"I sometimes hire unofficial agents to do the work I can't accomplish on my own. One of those agents was a man — a very unique man. His name was Galliard Quinns. He had a strange ability… the ability to bend. He was extremely flexible, but he couldn't stretch. Now, this man had no family. He was a loner — desperate for money. So I gave him a job.
Five successful missions later, something came up... and I had to end him. He was good — never failed, never hesitated. A shame, really. But necessity doesn't care for talent. I sent three heroes to eliminate him after tracking down his location. They reported success — claimed the job was done. But they never returned.
A week later, I sent two more agents to confirm the kill. They came back saying they couldn't find the first team... but they did find the man's headless, decomposing corpse."
"I'm sorry, sir," Commander Richard said cautiously, "but... I'm not sure where you're going with this."
"The man was Galliard Quinns, Commander," Sir Smith said quietly. "And Galliard is dead."
"I see, sir."
"So, according to my deduction, whoever this new 'Galliard' is — they're either an imposter... or the dead man himself."
"What do you propose we do, sir?"
"We?" Smith tilted his head slightly. "Commander, you have failed me."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Quit apologizing for things you can't fix," Smith replied calmly. "Still, rest assured, I accept your apology. But to ensure this mistake never repeats itself... I'll put an end to the flaw in my plans." He paused, eyes glinting. "Commander Richard?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I hate to get my hands dirty as a judge. So as your last task... Commander..."
Sir Smith stood, picked up a pistol from the stool beside him, and handed it to Richard.
"Kill yourself."
The commander froze. His trembling hands lifted the gun. The cold barrel pressed against his forehead. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger—
Click.
The sound that followed wasn't from the gun, but from Sir Smith's mouth — a mocking imitation of a gunshot.
The commander dropped to his knees, palms on the floor, shaking. Tears streaked his face as relief washed over him.
"Thank you, sir. Thank you for sparing my life. I swear I'll never fail another mission again. If I do... I'll die on the spot!"
Sir Smith smiled — a faint, unsettling smile.
"I like it. Truly. That look on your face — it reeks of hope. You found out there were no bullets in the gun, and you thank me for saving your life. You seem to forget, Commander, that I was the one who told you to take it in the first place."
He leaned forward. "Tell me... why do you thank me?"
"Because you let me live, sir!" Richard cried. "I wronged you, but you let me live — oh, thank you, sir!"
"Would have, Commander," Smith interrupted. "I would have let you live. But then you said something that disgusted me. You swore that if you failed me again, you'd die where you stood."
"I— I didn't mean it like that, sir—" Richard stammered, trembling.
Smith's calm voice never wavered. "You spoke of failing me again. You've already predicted a flaw in one of my future plans. You see why that bothers me?"
The Commander's words tangled in panic. "No— yes— I mean no, sir! I— I didn't— that's not—"
"Come now, Commander," Smith said softly, "I can't understand you if you don't use actual words."
"Please, sir," Richard begged, collapsing to the floor, "please, I need to live! I have a family—"
"A family?" Smith raised a brow. "Curious. When I instructed you to commit suicide moments ago, this information was not brought to my notice. Why not?"
"Please, sir, forgive me! I'll never fail again!"
Smith sighed. "You had your second chance. And now you refuse to answer my questions. Well, Commander, I am known for many things — but a liar is not one of them. So I'll keep my word."
Richard looked up, confused — unsure whether to hope or despair. Then the floor beneath him began to glow.
Golden light seeped through the cracks, forming a massive compass sigil beneath his knees.
North: the future.
South: the past.
West: the negative present.
East: the positive — human hopes and predictions.
And at the center, the key — swallowed by an aura of death.
A foul stench filled the air, thick with the smell of blood and rot.
The light dimmed... then flared again with a deep, monstrous rumble.
Two hands burst from the symbol — one clamping onto Richard's leg. He screamed and tried to crawl away as a second hand gripped his other leg. The creature began to rise — headless, with a mouth gaping from its neck, and limbs that stretched far too long.
It stood tall, towering over him, its breath foul and wet.
Richard couldn't move. Couldn't scream. Could only stare as it stepped forward — its enormous foot pressing down on his body. Then, without pause, it ripped off his legs. His scream echoed through the chamber as blood splattered across the marble.
It devoured him slowly, starting from the bottom, chewing through flesh and bone with a sound that scraped against the soul.
When it was done, the creature crumbled into dust, vanishing like burnt paper in the wind. The compass mark faded.
Sir Smith turned from the scene and walked out — calm, spotless, and completely unbothered by the blood-soaked room behind him.