"What did you find, kid?"
The man with the fancy sword asked, his steps slow and measured. Up close, he was oddly handsome.
'Kill them, kill them all. Give 'em the good ol' one-two, I taught you,' the voice in his head muttered.
"Shut up."
"What did you say?"
The handsome hunter smiled softly, but his eyes betrayed him. Being raised by killers came with its perks—like sensing another's killing intent. Not to mention, he reeked of blood.
'Good job, dumbass. You said it out loud. Nice going, idiot,' the voice muttered.
He stared at them with wide eyes as they waited for him to answer their questions.
'We're dead. Dead, I tell you. Maybe we hand them the egg.'
Everyone suddenly grew silent at the thought of giving up what belonged to him. To him, this was no different from losing. He gritted his teeth.
'No. It's mine. Mine! I found it! They can't take it—no one can take it! It's mine, all mine!' His voice cracked, breath ragged, eyes wide with feverish light.
'Yes, yes,' the voice in his head hissed, almost purring. 'Ours. Only ours.'
He knew he couldn't run. The assassin would close the distance before he took two steps. Worse, the swordsman could use that blazing strike and cut him down, just like he did the serpent.
'So we must kill them all.'
He drew in a slow breath, trying to clear his head, blocking out the annoying voice.
'Let's lock in.'
He exhaled, steady and slow. Right then, the noise in his head quieted. His body felt calmer. His mind sharper.
"Kid, what is in your hand?" Now the man was giving him a murderous look.
He hadn't shed a tear since that day. His eyes burned as he forced them out, chest jerking with the shape of panic.
"I… I don't even know how I got here. I think I'm lost. I was just with my friends… playing. Then this shiny white-silver door opened. I went inside and—now I'm here. I don't… I don't understand."
He sobbed between each word, the sound thin and broken. To them, he was a vulnerable child. This wasn't his proudest moment, but he needed them to lower their guards.
'You're a shitty actor, also playing dirty. Shame on you.'
"Shut up. I know I'm playing dirty, but who cares? A win is a win. The dead don't get to be winners, so screw your judgy opinion. Now you think of a plan while I keep them busy."
The swordsman stepped forward, his look shifting into something almost too gentle as he lowered his gleaming blade. That made him feel slightly relieved—just slightly, though.
'He seems nice… for a moment, part of me almost didn't want to kill him. Almost. But he has to go down first, or our plan fails.'
'Next… the assassin. She is too fast, too annoying. Too clean, too sharp. So we can't give her a chance.'
'The man in the massive armor—that's the real problem. He blocked the serpent's tail without even flinching. That kind of strength… can't fight it head-on. Leave him for last.'
'The backline… the robed ones. Fragile. Easy to snap if we can close the distance.'
'But everything hinges on the swordsman. If I fail there, I'll be dead before we even touch the others.'
He sighed. "Good job."
He cleared his mind. With a sigh, he stared at them, still wearing that soft expression.
"I found it… over there." He hesitated, forcing a crack into his voice.
He frowned. "What does this do?"
The words were bait, though part of him was genuinely curious about what it actually did.
"You did well," the swordsman said softly, sidestepping the question as he stepped closer. He wasn't an idiot. Something here didn't settle right with him.
"Now hand it over, and we all walk out together."
He dismissed his sword and drifted forward, as if hypnotized. His boots scraped against the stone.
'What the hell does this egg do?'
He opened his mouth to speak, trying to buy more time, only to be cut off by the slick assassin.
"Hey, kid… you expect me to believe that dull blade cut through a serpent's hide?"
She sounded dumbfounded, so much so that it felt insulting, as if she was calling him weak. Part of him didn't understand why that seemed impressive to her when they had just cut the serpent to pieces. But another part of him was excited.
'Good, good… don't pay attention to me.'
His fingers moved slow, careful. He slipped the egg into his pocket and bit down hard on his lip. Warm, metallic blood filled his mouth.
"What—"
A dark expression settled over the swordsman's face as he turned to confirm what the assassin had seen.
'That's our chance.'
His right hand shot up, nails slick with his poisonous blood. As the man turned back toward him, he slashed across his throat—sharp and fast. The cut tore deep, deep enough to sever his voice, stealing his breath in the same motion.
The swordsman's hand clamped down, blood spilling through his fingers. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came—only a rasp. His chest hitched, shallow, while the venom was already eating through him.
And just as he thought, the first to notice was the assassin. Her sharp awareness was what he feared most.
But the instant she turned, he spat a mouthful of blood into her eyes.
"I can't see!" she cried out.
He shot forward and ripped the daggers from her belt, his palm leaving a smear of blood along the steel. One hard pull across her throat. The crack in her scream died wet in her mouth.
This whole thing took five seconds.
Panic rippled through the rest of the group.
The woman in red whispered, sparks crawling up her staff.
He lunged, but the armored man was already hauling his hammer free, the chain on his back rattling as the weapon came down in a brutal swing.
He dropped low, sliding between the giant's legs. His eyes locked on the other robed woman in white, the one weaving blessings and strength into the others. She had to go first.
The ones powering them up weren't too difficult. He swept his dagger clean across her throat, silencing her before she could mutter a word.
One thing he realized—the ones in the back were much easier to deal with.
He twisted with the motion, coiling around the caster. One arm locked around her, the dagger pressing beneath her chin. His hand clamped over hers, forcing the staff upward toward the shield-bearer.
"Keep chanting."
The words left his mouth in a low hiss, and his voice instantly paralyzed her with fear. But somehow her lips kept moving. A fireball flared to life, and guiding her staff, he shot it toward the armored man, slamming it into his chest.
The explosive fireball slammed into him with full force.
The armored man cried out in agony. Now it didn't just hit him—it started to burn him alive. Because his body was coated with metal plates, they began to melt into his skin. Out of desperation, he peeled off each layer, even removing his helm—which gave him the perfect opening.
He hurled the dagger, the motion clean, practiced. The brute's head snapped back before his body hit the ground, and then he went still. The dagger killed him instantly, yet even in death his body remained engulfed in flames.
He hadn't done it out of mercy. Or maybe he had. He wasn't sure.
He was raised as a killer, but this was the first time he had killed an actual human. So many unknown emotions hit him at once, emotions that were hard to explain. It wasn't guilt—he knew that for certain. His training had burned that out of him long ago. He pushed that thought aside.
But he had to finish what he started.
He kept his hold on the woman in red. The woman stared at his darkened expression one last time before he grasped her head with both hands and snapped her neck in one brutal, violent motion.
He placed her next to the others gently. He looked at his shaking hands, still confused as to why.
His shaky hand slipped into his pocket. The egg was still there, blood smearing across the shell until it seemed to sink inside.
A crooked smile touched his lips.
"Oh, you like that?" he muttered, feeling it throb against his hand like a heartbeat. "I'll take that as a yes."
As the winner of this magnificent battle, he had to take whatever they carried—it was a rule he'd just made up. The winner took it all. But none of them had anything, except for the swordsman. In his pocket, he found a black shard.