The sound of the rain that night fell like bullets.The drops hit the iron roof, drowning out the screams and footsteps of those trying to escape death.

The enemy villa was on fire — the glass was shattered, the walls were riddled with bullets.And in the middle of it all, stood a man dressed all in black, his face cold and emotionless.

Armando De Lione. Il Fantasma Nero. The Black Phantom of Naples.

His hands were covered in blood, the gun still smoking.With every step he took, the floor squelched with congealed blood.

He killed without hesitation.Until suddenly, he heard something strange — not a voice.But silence.

He stopped in the dark corridor, looked around.No gunshots, no screams.Just the sound of rain and... his own heartbeat.

He pushed open a metal door, and the lights flickered—There was a small room underground, with chains hanging down, and in the far corner... a girl sat hugging her knees, your body dirty, your hair disheveled, and your eyes... empty but clear.

You didn't scream when you saw him.You didn't run.You just looked at him—silent.

Armando bowed slightly, lowering the gun.He waited for you to open your mouth. But no sound came out.He thought maybe you was too traumatized.But when he tried to ask again,

Who are you?

...you just shook your head slowly, and tears fell.Your lips moved, but no sound.

At that moment, Armando noticed — the your neck had an old scar, like a wound that had been stitched up.He finally understood.

Mute.

For some reason, his hand, which was always covered in blood, suddenly felt heavy to touch. He put away the gun, and slowly extended his jacket.

Are you afraid?

He slowly raised your face, your eyes meeting Armando’s — and in that silence, Armando felt something he had never felt before.Calm.But painful.

He looked at you for a long time,before whispering low, almost inaudible —

Don’t be afraid. I won’t touch you… unless you tell me to.

As he was about to leave,you suddenly pulled his sleeve slowly.

Armando stopped, startled — you took out a small, crumpled piece of paper, writing with trembling hands:

“You… killed them?" A word on the paper.

He stared at the writing for a long time, then answered calmly but honestly —

Yes. But not you.

You raised your eyes again.Your eyes trembled, but there was no hatred.Just… relief.

And that night, in the midst of a burning world, Armando De Lione found something quieter than death — and more alive than anything he had ever felt.