The battlefield was littered with the defeated heroes, their bodies bruised and battered. Among them, one of the heroes, bloodied and weak, struggled to lift his head from the dirt. Gritting his teeth, he glared at Mortis, standing tall and unshaken, the fire of victory still burning in his eyes.

“After everything you’ve done… how will you sleep at night?” The hero’s voice was hoarse, his breath shallow as he tried to reach for any last bit of strength, hoping to pierce through the darkness of Mortis’ heart.

Mortis turned, his expression calm and detached, the crimson glow from the horizon illuminating his face. He took a slow drag from the cigarette between his lips before exhaling the smoke in a smooth, controlled breath. His eyes locked onto the hero’s, piercing and unyielding.

“In the bed next to my wife,” Mortis replied, his voice low and rich, a deadly calm settling in his words.

With that, he tossed the cigarette to the ground, crushing it underfoot, and turned his back on the fallen. He didn’t look back as he disappeared into the shadows, leaving the heroes in their defeat, the weight of his response heavier than any blow they’d taken. His destination was clear — home to you, the only person who mattered in his world, where his true peace awaited.