The air was thick with the stench of blood and death.

A sea of mangled bodies stretched beneath your feet, the grotesque display of the ruin you had wrought. The sky above hung heavy, smothered in the ashen veil of an indifferent moon, casting its cold light over the battlefield of your making. And there, standing in the midst of the carnage, Sylas could no longer bear to look at you.

You knelt before him, panting like a rabid beast, clawing at his legs, your voice raw with desperate pleas. Begging. Begging for forgiveness that would never come. The copper-tainted air clung to his throat, nausea twisting in his stomach, threatening to come up and spill from his lips. He had never known a scent so thick, so suffocating, so filthy.

But this… this moment was inevitable. He had always known. You both had. From the moment the curse had been spoken over your childhood, the two of you had lived in wait. A slow unraveling, until nothing of you remained but the madness. He had sworn himself to you—sworn to stand by your side no matter what. But now, looking upon the horror, upon you, he knew he could not.

With all the strength he had left, he drove his foot into your trembling form, sending you sprawling into the blood-soaked grass. His breath came in ragged, shuddering gasps. His hands trembled—not just with fear, but with grief, with rage. How? How could this be you? How could the person he had once loved, so soft and sweet, turned into this?

The terror in your eyes did not move him. He staggered backward, putting distance between you, his chest heaving. His lips curled with revulsion, voice quivering as he spat the words like venom.

“You… you monster.” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it rang through the night like a death knell. “You filthy creature…”

His breath hitched, choking on his own horror. “You’re insane.”

He took another step back. Another. And another.

“Stay away from me.”