Solomon," Julian said, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. "Allying with demons, killing the king and queen… You've really outdone yourself."
Solomon's composure shattered, his fear laid bare. He raised his hands in a futile gesture of surrender, desperation lacing his words. "Julian, please… I-I can still help you! If you want the throne, it's yours! No one can stop you now! I—"
His words were cut off by a sharp crack as Julian's fist collided with his outstretched hand. The bones shattered under the force, sending a spray of blood across the stone. Solomon screamed in agony, clutching the mangled remains of his hand as he crumpled to the ground.
"Help me?" Julian's voice was laced with mockery as he stared down at the fallen noble. "You think I need your help? You ruined everything. You destroyed the king, the queen, and my chance to play the hero they adored. Do you know how much that irritates me?"
Solomon writhed in pain, his voice barely a whisper. "Y-You can still… be king…"
Julian's eyes darkened, and he stomped his boot down on Solomon's foot with a sickening crunch. "Where's the fun in that? The victory's not worth it if the game's over too soon."
The agony coursed through Solomon, blinding him to everything but the pain. He could feel his sanity slipping, torn away by the monstrous presence before him. "Julian… you… you're a devil…"
Julian chuckled, a low, sinister sound that echoed through the tunnel. "A devil? Perhaps. But it's more fun that way, don't you think?"
With a final, merciless stomp, Julian crushed Solomon's remaining foot, eliciting another scream from the broken man. The noble's defiance, his arrogance, all of it shattered along with his bones, leaving only fear and desperation in his eyes. Julian savored the sight, the satisfaction of watching his prey squirm, before leaning down to meet Solomon's gaze one last time.
"You've played your part, Solomon," Julian whispered, his voice cold and devoid of empathy. "But now… it's time for you to exit the stage."
Solomon's final scream was cut short as Julian's boot came down on his head, the sound of bone shattering echoing through the passage. Blood pooled beneath the lifeless body, mingling with the grime and filth of the sewers. The once-powerful Solomon Crownbane was no more, reduced to a broken corpse in the darkness.
Julian straightened, wiping the blood from his hands with a casual indifference. The tunnel was quiet now, the chaos aboveground a distant memory. With one final glance at the carnage, Julian turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the darkened passage as he disappeared into the shadows.