Stone lay sprawled on the floor, cold seeping into his bones, sharp as glass pressed under skin.
Every breath rasped, shallow and uneven. Limbs refused to obey, heavy, untrustworthy. His mind screamed, but his voice had gone missing.
Ben's shadow fell over him. Calm, still, but heavy—like winter pressing against the chest. His eyes held fire, black and patient, cataloging every trembling twitch. Years of envy and obsession rested there, quiet and precise.
"You always thought you were untouchable," Ben said. Words low, venom threaded through the quiet. "Better than me at everything. Smarter. Faster. Perfect."
Stone tried to speak. His mouth betrayed him, offering nothing. Memories crashed—laughter, bruised knuckles, shared victories, dreams they'd built together. Brotherhood reduced to splinters.
Ben leaned closer. Stone smelled the bitterness of him, the metallic tang of unspent blood, the heat of rage held in check.
"I hated you for it," Ben said. "Every day."
Stone's chest tightened. "Ben… we were supposed to be brothers."
Ben laughed. Dry. Empty. Like glass scraping against stone.
"Brothers? You don't even know the word."
Stone's eyes flicked to his mother. She lay frozen, fragile, caught in the cruel spell of poison, green eyes wide and trembling.
Ben crouched beside her, fingers tangling in her hair, tilting her head back. Stone's chest hammered, panic and helplessness coiling like ice in his veins.
Tears burned his eyes.
"Ben… don't…"
Stone's voice dissolved into the quiet.
A soft scrape, a cut, then silence punctuated by blood spreading slowly across the floor.
Her body slumped, life folding into itself. Darkness pooled in the corners of the room, quiet but insistent, swallowing warmth and sound alike.
Stone sobbed. Each breath rasped through a chest that felt hollow.
Ben stepped back. Blade slick in candlelight. Calm. Empty.
"Too weak to protect her," he said. "Just like you."
Stone tried again. Limbs refused. Pain coiled in his chest, sharp and lingering.
"You think you're better than me?" Ben's voice carried years of shadow, grief, obsession, all in one human shape.
Stone whispered, faint, fragile: "We could've been brothers…"
Ben's laugh didn't echo—it cut across Stone's chest like ice on skin. "Not when you always outshone me."
Boots, fists, steel—pain radiated, white-hot, relentless. Every strike a lifetime of resentment, betrayal, and grief compacted into seconds.
Stone clawed, punched, fought—but his body refused the revolt. Blood marked each futile movement.
Ben stepped back, just for a flicker, then forward again, eyes steady, blade tasting.
"Not good enough," he said.
Steel sank again. Stone's vision blurred. One last tear ran, tracing a line of despair across his cheek. Silence swallowed him.
Stone's body shimmered faintly, sparks flickering like dying stars as something untethered from flesh.
Ben's voice whispered over the ruins, a low chant, detached and cold.
Flames licked the walls. Smoke curled, alive and hungry. Everything turned to shadow and fire. Nothing remained.
Later, in a cold chamber, candlelight flickering against stone walls, shadows dancing.
"Mission complete," Ben said. Voice flat, steady.
The council murmured approval, faces unreadable behind masks of shadow.
A slow, dark smile curved his lips.
"Stone… is dead."