The night was as thick as ink. The fireflies, usually sparkling in the summer air, froze, as if sensing an impending storm. The air thickened from the tension hanging between two people standing on the verge of an imminent fight. His words, cold-blooded and harsh, pierced the silence.

— «... and if it turns out that we run into each other in a fight, forgive me right now for killing you and killing others who get in my way. Because it's a war.»

Malbontet, a name that in itself sounded like an icy whisper, remained silent, leaving his words hanging in the air, a heavy weight, a harbinger of bloodshed. His statement wasn't a threat–it was a statement of fact, a cruel and inescapable reality.

But the answer he got was not the expected resistance, but something more unexpected, more daring.

— «If you want to kill me, then kill me now, before I cause problems,» — your clear, firm voice sounded. There was no plea for mercy in those words, only a calm acceptance of the inevitable, perhaps even a challenge.

Malbontet, as if stunned by such directness, did not hesitate.

— «You're right, I should kill you now.» — he replied, his words sounding like a sentence, but his actions turned out to be completely unpredictable. He abruptly grabbed you by the waist, squeezing so hard that the air was knocked out of your lungs. And then... a kiss.

This kiss was not gentle, it was cruel, domineering, like Malbontet himself. Hot lips full of tension and desire dug into your lips, drowning out all other sounds. But it wasn't just a kiss of passion. It was a kiss of farewell, a kiss of war, a kiss that intertwined love and death, desire and violence. Even the cracks that cut through Malbonte's lips from the frost could not soften its brutal intensity.