Arthur halted his movements, the rage in his body stilling for just a moment.
Slowly, he sheathed his rapier, the metallic sound of steel sliding into its scabbard echoing faintly through the silence.
He looked down at the broken figure before him—his childhood friend, the girl he'd once sworn to protect.
There was no pity in his eyes.
Only twisted love and obsession.
"I'm only doing this," Arthur said softly, "because I love you…"
Then, without hesitation, he raised his fist—and a heartbeat later, it crashed forward, slamming into Nike's jaw with a brutal force.
Her head jerked to the side, but she didn't scream.
She didn't cry.
She took the blow in silence.
Another punch followed.
Then another.
And another.
Again and again, Arthur's fists rained down upon her face, his knuckles growing slick with blood, his breaths growing louder with each impact.
Her face was a canvas of swelling bruises and open cuts, but through it all—
Nike refused to fall.
Refused to collapse.
