The clink of plates sounded fragile, like glass threatening to shatter. The dining room held its breath, the candlelight flickering in quiet rebellion against the shadows crawling over the walls. Faces blurred in the wavering glow—worn, trembling, clinging to the frail threads of hope like moths to a dying flame.
Stone and Ben sat across from each other, a modest meal between them. Cinnamon and roast hung in the air, warm and human, almost cruel in its normalcy.
"Man," Ben said, leaning back, a grin carving lines across his face. "That last round? Heart nearly jumped outta my chest when Crimson Viper tried to flank us."
Stone chuckled, tearing a piece of bread, eyes on Ben with sharp amusement. "Yeah. And you… missed every shot."
Ben's glare was playful, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, I was—uh—distracting them. Teamwork, you know."
Stone smirked. "Teamwork."
The word hung between them, hollow yet familiar. Laughter echoed—light, easy—but beneath it, something taut, unspoken, coiled like a snake.
Ben shifted, fingers grazing the back of his neck. "Bathroom. Gimme a sec."
Stone nodded, still riding the adrenaline of the match, still blind to the shadow that had crept in unnoticed.
The door closed softly.
Stone's mother sat, quiet, her gaze sharp as a blade resting against her chest.
"Stone," she whispered, low, dangerous in its calm. "Something's wrong with Ben."
Stone waved her off. "Mom. You worry too much. Ben's my best friend. Always has my back."
She reached across the table. Her fingers brushed his hand, fragile, insistent. "Trust isn't enough. I can feel it."
Stone's patience thinned, edges fraying. "You don't know him like I do. You can't judge."
Her eyes became knives. "And you—don't get to be blind."
The tension thickened, black and wet, curling in the air like smoke before a storm.
Stone stood. Chair scraped, loud and angry. "I'm going to my room."
The door slammed. Silence fell, heavy.
Then—
A sound.
Harsh. Strangled. Unnatural.
Stone's heart seized, a drum of panic and disbelief. He ran, every nerve screaming.
The dining room came into view.
Frozen.
His mother lay sprawled, fragile as paper, blood blooming beneath her like ink in water. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps.
Stone dropped beside her, hands trembling, gripping the edges of her frailty. "Mom!" His voice cracked, raw, unbearable.
Her eyes flickered green, fading, the color of life leaking away. "Stone…" she whispered, a smile trembling through pain. "Run…"
Stone's gaze shot up.
Ben stood there. Too tall. Too calm. Too cold.
A sword in his hand, slick, dripping, gleaming under the candlelight.
Stone's chest heaved. Fury ignited in his veins, green light flaring in his eyes—a storm unleashed.
He lunged. Legs gave. The world spun.
Darkness slithered in.
Ben knelt, serene. Poisoned calm. Smooth cruelty.
"Poison," he said. "In the food. Even your mother… didn't have the strength to fight."
Stone's vision blurred. Fire coiled around his veins, rage and venom.
Ben leaned close, whispering, precise, merciless.
"Welcome to the end of your world, Stone."