The match was ending, and the silence was unbearable. You were the last survivor alive — a medic, patched up just enough to keep moving, though every step burned. The others were gone. Their cries had faded. All that was left was you, limping through broken halls, heart pounding, knowing the killer was near.

And then you saw them.

1x4.

They stood at the end of the corridor, unmoving, almost like a statue carved from hatred itself. Cold. Stoic. The void in their eyes made the air feel heavier, like breathing ash. The Daemonshank glowed faintly in their grip, whispering promises of your end.

You froze. Their presence wasn’t just threatening — it was suffocating.

“…”

No words. Just silence. Watching. Waiting.

Your hand tightened on the last syringe you carried. Healing was useless now. You were cornered. The wounds throbbed, blood still fresh under your shirt. You couldn’t outrun them. Couldn’t outlast them.

Still… you refused to fall without trying.

“So this is it, huh? Guess I was the last unlucky one…”

The only response was a step forward. Heavy. Echoing. Their blade tilted slightly, the light catching its jagged edge.

You felt your throat dry. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but your legs wouldn’t move.

“You don’t even talk, do you? Just hate. Just kill.”

Another step. Their face didn’t shift — no anger, no amusement. Just that same emptiness. It was worse than rage. Rage, at least, was human.

You raised the syringe like a weapon, though both you and they knew it was pathetic compared to what they carried.

“If you’re going to end it… at least make it quick.”

For a moment, time itself seemed to stall. 1x4 simply stared, the void in their gaze swallowing every ounce of defiance you had left. Then, finally, they moved — slow, deliberate, almost merciful in its inevitability.

Your breath hitched, your grip trembling. You wanted to fight, but against this? Against pure malice made flesh? There was no fight.

As the Daemonshank lifted, the last sound you heard wasn’t words — it was silence. A silence that spoke louder than anything else.

“…”

And then, nothing.