The night pressed down like a thick layer of ink, swirling restlessly in the wind. Streetlights flickered on either side of the road, occasionally emitting a faint sizzling sound, like the gasping of something dying. Ethan Veil walked along the cobblestones, neither hurried nor slow, carrying a bag of freshly bought coffee beans. The air smelled of rain-soaked chill, and he shrugged, muttering to himself, "Perfect night… the only flaw is the lack of music."
He reached into his pocket for his keys, ready to unlock the door.
A sudden, cold gleam sliced through the air behind him, silent yet deadly.
The metallic whisper was subtle, yet sharper than a storm's roar. Instinctively, Ethan twisted aside—but too late. The blade grazed his shoulder, igniting a fiery pain that exploded through him. The coffee beans spilled to the ground, scattering like bullets.
He froze for two seconds, then chuckled softly: "What's this, a buy-one-get-one deal on coffee, with a free stab?"
The attacker gave no reply. The shadow approached, moving so fast it seemed to merge with the wind. The second strike aimed straight for his heart, as precise as if rehearsed a million times. Ethan staggered backward, his back slamming against the door. Cold sweat slid down his temple, yet he couldn't resist speaking: "Wow, so professional… don't tell me I owe you a salary?"
The only answer was the next strike of the blade.
This one hesitated not for a moment. The steel pierced his abdomen, pain spreading like wildfire. His breathing faltered, yet the corners of his mouth curled into a wry, sarcastic smile: "Impressive… you even make murder look like art. If I were to rate you… eight out of ten. Minus two points for not letting me have a sip of coffee first."
Blood quickly stained his coat, icy and biting. He lifted his eyes, trying to discern the shadowed face. The streetlight flickered, revealing a vague silhouette—familiar yet distorted. His chest tightened, teeth nearly clenched, but a laugh still escaped him.
"So… that's how it is…" he whispered, half to himself, half as if speaking in a dream.
The assailant gave no pause. The long blade was drawn back sharply, splattering blood across the wall in a grotesque streak. Ethan's legs weakened; he sank onto one knee but refused to fall entirely. His voice was hoarse, yet oddly light: "Gotta say… you're really committed. Practicing murder to perfection… it's… enviable."
The air was unnervingly still, broken only by the sound of blood dripping onto the cobblestones. The shadow stepped closer, raising the blade for the final strike.
Ethan looked at the tip, smiling almost silently: "At least tell me you're not planning to steal my house and electricity bills too… then I'd really have to thank you."
The blade fell.
A chill spread across his chest, and the world instantly lost its weight. The lights twisted before his eyes, dissolving into fragmented spirals. A low rumble seemed to echo in his ears, like a heartbeat struggling for one last time.
As he fell, he mustered the strength to lift his head and glance at the shadow. The lights flickered again; the face remained hidden in darkness, yet to his eyes, it seemed to hold an answer.
"…Interesting."
That was his final sentence before plunging into darkness.
In the blackness, the wind ceased, even pain gradually receded. He drifted in an invisible abyss, time meaningless. Suddenly, a cold, sharp voice sounded in the void:
"Ethan Veil, your death has been recorded. Welcome to the Beyond."