Aldric stepped out from the hold, not slowing, not pausing.
Behind him, the door creaked shut over a floor that would never be clean again.
His boots echoed across the inner deck. Slow. Measured.
"…This thing isn't small," he muttered, his eyes moving across the structure.
Corridors stretched in multiple directions: upper decks, lower compartments, crew quarters, storage, engine chambers.
Too many places to hide.
His gaze sharpened.
"…Let's see if there's any bastards still alive."
A faint ripple of crimson stirred around him, not explosive, but controlled.
Threads.
Thin strands of blood mana seeped outward from his fingertips, slipping into the air like something alive.
They spread through corridors, across walls, through cracks, searching, listening, feeling.
Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every flicker of movement.
Aldric walked forward. Not guessing. Tracking.
A turn. Left. A narrow passage. Dark. Silent.
Then a twitch. Barely anything, but enough.
Aldric stopped.
His head tilted slightly.
"…Found you."
The words were quiet. Final.
A panel along the wall, subtle, hidden, shifted.
Too late.
Aldric's hand lifted. A single thread snapped forward, piercing straight through the metal.
**THUK.**
A muffled choke came from behind it.
Blood answered immediately, leaking, seeping through the seams.
Aldric didn't even look as he walked past. The thread withdrew.
Silence followed.
Further ahead, movement.
This time faster. Panicked.
Footsteps. Running.
Aldric exhaled lightly.
"…Pointless."
His fingers curled.
The threads that had spread through the corridor tightened.
Then, **SNAP.**
From three different directions, they struck.
One through the leg. One through the shoulder. One through the throat.
A body slammed against the wall ahead, dragged back by invisible force.
A man. Eyes wide. Hands clawing at nothing. Trying to breathe. Failing.
Aldric walked up to him and stopped.
"…You should've stayed quiet."
The thread in his throat twisted once.
The body went still and dropped.
Aldric stepped over it, unbothered.
The ship creaked faintly around him, as if reacting, as if it understood what was moving inside it.
Deck by deck, corridor by corridor, he walked.
And every time something hid, it was found.
Every time something ran, it was caught.
No shouting. No chaos.
Just quiet, efficient erasure.
Minutes passed.
Then nothing.
No more movement. No more heartbeats beyond the one he allowed.
Aldric stopped at the center of the ship and stilled.
The threads faded, dissolving back into nothing.
His gaze lifted slightly toward the upper deck, toward the direction of the pilot.
"…That should be all of them."
A pause.
Then a faint smirk.
"…Now let's see if this thing actually flies."
The control deck was quiet. Too quiet.
Aldric stepped in and stopped.
The pilot lay crumpled near the console. A pool of blood spread beneath her. Still. Cold. Dead.
Not far from her stood a man.
Brown hair. Blue eyes.
A dagger in his hand, its edge still glowing faintly with mana.
Their eyes met.
Silence.
Then Aldric moved.
He was gone, then there.
His hand wrapped around the man's throat, lifting him clean off the ground.
The dagger clattered away.
The man choked instantly, hands clawing at Aldric's wrist, eyes wide in panic.
"…Damn bastard," Aldric said, voice low, dangerously calm. "You just killed the pilot."
His grip tightened.
The man's feet kicked uselessly in the air.
"What do you expect me to tell the others when they arrive?" Aldric continued, irritation creeping in. "…My little sister even reminded me not to kill the damn pilot… and now she's dead because of a bastard like you."
The man's vision blurred. His lips parted, forcing sound through the pressure crushing his throat.
"…I… pilot…"
Aldric's eyes flickered.
A pause.
"…What?"
"…I'm… a pilot…"
Aldric stared at him for half a second, then let go.
The man dropped hard, collapsing to the floor, coughing and gasping, dragging in air like he had been drowning.
His hands trembled as he held his throat, still trying to process how close he had come to dying.
Behind them, footsteps.
Lyriana. Vaelith. The cultist.
They stepped into the control deck, taking in the scene instantly.
The dead woman.
The man on the ground.
Aldric standing over him.
Lyriana's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Where's the pilot?"
Aldric clicked his tongue.
"…This bastard killed her to save his own skin."
He gestured lazily toward the man, then looked back down at him.
"…So," Aldric continued, tone flattening again, "…since you killed her, you better know how to fly this thing."
A pause.
"…Because if you don't…"
His gaze hardened.
"…I'll make sure your death isn't easy."
The man froze.
Then slowly, he steadied his breathing.
His fear didn't vanish, but something else surfaced with it.
Calculation.
He looked up at Aldric, voice rough but clear.
"…Calm down."
The cultist blinked.
"…Oh, he's bold—"
"…If I decided to kill her," the man continued, ignoring her, "it's because I found a lifeline."
Aldric's eyes narrowed slightly.
"A way to live," the man said.
A pause.
"…So I must be able to fly an airship."
He swallowed once.
"…If I couldn't… there'd be no reason to keep me alive, would there?"
Silence.
Aldric stared at him.
Then a slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"…Hah."
He straightened.
"…You talk well."
A glance toward the controls. Then back.
"…Smart too."
His eyes sharpened again.
"But you better know how to pilot this thing."
The man pushed himself up, still unsteady, but standing now.
"…I do."
A beat.
"…Or I wouldn't be standing here."
Lyriana watched him quietly. Not trusting. Not doubting. Just measuring.
Vaelith's gaze lingered a moment longer, calm, silent.
The cultist crossed her arms.
"…Well, either he flies it or we all crash, so I vote we believe him."
Aldric exhaled lightly through his nose.
"…Then get to work."
He stepped aside, clearing the path to the control console.
The man didn't hesitate this time.
He moved forward, hands brushing over the controls, eyes scanning, familiar.
Alive again.
Behind him, Aldric's voice came once more.
Quiet. But carrying weight.
"…Don't make me regret it."