The dagger had pierced Connor directly in the heart.
The sound was sickening; cold steel cutting through flesh, followed by a gasp for air, a final attempt at surviving.
For a moment, time itself stood still.
Connor's eyes widened in shock, the grin on his face fading away. Blood erupted from the wound in his chest, soaking his training uniform. He weakly tried to grab at the blade, trembling. It was pointless. He collapsed, face-first, with a dull, final thud.
No one moved.
The team stood in silence, stunned. Dusty's heart was racing, and his eyes darted across the chamber— there was no one else. No footsteps, no shadows, no enemy in sight. Just Connor—and the dagger still lodged in his chest.
A dark pool spread beneath Connor's lifeless body, seeping through the cracks in the stone.
Abigail shouted out, her voice in disbelief, "Connor...!" She rushed over to him, falling to her knees, her hands trembling as she attempted to press on the wound. Water formed at her fingertips, the magic responding to her panic as she tried to slow the bleeding.
"WAIT!" Dusty shouted, his voice alarmed, but she didn't listen. She couldn't. Her desperation to save Connor blinded her to the danger that had gotten them into the situation.
And then—
A second dagger. In a flash of movement, nearly invisible.
It sank into Abigail's chest, the same deadly spot. The heart.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her eyes widened in shock. The dagger twisted once—then again— then a final third time, slow and deliberate. Whoever this was, they weren't just killing. They were enjoying it.
Her body collapsed beside Connor's, limp. Still.
"No..." Dusty muttered, his hand covering his mouth.
But deep down, part of him wasn't surprised. He had felt the illusion spells from the moment they entered the dungeon. Subtle, but nowhere near good enough to fool someone with an Appraisal skill and high-level Magic Proficiency.
He could've warned his allies. Could've stopped this.
But doing so would've meant revealing who he truly was—what he truly was. In a world already against demons, losing their trust would have been as deadly as any training dagger.
Mark stood motionless, his mouth slightly gaping in disbelief. He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. The silence was oppressive and suffocating.
From the air, a shape stepped forward. He wasn't invisible. He just made it seem like he was, with illusion magic.
The figure looked as if they came from a different dimension into ours, forming into the unmistakable figure of—
"Lucas," Dusty said under his breath.
Lucas walked forward with calm, deliberate steps, brushing a bit of dust from his shoulder like he had arrived late to a meeting. He came out with quite a bit of confidence. His blade dripped with the blood of the two people he had just stabbed, stained with the blood of his own teammates.
He offered a crooked smile, not remorseful— amused.
He wasn't hiding anymore. He wanted to be seen. This was his game, and they were all the pawns.
Mark's body trembled, and Dusty could feel the change in the air. Gravity wavered around Mark, pulling the air downward as if the world itself was feeling his rage. Mark's hands were clenched into fists, his skin torn by his own fingernails.
"You..." Mark muttered. His voice was low, barely audible, but filled with pure rage.
"You killed them. And now, it's my turn to kill you."
Lucas tilted his head slightly, as if he were confused. "Killed? No, no, no... cleansed. Mark, they were weak. In this world, the weak die. They were unfit to even survive this long." He spat on their corpse, his face twitching in disgust.
He slowly raised his bloodied dagger and inspected it like it was a masterpiece of art. "Besides," he added, his smirk growing even bigger, "it's not like they were going to make it far anyway. Rigghhhtttt? Let's not pretend they were ever on our level."
"Our...?" Mark blinked, "Our? THEY WERE HUMAN! THEY HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO LIVE JUST AS YOU AND I DO!"
That's when Dusty realized it. Lucas wasn't a traitor, he was never even on their side.
"You still don't get it, do you? Why hide it any longer? The truth has already been revealed." Lucas said, stretching his arms wide as if it were already his victory. "Yes. I'm a demon. A real one. I'm not one of you pathetic mortals playing hero. And this dungeon isn't your test. It's you're grave."
Dusty didn't flinch. He couldn't reveal everything, at least not now. He had to wait for the perfect moment.
Mark had heard enough.
He launched himself at Lucas, gravity warping around his limbs, his body moved like a meteor, crashing down with the force of a star.
Lucas was hit directly in the chest.
And as the dust cleared, there was no damage.
"What!?" Mark said in pure shock.
Mark attacked again—this time faster, stronger, angrier. His fury was driving each punch into Lucas. Dusty could feel the weight of his blows in the air, pressure waves were bouncing with every strike.
Lucas stood there, unfazed. He hadn't even flinched.
"You're not getting out of here alive!" Mark screamed.
Then it happened.
Lucas somehow vanished, instantly.
In the next moment, he was behind Abigail.
"If you want her alive," Lucas said coldly, "you'll surrender."
Mark hesitated, and that was all Lucas needed.
The blade never touched Abigail. It wasn't real.
The real Lucas appeared behind Mark—and drove the dagger directly into his heart.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
And a fourth—slowly twisting in his chest.
Mark gasped for air, the blood rising in his throat. His knees hit the ground. He looked towards Dusty, but the light in his eyes was already fading.
He collapsed.
Lucas stepped over the body, now facing Dusty.
"You've been quiet," the demon said, taking a few steps closer, his eyes interlocked with Dusty's. "Suspiciously so."
Dusty didn't reply. His heart raced, but he couldn't act yet. After all, there is a price to pride.
Then, without a warning, Lucas vanished. No sound. No flash. Just gone.
Behind you, Dusty's instincts screamed.
He twisted just in time, but not fast enough.
A blade—curved and jagged—slammed into his side, piercing deep into his abdomen. Pain exploded in his vision. Blood burst from his mouth.
Just for good measure, Lucas twisted the dagger in Dusty's heart.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
And finally, a fifth twist.
Each one precise, merciless even. One for every person Lucas had killed.
His vision blurred, red painting everything in sight. His hand reached for the wound, but the blood wouldn't stop. He could barely hear anything now.
And then— nothing.
Dusty had died.