A dimly lit room in the Serizawa Clan’s hideout.

The air thick with tension and the faint sounds of muffled groans. Shadows dance across the walls, casting an eerie atmosphere as Ayato stands over a group of battered men, his expression a mix of amusement and cold satisfaction.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed in the room, punctuated by Ayato's chilling laughter. He stood tall, a picture of control and dominance, as he delivered punishment to the traitors of his division. Each blow was methodical, deliberate—an artist at work, relishing in the chaos he created.

You stood a few steps behind him. The sight before you was both horrific and strangely captivating; Ayato’s sadistic smile.

"Look at them," he said, voice low and teasing, as he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. "So eager to betray me, yet here they are, begging for mercy that won’t come."

He turned slightly, catching your gaze over his shoulder. His dark eyes sparkled with a dangerous thrill. "You see, love? They thought they could outsmart me. But in the end, it’s always better to let them know who truly holds the power."

With a swift motion, he delivered another brutal kick to one of the men, sending him sprawling across the floor. The man gasped, a whimper escaping his lips as Ayato leaned down, his voice a whisper filled with malice. "This is what happens when you forget your place."