Blood...Fight...Death.
This is war.
Nothing glorious. Nothing noble.
Just death.
And when it finishes?? Nothing is left...Nothing intact
Slash...!
Whoosh...!!!!
Slash...!
The sound carried—sharp, final.
Four of them.
Against the thing with black smoke spilling like tentacles.
Twenty feet of too-big, too-wrong, too-disgusting.
"Move!" said the black-haired one.
"Urghhh… we can do it!" said the big-bearded man with smile and blood on his teeth.
"It hurts…" muttered the brown-haired soldier, bleeding from everywhere.
"Hold on!" said the black-haired man again, mismatched eyes locked forward.
They didn't had time, one mistake means death.
"Elarion " a girl screamed. The black haired guy looked behind but too late...
Bam!!!!!
A tentacle slammed into him, slammomg his body into a tree. His limbs twisted, his head bleeding.
Everything seems to be spinning.
The sword in his hand split apart.
The world rang.
Rrrriiinngggg... Rrrriiinnnggg...
Through the ringing, he saw the others—frozen, shouting something he couldn't hear.
His mind was splitting apart...his eyes blurring.
' Is this how I die??' he thought with a bitter smile.
Then as if rejecting his thoughts,A girl stepped into view.
Her blonde hair falling through her soldier covering her face, her armor drenched in black liquid from the monster.
Her eyes full of concern for the man in front of her.
"Leo…" the man barely whispered.
"Wake up, Elarion! Please!!" she cried, desperate.
Then—slash.
The tentacle hitted her too hard, her body blasted.
The blood splattered all around
Her blood hit his face.
Elarion's eyes teared up not from physical pain but due to the pain of losing her. His precious.
" Elarion zone out @&@$####" he couldn't understood most of the words. Everything Just felt unreal.
Then ....Ahhhh!!!!!.....
Screams!!
Then silence.
Elarion's eyes cleared a lootle, he looked forward.
Bodiesof his comrades.Everywhere.Laying Lifeless.
The last sound he heard before the quiet was not a scream—
but a whisper.
> "Run, Elarion."
---
Present day
Giggle.
Chuckles.
Hehe.
The laughter was soft. Fragile.
Like it wasn't meant to live long.
Maybe the only thing keeping this dead house breathing.
---
Rior, ten, stood by the window, swinging a wooden sword dangerously close to the glass—performing for one spectator.
"Come on, little beast! At least blink if you're impressed!"
His grin was wide—too wide—but his shoulders were locked tight.
For a moment, his shadow flickered across Elarion's face.
And in that shadow—hooks. Chains. Screams.
Gone in a blink.
---
Sirus, eleven, leaned against the doorway.
Eyes sharp.
Tracking corners.
Mapping exits.
He didn't trust this house. Neither did Rior.
But still—they stayed.
Still—they smiled.
Still—they painted color into a black-and-white world.
For him.
For their little brother.
Elarion.
---
He sat on the floor—three months old.
Small. Still.
A honey pastry rested in his hand, sugar melting between his fingers.
Untouched.
Red and blue eyes followed his brothers. No flicker.
A doll's eyes are glass.
His were alive—yet somehow emptier.
In those eyes—just for a breath—there was a white room.
Too white.
Too bright.
The kind that hurts.
Then it was gone.
---
"You don't have to eat," Sirus murmured, crouched beside him. "Just… stay here. With us."
Rior dropped down, laughing too loud to be real, ruffling Elarion's hair.
"We bought out half the market for you. City's best sweets—don't tell anyone. Come on, react at least once, little prince of frost… or should I call you little beast instead?"
Blink.
No answer.
Just that silence that says more than words.
Still, they kept smiling.
---
Pain lived in both of them.
Not the kind that bleeds.
The kind that stains.
But still—they smiled.
For the boy who had returned from death and didn't laugh.
They didn't know what he was.
Not yet.
---
"Don't burn the place down," Rior said as they left for training.
Sirus hesitated, brushing his fingers through Elarion's hair—not quite affection.
More like making sure he was real.
Door closed.
Silence returned.
---
Elarion climbed onto the bed—too deliberate for a child.
Like someone remembering how to move in a body.
Under the mattress—nothing.
But in his mind—everything.
Hooks. Chains. Blades.
A child's head rolling across the floor.
The smell of iron.
He reached for the nothing and twirled it like it was still there.
---
His gaze shifted to the pillow.
The mask.
Black.
Cracked.
Damp.
No one had put it there.
Hell leaves its own gifts.
He spun it in his hands.
Edges sharp enough to cut.
---
Dusk caught in his eyes.
Not light—something worse.
One red.
One blue.
Eyes that had stared into monsters long enough to become one.
Eyes that no longer sought safety—only weakness.
In them, the white room flashed again.
The screaming stopped.
The silence began.
---
His face in the mask's reflection was still a child's.
Unscarred.
Behind it—rot, precision, and madness held together by a leash.
---
"Not for the world," he whispered in his mind.
"Just for me… and the things I find interesting."
A smile followed.
Not sweet.
Not innocent.
The kind you never turn your back on.
---
A wolf.
In the skin of a boy.
---