The cell fell into a deathly silence. Hollow, heavy, absolute.
Sheryl and even Lily froze, unable to move.
They stared at the old man, his lifeless body twisted against the wall. Horror lingered in their eyes, almost childlike in its purity and endless depth. Just a few words from their neighbor had been enough to end a man's life.
How terrifying.
A heart attack? A stroke? Whatever it was, it was simply horrifying. So much so that the mind refused to accept that something like this could even happen.
Grey stood over the old man, his body tightening with an inner spasm. His hands trembled. At first slightly, then more violently, as if his veins had filled with liquid fear. A dull roar echoed in his head.
It all happened too fast...
The words had slipped from his lips on their own. Cruel and merciless, just like him. They were the truth, a bitter, undeniable truth. And yet...
The surge of emotion faded as quickly as it had come. He threw up before he even realized it.
Grey jerked back toward the collapsed passage, dropped to his knees, and clawed into the рыхлая earth as everything inside his stomach spilled out. His body shook violently. The world blurred, and the smell of dust mixed with the bitterness in his throat.
"Grey..." Lily hesitantly stepped toward him, her voice weak, as if she feared something ominous.
He did not turn around. He could not.
"T-the old m-man... he r-really d-died." Sheryl sobbed, her words breaking apart.
It was already too much for her timid mind. Grey's split voice and the old man's sudden death felt sinister and unnatural, as if she had heard the voice of the dead. Before she could say anything else, her body gave out, and her mind simply shut down.
She fainted.
"I... I did this," he thought, "I killed a man for the first time. With just words. It was so easy. Almost instinctive. A-am I r-really a d-devil?"
He killed.
Not with a weapon. Not with blows. With words. With bitter truth spoken straight to his face. That had been enough to end a life. Just as he wanted.
Grey was certain that he had killed the old man. Without proof. He simply knew it. He and his Alter Ego had acted in sync. Consumed by emotion, their souls had begun to resonate, giving them a strange sense of power, as if they were the very embodiment of death.
He slowly sat down, wiping his lips with his sleeve.
Clay and dust clung to his skin, to his trembling fingers, to his lips, where the sharp taste of vomit still lingered. His whole body felt filthy, almost repulsive to himself. Not just on the outside, but deep within.
It was as if a hole had formed in his chest. Cold, black, gaping. All his beliefs and dreams, everything that made him who he was, were slipping into it. That was how emptiness replaced the disgust.
Somewhere deep in his heart, he knew this moment would stay with him forever. No matter what he did next, he was already different. A part of him would remain here, in this cell. Broken. Stained.
The next few days passed as if in a fog.
It felt like Grey's mind had overloaded and was running on autopilot. He remembered almost nothing, and neither did his Alter Ego, yet to others he behaved as usual.
In his perception, time had turned into a thick, heavy slurry he could not push through. He recalled only fragments: hands pulling him somewhere, childish cries, Lily's voice trying to calm him, Sheryl's sobs against his chest.
Grey did not remember why he was being punished again, only that Quintillian's cold fingers gripped his chin, forcing him to look into those merciless eyes, straight at that repulsive face.
The worst part was that Grey felt as if he saw an ugly reflection of himself in it. Then darkness. The pain from beatings and lashes, endless, merging with his body.
He did not know how many days had passed.
Sleep and wakefulness blurred into one continuous stream. Sometimes he felt someone touching his hands or lips, trying to give him water. Sometimes he heard fragments of conversations he himself took part in, as if nothing had happened.
He did not know how desperately Lily and Sheryl had begged Gracchus to leave him alone.
He did not remember making any kind of deal with Garen and Reus.
He did not know what had happened to the old man. It was as if only a minute ago his body had been lying in the neighboring cell, and then it vanished without a trace. That was how strange and incomprehensible the aftermath of his first kill had been.
And finally, one day, he woke up.
He was lying completely alone in a cold, empty cell. The stone walls pressed in on him, the ceiling seemed to hang low, and the air felt heavy and stale. Grey struggled to rise, bracing himself on trembling hands. Everything hurt. Every movement sent a dull ache through his bones and skin.
He did not realize at once that Lily and Sheryl were nowhere to be seen. His mind felt just as gray and empty as the bleak cell around him.
Grey sat staring at the floor when the door creaked.
He lifted his head.
Lily and Sheryl stepped inside. They were different... dressed. Neat. Clean.
Sheryl wore a simple but well-made gray tunic, while Lily had on a light dress tied at the waist. Their hair was combed, their faces washed. They looked so beautiful, sharply contrasting with his own appearance.
A red-haired woman stood beside them. Her full figure was outlined by an elegant yet simple dress. Mature, graceful in her manner, she instinctively drew admiration from those around her.
Grey struggled to focus on her face.
"Monica... or whatever her name was?" flashed through his mind.
"Auntie, thank you for arranging this with Mr. Harmon. It really means a lot to us," Lily said politely, stepping closer to the cell she had spent long months, or perhaps years, in.
"It's nothing," the red-haired woman waved off the thanks. "I understand you have things to say to someone who means so much to you. No need for formality, we're all like family. Honestly, if Harmon had refused me such a simple favor, I would have banned him and his subordinates from ever visiting our establishment again."
"Sheryl is still grateful. Thank you very much, Aunt Monica," Sheryl nodded energetically, echoing her friend.
"Alright, alright. I'll leave you for a minute. I don't feel like going down into this filthy basement. Just thinking that you were forced to live in such conditions all this time... Well, enough, I won't distract you anymore. Enjoy yourselves, I suppose..." Monica waved her hand and left them alone with their former cellmate.
Grey watched them enter and listened to their conversation with an empty expression.
Lily and Sheryl walked side by side, awkwardly pressing close to each other, as if they had not fully accepted their new position. Their faces revealed the same contradiction Grey himself felt.
"So that's how it is. Their mothers finally bought them out. Turns out there was no need for any escape plan. For them, everything resolved on its own," he thought, trying to fix their new images in his memory.
Grey was so stunned by this news that he completely ignored the strange state he had just emerged from.
He was happy for them. Truly.
He knew their mothers must have spent everything they had to buy their daughters from Harmon. The price for Sheryl and Lily had not been small. They must have sacrificed a great deal to gather that sum. But now Lily and Sheryl would be free.
He was happy...
But somewhere deep beneath that joy, an unpleasant bitterness had built up, along with a dull, strange ache.
Now he would remain here alone. Without help or support, without Lily's awkward teasing, without Sheryl's constant worry. Even the old man was gone. The emptiness he would have to face when he woke up tomorrow already made him uneasy.
He took a deep breath, trying to push away the unwelcome thoughts, and forced out the most sincere and cheerful smile he could manage. His summer-sky eyes narrowed into thin slits as he looked at the two girls with whom he had shared months of joy and hardship.
His smile did not seem strained or forced, but genuine and carefree. He even spread his arms, as if expecting a hug.
The girls approached hesitantly, as though they felt guilty. They kept averting their eyes, not knowing what to say.
When they finally saw the brightest smile they had ever seen on the face of their gloomy and withdrawn neighbor, Sheryl's heart could not take it.
Grey looked truly pitiful. Beaten, filthy, dressed in the rags they knew so well. At the sight of his radiant face, tears welled up in their eyes.
They did not need any words to understand what he felt.
Without thinking any further, the rabbit girl rushed straight into Grey's open arms and buried her face in his chest.
Lily was more restrained. She looked extremely irritated as she wrapped her arms around Grey from the other side.
"I knew I'd get my new dress dirty because of you," Lily snorted in annoyance, but her grip around his waist only tightened. "You filthy lunatic, you weren't yourself these past few days. I'm glad you're better now. Well, don't you dare get lonely without us! Or who knows, maybe the walls will start talking to you," she muttered through clenched teeth, trying to hold back the surge of emotions.
Sheryl was still quietly sobbing against his chest, clutching his dirty, worn shirt as if she was afraid to let him go.
"Grey must survive! Sheryl will pray to the Beast God for Grey's safety. Grey must be strong," the rabbit girl said in a trembling voice, choking on her own words.
Her long ears pressed right against the boy's face, tickling his nose so much that his eyes grew misty.
"It's just Sheryl's ears," Grey irritably justified to himself.
Meanwhile, Lily stubbornly lifted her chin and turned away. She did not want that insufferable boy to see the traitorous clear drop that slid down her cheek.
Grey let out a quiet chuckle.
He wanted to say something light for farewell, but his voice betrayed him. His throat tightened so much that the words got stuck inside. In the end, he simply pulled the girls a little closer, memorizing how their soft hair brushed against his chin.
"Everything will be fine. You'd better take care of yourselves. I'll manage," he rasped.
"Really?" Sheryl asked, lifting her tear-stained face to him.
Grey looked into her naive brown eyes, full of hope and expectation. And he lied. "Really."
There was a knock on the door, followed by Monica's quiet cough.
Time was up.
Giving him one last tight squeeze in farewell, the girls stepped back. When their figures were almost gone beyond the basement door, Grey suddenly called out loudly:
"Lily!"
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I think the chapter turned out to be very emotional and touching. I practically cried when I wrote an inappropriate joke to Lily and their general condition. I hope my text made you feel emotional too.