Then, just as the silence and my anxiety reached a fever pitch in the house in, a sharp knock echoed through the hallway.

I groaned out of sheer frustration. Of all the times for company, this was undoubtedly the worst. Reluctantly, I pulled open the front door and found myself facing a man I had never seen before.

He was strikingly tall, easily reaching two meters, with a powerfully muscular build that strained the fabric of his dark, tailored coat. A neatly trimmed, snow-white beard framed his strong jawline, and his equally white, full hair was impeccably parted. His features were sharp and distinguished: a long, straight nose and a scattering of faint scars that disappeared beneath his collar. But it was his eyes that truly arrested my attention. They were a deep, almost black-tinged blue, slanted slightly, and utterly devoid of light, like looking into a bottomless well on a moonless night.

A wave of icy dread washed over me in the doorway of the house. My breath hitched, and the frustration I had felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a primal, bone-deep fear.

Oh shit.

I knew these eyes.

Shit.

Shit.

The Conquer.

Instinctively, every fiber of my being recognized him. This was no ordinary visitor. This was a force of nature, a harbinger of chaos. And he was standing on my doorstep.

The Conqueror's gaze lingered on me, an unnervingly thorough assessment that felt like being weighed and measured without a word being spoken. Then, with an almost casual disregard for my presence, he simply moved past me, stepping into the hallway. There was no force, no physical coercion. It felt like a shadow passing over me, chilling me to the core. His sheer size and imposing stature filled the doorway and now seemed to shrink the hallway itself.

The Conqueror moved through the house with regal indifference, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings without so much as a flicker in my direction. A perverse sense of relief washed over me at his lack of acknowledgment. My mind, however, was a whirlwind of panicked thoughts. My hand instinctively went to where my phone usually was, only to remember I had carelessly left it on the table in the living room. Do I risk trying to retrieve it? Call the police? But what good would that even do against a man of his reputation, his power? He exuded an aura of invincibility, his every step carrying the weight of unquestioned authority, as if the very foundations of the house trembled in his wake.

“Boy!”

It wasn't the volume, but the sheer depth and power of his vocal cords that seemed to vibrate the very air in my lungs, sending a tremor through my chest. My breath caught in my throat, and I instinctively flinched.

The instant The Conqueror's resonant voice boomed through the house, the cold steel door of Levi's study sprang open with a soft hiss. Levi stumbled out, his usually composed face a mask of utter disbelief. But overriding the shock was a raw, naked terror in his dark blue eyes, a look I had never witnessed before. He moved with a frantic urgency, as if propelled by an invisible force.

Someone. Levi. Is. Terrified. Of.

The thought hammered in my brain, each word a separate shock wave. It had seemed an impossibility, a concept beyond the realm of comprehension. Levi, the apex predator, the master manipulator, brought to his knees by a single word, a single presence.

And as he came closer to The Conqueror, the sheer difference in their physical presence became even more apparent. The Conqueror towered over him, broader and seemingly more solid. My own mind, reeling from the shock of Levi's terror, fixated on the impossible. Even if we both lunged at him, fueled by adrenaline and desperation, the brutal truth sank in: we couldn't stop him. Not physically.

Levi stood with his gaze fixed on the floor, radiating palpable fear. The Conqueror, in contrast, held himself with an unnerving stillness, his lightless eyes slowly, deliberately assessing Levi from head to toe. It was like watching two apex predators meeting, but one was clearly dominant, the other cowed.

Every single muscle in my body was flinching, trembling uncontrollably, a frantic symphony of terror. The pounding of my own heart echoed in my ears. And it wasn't just my fear. It was a suffocating feedback loop, our combined fear amplifying the already menacing presence of The Conqueror, turning the hallway into a crucible of pure, unadulterated terror.

“Look at me, boy.”

Every single nerve in my body jolted, screaming for me to obey. It wasn't a conscious decision. My head began to lift against my will, my gaze drawn upwards, compelled to meet those eyes.

Levi lifted his head meet his gaze. The terror in his eyes was still stark, but now overlaid with a grim resignation. It was horrifyingly clear that he was just as subject to The Conqueror's command as I was. The proud spark that usually flickered within him was completely extinguished, replaced by a chilling obedience.

"Explain this... malaise."

My own body screamed for obedience, every nerve ending a taut wire pulling me towards submission. The urge to shout, to explain, to obey simply because he had commanded it, was almost unbearable. My fists clenched so tightly my knuckles turned white.

“The colors are gone.”

Levi’s voice, though still tinged with a tremor of fear, held a strange, quiet resignation as he finally spoke.

The Conqueror remained silent in the hallway. Then, a low, resonant hum emanated from his chest, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards.

"The silence becomes you."

Ah… Fuck… Levi talked about his loneliness, isolation before. The Conqueror's words weren't just a description of Levi's current withdrawn state; they carried a far more sinister implication – that this silence, this isolation, was somehow a natural or even desirable state for him.

"You know it better than anyone."

Levi said, his voice flat, his gaze still locked with The Conqueror's. But this time, beneath the surface of his seemingly resigned obedience, I caught it. A subtle flicker of his hand. A silent, desperate command.

Run. Hide.

My gaze locked with Levi's for a fleeting, desperate moment. But the thought of leaving him here, alone and facing The Conqueror's terrifying power, was unbearable. My head gave a tiny shake, a silent refusal.

I am not leaving him behind.

The Conqueror moved past Levi and me, heading towards the living room with that same unsettling disregard for our physical presence. It was as if we were mere phantoms, insubstantial and irrelevant to his purpose.

The sensation was eerie, like a cold draft moving through us, a shadow or a ghost gliding through solid matter.

Levi’s hand clamped onto my arm. The pain shot through me, a sharp, grounding sensation that cut through the lingering paralysis of fear. His voice, though still strained, was urgent, desperate. "Run away. I cannot stop him. My gun is in my study. Get away. Right now!"

"I am not leaving you alone with him, Levi," I choked out, my voice trembling but firm. "I will not abandon you again."

The memory of his despair in the cemetery, the chilling pronouncements, and the agonizing days of silence flashed through my mind. I wouldn't let him face this terrifying force alone.

"You have no idea what he is, Raphael," he hissed, his voice low and frantic. "Get out before he calls me into the living room. Get out of the house. Even better if you hide in the woods. Please!"

"No. I am not leaving you alone. Now, we both take a deep breath and wait."

My heart hammered against my ribs, the adrenaline warring with a cold dread. I had no illusions about the danger we faced, especially seeing Levi, the seemingly invincible Levi, so terrified. But the thought of abandoning him to whatever awaited him in that living room was unbearable. We would face this together, whatever "this" might be. A deep breath. For both of us. Now we waited.

"He wants something. Let's at least try to figure out what it is, together, Levi."

"No. If he wanted something material, he would have taken it. This... this is different." His gaze flickered towards the living room door, a profound dread etched on his face. “This is your last chance to run.” His gaze flickered between me and the living room door, the profound dread on his face deepening. "Please, leave. I cannot stop him.”

“He could probably take both us down.”

"Of course he can," Levi said, his voice laced with a chilling certainty. "He was a Marshall of the Realm. I can't even count the lands he conquered. He is so much stronger than both of us, with years of battlefield experience." His gaze pleaded with mine. "Raphael. Please. Go. Please. Go to the woods. This isn't a fight we can win."

“No. I am not leaving. I am not leaving you alone with him. And, he did not even acknowledged my presence.”

"He doesn't acknowledge you because you don't matter. He doesn't see you. Only me.”

“Yeah. So, I don’t think he would do anything to me. The moment things escalate I am grabbing a knife from the kitchen.”

“A knife? No, Raphael. You don't understand. There is no way a stab wound can even stagger him. He has seen battles you can't even imagine. He has likely walked through worse without even noticing. A knife will only make him angry."

Then it happened.

"Boy."

It wasn't a shout, not even raised in volume. We both heard it, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate in our very bones. Even the birds outside the window abruptly ceased their chirping. And we obeyed. Instantly, irrevocably. Levi, without a single millisecond of hesitation or rebellion, turned and walked towards the living room.

A wave of nausea washed over me, hearing the Conqueror's casual command and Levi's immediate obedience hitting me with the full force of their terrifying reality. I stumbled back slightly, my hand flying to my mouth, my eyes wide with disbelief and dawning horror as I watched Levi walk, trance like, towards the living room and the unknown that awaited him.

I am truly pathetic. I am always letting the fear get to me. I did the same thing three months ago. Succumbed to the fear, to the terror. What a pathetic body, so easily controlled by fear, by the primal instinct to survive, even if it meant inaction, even if it meant abandoning someone I cared about.

Despite every instinct screaming at me to flee, to hide as Levi had urged, I followed him. I rushed to his side, stepping into the living room right behind him. It was the most foolish, the most idiotic thing I have ever done, I knew it even as I crossed the threshold. Yes. Like a rabbit walking, wide-eyed and trembling, directly into a set saw trap.

The living room of the house, felt vast and suffocating all at once. The Conqueror, who had already poured himself a glass of scotch, was seated on a plush couch, his large frame somehow making the furniture seem small. A crystal glass, half-filled with the rich amber liquid, rested in his hand, though his attention seemed fixed on the rain-soaked garden visible through the high windows. He didn't turn to acknowledge our entrance, his gaze distant, as if we were no more significant than the raindrops clinging to the glass.

The initial shock was his physical presence. For a man who had to be nearing seventy, he wasn't just fit; he was remarkably muscular and powerfully built.

The Conqueror finally turned his gaze from the rain-streaked garden to us, his movement slow and deliberate. His lightless eyes, the color of a stormy twilight, swept over Levi, lingering for a moment. But despite Levi and I standing shoulder to shoulder, mere inches apart, his gaze didn't so much as flicker in my direction.

Obeying the unspoken command, Levi moved with inevitability to the opposite couch in the living room. He sat down slowly, his gaze fixed on the plush cushions for a fleeting moment before finally lifting his head. The instant his blue eyes met the Conqueror's lightless ones, the weight of the command settled upon him. His posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, his expression shifting from fear to a mask of forced composure.

What the fuck did I do? Stand here, a useless sentinel in the doorway, a deer caught in headlights? The image felt pathetic, a clear invitation to be ignored, or worse, swatted away like a fly.

Or did I dare to sit next to Levi? Would my proximity offer him any comfort, or would it simply paint a larger target? Would the Conqueror finally acknowledge my existence, and if so, what would that entail?

Then there was the kitchen. Could I slip away unnoticed, arm myself with a knife – a laughably inadequate weapon against him – and perhaps find a back exit? But the thought of leaving Levi alone, of turning my back on him as he faced this silent terror, felt like a betrayal I couldn't stomach.

Doorway? Couch? Kitchen? Each option felt like a different flavor of doom. What pathetic choice did I even have?

With a shaky breath and a surge of a desperate sort of solidarity, I moved and sat down on the couch next to Levi. My gaze, however, remained fixed on the intricate patterns of the rug beneath my feet. The vibrant colors seemed to swirl and blur. I couldn't bring myself to lift my eyes, couldn't bear the thought of being acknowledged by the Conqueror, of drawing that terrifying, lightless gaze towards me. I felt like a small, insignificant creature daring to sit beside a captured predator, hoping not to be noticed.

Then, without shifting his gaze from Levi, his deep, resonant voice cut through the tense silence. "You have a shadow, boy."

A new insult was added to my dictionary.

Bride, pet, dog, and now shadow. That was a new depth of insignificance. It wasn't even acknowledging me as a separate entity. It was even worse than being called a pet.

"He is my light, Your Excellency," Levi said, his voice carefully neutral. The formal address... A tremor ran through my body, a visceral reaction to Levi, addressing anyone with their title.

The Conqueror took another slow sip of his scotch, his lightless gaze still holding Levi's. Then, he turned his head ever so slightly, his gaze flicking towards me for a brief, chilling moment. It wasn't a look of curiosity or even anger, but a cold, assessing glance that seemed to pierce through me. Then, just as quickly, his attention returned to Levi. "Curious," he stated.

“He is my spouse in the eye of the law, Your Excellency.”

Then, his deep voice, resonant and unwavering, cut through the air, laced with a hint of something unreadable – perhaps amusement, perhaps dismissal. "The law... is a fluid thing, boy."

“I would know. I wrote and funded that law, Your Excellency.”

"Ingenious, boy. But even the architect is subject to the earthquake."

A barely perceptible clench of Levi's jaw was his only outward reaction. The brief flicker of defiance had been firmly extinguished, replaced by a stoic, almost resigned acceptance of the power dynamic.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Was that a threat? Directed at me, the "shadow," the "spouse"? Did he just threaten to shatter the fragile legal protection Levi had created? Was that it? Was this the moment? I was so fucking scared. So scared.

The Conqueror took another slow sip of his scotch. But as he swallowed, a faint smile touched his lips. It was a fleeting expression, gone as quickly as it appeared, but it didn't escape my notice.

Levi's earlier words resonated with terrifying clarity. They were different. This wasn't about power or conquest in the traditional sense, not entirely. This was something more personal, more insidious. He was simply a sadist, a predator who derived pleasure from the raw, untamed emotion emanating from his prey. He was enjoying the very air in the room, thick with the cloying scent of my fear. He was savoring my terror.

Levi remained outwardly still in the tense atmosphere, his posture a picture of forced obedience. But as his eyes flickered towards me for a fleeting moment, I saw it – a flicker of something beyond fear, something akin to a desperate plea. Be silent. Don't provoke him.

He was a cornered animal, trying to protect its mate.

How? Levi was begging to me, to be less scared. How could I be less scared? My breath hitched in my throat, and my hands trembled almost uncontrollably.

But midst the overwhelming fear, a tiny spark of defiance flickered. He was trying to protect me. And the thought of being utterly useless, a quivering shadow, was its own kind of agony.

The Conqueror finally broke his gaze from Levi, his lightless eyes turning towards me. "And what, shadow, do you have to say for yourself?" His voice, though still calm and measured, held a sharp edge, forcing me into the unwanted spotlight.

What the fuck do I even say? What? What do I say here? Hello? Hi? How are you?

Work you idiotic, fear-driven brain. I willed myself, the adrenaline surging through my veins a desperate, chaotic energy. Use it. Say something out loud. Say anything. But the fear had a stranglehold on my vocal cords, squeezing them shut. My mouth felt dry, my tongue heavy. All that threatened to escape was a choked gasp.

“I am Raphael, Your Excellency.”

"He speaks," he stated, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of something sharp. "How... devoted."

"Devotion is a virtue, Your Excellency,” Levi said, his voice holding a quiet firmness.

Yes. He was fighting back.

This fucking family, a constant battle of will, laced with witted remarks and barbed words. Always. But Levi was holding his ground, however subtly. Yes, Levi. Don't let him win.

The Conqueror shifted his gaze slightly, looking past Levi towards a framed painting on the wall, as if the exchange about devotion had become a minor distraction. "Tell me, boy," he stated, his voice regaining its earlier calm authority, "about this... silence of yours. Was it also an act of devotion?"

He subtly dismissed the brief moment of defiance and reasserted his control over the direction of the interaction. Every one single one in this family is so good at subtle manipulation.

“Hunt is over, Your Excellency. The hound lost the scent.”

I was not sure of what to expect but, The Conqueror chuckled. It completely threw me of the balance.

“I will train that hound once again, then, boy.” He said and placed his glass on the table.

What the fuck was that? Was that a threat again?

A flicker of his old weariness, a shadow of the ennui he had expressed earlier, briefly crossed Levi's face. His eyes met the Conqueror's lightless ones for a fleeting moment before he replied, his voice carefully devoid of emotion, "I trust your methods have evolved, Your Excellency."

“Do not fret, my boy. Decades teach one a lot.”

Was he suggesting his methods had become more refined, more effective, perhaps even more cruel with the passage of time? My anxiety coiled tighter.

One moment I was trying to decipher the Conqueror's seemingly innocuous words. The next, the world tilted violently. A brutal force clamped around my throat, cutting off my air, and I was lifted, dangling helplessly. The transition was so swift, so brutal, it defied comprehension. In what felt like a single, terrifying second, he had lunged across the space separating us, over the low table, and his hand was vise-like around my windpipe, hoisting me upwards as if I weighed nothing. My feet dangled uselessly, the rug suddenly a distant, unreachable landscape. Panic flared, raw and primal.

My vision swam. Air clawed uselessly in my lungs, a desperate, silent scream trapped within. His lightless eyes, inches from mine, held a cold fury.

Levi was on his feet instantly. "Your Excellency, what are you doing?" His voice was raw with terror and disbelief, his hands outstretched as if he could physically pull me from the Conqueror's grasp.

But the Conqueror remained unmoved, his focus entirely on me. He held me suspended, my body jerking involuntarily as my oxygen-starved muscles spasmed. The plush couch where I had been sitting felt miles away.

The pressure on my throat intensified, and black spots danced at the periphery of my vision. I tried to pry at his hand, my own movements weak and uncoordinated. A choked gurgle was the only sound I could manage.

"Silence." the Conqueror finally rasped, his voice low and dangerous, his gaze never leaving mine.

"You see, my boy," he continued, his gaze flicking briefly to Levi, who stood frozen, a mask of horror on his face. "I have learned something."

Then, his attention snapped back to me, his lightless eyes boring into mine. "Now, my boy," he repeated, the casual endearment sending a fresh wave of terror through my already panicked mind. "Hunt. Hunt again."

The pressure on my throat eased, just enough for a ragged gasp to escape.

I took a breath, just enough to stay alive.

I should've listened to him. I should've run away. My hands scrabbled uselessly at the arm clamped around my neck, my fingernails digging in a desperate attempt to break his hold. But he didn't even flinch, as if my struggles were no more significant than the buzzing of a fly.

Levi remained frozen for another agonizing moment. Then, a look of cold resolve hardened his features. He took a slow, deliberate breath. "What do you want, Your Excellency?"

“I said hunt, boy.”

"Understood, Your Excellency," Levi replied, his voice tight with a forced obedience I hadn't heard before. Then, to my utter disbelief and growing horror, he turned and rushed towards the stairs. What the fuck? Where was he going? Leaving me here, dangling in the grip of this maniac?

The Conqueror's grip around my throat eased once again, just enough for a shallow, burning breath to wheeze into my lungs. But the momentary relief was overshadowed by the horrifying realization dawning in his eyes. They were changing, the oppressive darkness slowly receding, replaced by a malevolent gleam. He was enjoying this.

"Pathetic. You are unworthy of him," the Conqueror sneered down at me, his grip still tight enough to restrict my breathing. A cruel grin stretched across his face, revealing a flash of surprisingly white teeth.

Each word was a monumental effort, forced through a constricted throat, a ragged whisper against the crushing pressure.

"No... It is you... Who... Is... Unworthy..."

My attempts of defiance was only making him… happier?

The Conqueror's cruel grin softened into a knowing smirk, his grip on my throat remaining unyielding. His gaze flicked towards the stairs where Levi had disappeared moments ago, a predatory glint in his now-bright eyes. "Let's see if your... worthy one returns in time to witness your bravery."

The terror tightened its icy grip around my heart.

Just as the Conqueror's taunt about Levi hung heavy in the suffocating air of the living room, a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. It was Levi, his face a mask of desperate resolve, a heavy revolver clutched in his hands.

A deafening roar ripped through the room as Levi fired. The bullet struck the Conqueror squarely in the shoulder. The Conqueror didn't so much as grunt. There was no cry of pain, no visible flinch. Instead, his light-filled eyes narrowed further, his focus snapping back to me with terrifying intensity.

Then, with a brutal, casual force that defied belief, he hurled me. One moment I was dangling precariously, the next I was airborne, a rag doll tossed aside. The momentum was sickening, the impact with the plush rug jarring every bone in my body. I was dragged, skidding across the fibers, the friction tearing at my skin, propelled by the sheer power of his throw, all the way to the expansive windows overlooking the rain-soaked garden.

The violent trajectory across the polished rug, ended abruptly and painfully as my back slammed against the windows. The impact stole what little breath I had managed to gasp, sending a jolt of agony through my spine. For a moment, everything went white. It was the unyielding barrier of the window that finally stopped my flight, preventing me from crashing through into the storm beyond.

And I thought I could stab him. I could sneak a knife and stab him.

A kitchen knife against this? Against a man who could be shot at point-blank range and not even flinch, who could hurl me across the room?

Through the ragged coughs that tore at my throat, I heard the Conqueror's voice, calm and almost instructional, as he turned his attention to Levi, who still stood frozen, the smoking revolver clutched in his hand. "Well done, my boy. Next time." Then, with a chillingly precise gesture, he raised his pointer finger and tapped it against his own forehead, right between his lightless eyes. "Aim here."

My head thrashed back and forth against the cold glass of the window, the movement sending sharp jolts of pain through my neck and back. Through the blurry haze of tears and lingering coughs, my eyes locked onto Levi, who stood frozen, the revolver still in his hand, his face a battleground of conflicting emotions.

No... After everything. Please do not. Please. I shook my head with frantic intensity. To aim for his head... it was unthinkable. It would cross a line, a point of no return.

Levi's gaze flickered from the Conqueror, who stood with an unnerving stillness, to my frantic shaking against the window. Slowly the hand holding the revolver lowered a fraction, a visible sign of the agonizing internal battle raging within him. He couldn't bring himself to immediately obey the Conqueror's chilling command.

"Did you not understand my instruction, boy?"

The Conqueror's lightless eyes narrowed, the brief flicker of instruction replaced by a dangerous intensity. His voice, which had held a chilling calmness just moments before, now sharpened with an unmistakable edge of threat.

No. I will not allow Levi walk another path of darkness again.

“If you want to die, do it on your own.”

Each word was a painful, ragged rasp, forced through my still-constricted throat. My body ached, my lungs burned, but the resolve in my voice, however weak, was unwavering.

"See, boy?" he said, his voice smooth and insidious. "Such devotion. Are you truly worthy of such... sacrifice?"

This fucking, this broken, this disgusting family.

"Sacrifice... is mine... to make..." I choked out, each gasp for air a painful reminder, the words themselves a defiant roar trapped in a broken whisper.

“Your shadow is quite the martyr, my boy. I like him.”

What did he mean, he liked me? It sent a fresh shiver of unease down my spine, a feeling far colder than the lingering pain in my throat.

Levi who was still holding the revolver directed at him answered.

“His loyalty is unwavering, Your Excellency.”

It was a guarded statement, perhaps an attempt to steer the conversation away from the Conqueror's disturbing "liking" of me and back to the more familiar territory of power and obedience.

"Is the hunt over, my boy?" the Conqueror asked, his voice regaining its earlier smooth authority.

"No, Your Excellency," Levi replied, his tone firm, the revolver still held steady.

"Now, either finish the job or fetch me gauze, my boy," the Conqueror stated, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

His indecision was palpable, a visible tension in his rigid posture. Logic, I knew, must be screaming at him to pull the trigger, to end this reign of terror, to finally break free. But beneath the surface of that cold calculation, I saw the conflict in his eyes, the agonizing awareness of the price of that freedom. He believed that choosing to end the Conqueror's life meant choosing to lose me.

"He hesitates, shadow. Perhaps your worth is not as great as you believe."

He was smirking as he looked at me.

“Levi. Bring the first aid kit.” I said.

It was a desperate attempt to break the stalemate, to force Levi into action.

Levi fully lowered the revolver.

Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he turned away from the Conqueror and moved towards to the kitchen, his footsteps heavy on the polished floor as he went to retrieve the first aid kit. The metallic click of the revolver hitting the nearby table echoed.

With Levi gone to retrieve the first aid kit, the immediate threat to my airway had lessened, allowing me to draw in shallow, ragged breaths. The crushing pressure was gone, replaced by a raw, burning ache in my throat. However, the brief respite didn't extend to the rest of my body. Every muscle screamed in protest, and a sharp pain shot through my back where I had collided with the window. Trying to even shift my position sent waves of nausea rolling through me. I remained sprawled on the rug, a broken heap, acutely aware of the Conqueror's unwavering gaze.

“That boy found another sentimental soul.”

His lightless gaze remained fixed on me as he spoke, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Levi had just moments ago held a gun to his chest. The term felt both dismissive and oddly… insightful.

What a bizarre afternoon.

Choked, hurled across the room like discarded refuse, my spine screaming in protest with every shallow breath – and now, this cold, detached... acknowledgment?

Levi told me that he blamed genetics for his nature. I saw it now, the chilling similarities beneath their vastly different exteriors. The same assessing gaze, devoid of warmth. The same lack of empathy, viewing emotions as curiosities rather than shared human experiences. But the fuel that drove them was different. For the Conqueror, it was undeniably sadism, a perverse enjoyment of inflicting pain and wielding absolute power. For Cybil, it seemed to be rooted in a fierce, almost pathological pride. And for Levi... Levi's darkness, I now understood, was a twisted byproduct of profound loneliness, a desperate yearning for connection warped into something possessive and controlling.

Levi called him The Creator.

It was not impossible to grasp what he meant. He had shaped their world, their family, in his image, a world built on power, fear. He had molded their very beings, leaving them both bearing the marks of his influence, albeit expressed in different, equally damaging ways.

The cold, hard reality of the solid ground beneath me, even through the aching protests of my body against, was a revelation. I had never truly appreciated the simple stability of being grounded until I had been weightlessly airborne. He had tossed me aside as if I were nothing more than a pillow. And the window... the window was the only reason I hadn't continued flying, perhaps shattering into the storm raging outside.

When I had been shot, the agony had been all-consuming, a searing inferno that threatened to obliterate my senses. This man... this monster... hadn't even flinched.

The thought that he might not have even exerted his full strength sent a fresh wave of nausea churning in my stomach.

Levi, with a gun, and me, battered and bruised but alive – the two of us, grown men facing this seemingly unkillable force – our chances of truly defeating the Conqueror felt impossibly slim, bordering on nonexistent. We were outmatched, outgunned, and facing something that felt far beyond human.

Levi returned from the kitchen with a white first aid kit in his hands, his movements still carrying a hesitant tension. The Conqueror, meanwhile, had settled back onto the plush couch with an almost languid air, as if the bullet lodged in his shoulder was a mere inconvenience. He had already unbuttoned his expensive shirt, the fabric pulled back to reveal the raw, bleeding wound. He watched Levi approach, his lightless eyes holding a strange mixture of command and detached curiosity.

Each attempt to rise sent a searing jolt of pain through my back. I pushed myself up on my elbows, only to have my muscles spasm and give way, sending me crashing back down onto the rug with a muffled groan. The burning in my throat hadn't subsided, and the effort of trying to move left me breathless and dizzy.

The Conqueror remained perfectly still on the couch, his unreadable gaze fixed on Levi as he began to clean the bullet wound. He completely ignored my repeated, failed attempts to stand, as if I were a mere distraction, a piece of broken furniture. Then, without looking at me, he spoke.

"Observe, boy. Such resilience, even in a weakened state. A valuable quality... when properly directed."

It was a subtle lesson, aimed squarely at Levi, using my futile struggle as an example of a desirable trait – one that, implicitly, I should be directing towards him.

Levi's hands, usually so steady, trembled as he carefully cleaned the Conqueror's bullet wound. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but his dark blue eyes flickered towards me for a fleeting moment as I struggled to rise, a quick glance. He was caught between the immediate task of tending to his grandfather and the distress of witnessing my pain and helplessness.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I shook my head slightly. My gaze was fixed on Levi, a silent plea for him to focus on the task at hand, to not be distracted by my discomfort. The Conqueror's watchful presence was a palpable weight in the room, and I didn't want Levi's concern for me to provoke any further cruelty.

“Don’t you wish to break his defiance, boy?”

His smirk was directed at Levi, but his lightless eyes flickered towards me, assessing my reaction.

"No, Your Excellency," Levi replied, his voice flat and devoid of any inflection as he continued to carefully bandage the Conqueror's shoulder. He avoided looking at either of us, his focus solely on the task at hand.

"It would be fun, boy," the Conqueror stated, his gaze lingering on me with a predatory gleam.

What the fuck is this situation even? One moment I was a "shadow," a nonentity, easily dismissed and silenced. Now, because I dared to show a flicker of defiance, did that elevate me to... a "toy"? A plaything to be broken for the Conqueror's amusement?

I lifted my gaze to look into his eyes. My eyes locked onto the Conqueror's. This monster. There was no fear left, only a burning hatred. His eyes held a detached amusement, as if he were observing an interesting insect pinned to a board. I wanted him to see the raw loathing in my gaze, to understand that even broken and helpless, I would never submit to his cruelty.

“What a fire to extinguish, boy.”

A strange glint seemed to flicker within his eyes, a hint of something akin to… anticipation?

“He is not a fire to be extinguished, Your Excellency.”

“Ah, my boy. Now you want me to end both of you.”

The shift in tone was immediate and chilling. Levi's quiet act of defiance, his defense of me, had clearly crossed a line.

“Please do not, Your Excellency.”

"Not both? Then choose. Him or you," the Conqueror stated, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

"Me, Your Excellency," Levi replied instantly, his voice firm. There was no hesitation, no weighing of options.

"The gun is on the table. Either kill both of us or end this… Whatever that you are doing." My gaze flickered between Levi, who stood pale but resolute, and the Conqueror, whose lightless eyes held a chilling intensity. This twisted game had to stop. I wouldn't let Levi sacrifice himself in vain.

“Interesting. Your shadow did not choose you. He chose both of you.”

He was acknowledging Levi's sacrifice while simultaneously undermining my perception of it. It wasn't just about protecting me; it was about protecting himself too, in some convoluted way.

Everyone in this family is a manipulator. Every interaction was layered, every motive shadowed, every truth bent into something unrecognizable. Levi, with his possessiveness and control, had seemed like the embodiment of darkness. But compared to the Conqueror, he almost appeared… normal.

“No. We simply didn’t choose you.” I said.

“He said something similar while gasping and crying for a breath. He said that I was unworthy of you, my boy.”

Levi's dark blue eyes locked onto the Conqueror's, a storm gathering within their depths. He took a breath, his lips parting as if to finally voice his true feelings, to perhaps shatter the facade of obedience.

But the moment hung suspended, the unspoken words caught in the sudden, jarring intrusion of the doorbell.

Oh no. Oh no. No.

Who could possibly be at the door? And at this of all moments? A fresh wave of dread washed over me, the fragile sense of control we had momentarily grasped dissolving into a terrifying uncertainty. The Conqueror's gaze flickered towards the door.

“Open the door, boy.”

"Yes, Your Excellency," Levi replied, his voice subdued. He turned away from the Conqueror and the table where the revolver lay, moving with a hesitant reluctance towards the front door.

Fuck. Who could it be? Who?

In Levi’s absence, Conquest was a little bored.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his gaze fixed on me with a detached curiosity, as if inquiring about the properties of a newly discovered insect.

"A lot," I replied, the simple truth forced through my still-raw throat. The pain was a throbbing ache overlaid with sharp, stabbing jolts whenever I dared to shift.

The Conqueror waved his hand dismissively, his attention already drifting towards the sound of the front door creaking open in the distance. "Then beg, or cry, or squirm a little more. There are no wars anymore, it is boring. I fish mostly."

The sound of voices, muffled and indistinct, drifted in from the hallway, adding another layer of unease to the already tense atmosphere.

“Your ‘boy’ is bored, too. He was trampling the noble graves while shouting ‘bored’ at the air.”

"Indeed?" the Conqueror replied, his lightless gaze flicking towards the doorway where Levi had disappeared. A hint of something akin to… curiosity? touched his otherwise impassive features. "Trampling noble graves, you say? A rather... theatrical display of ennui. Perhaps I should join him. My fishing rod has been gathering dust."

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor, a flicker of interest sparked by the image of Levi's unusual behavior. The boredom he had just expressed seemed momentarily forgotten, replaced by a potential for… something else. Amusement? Irritation? It was difficult to discern.

"Why did you choke me?" I asked, my voice still rough.

"So he can hunt again. So he can hunt you," the Conqueror replied, his tone matter-of-fact, as if explaining a simple game.

"Thank you?" I retorted, the sarcasm thick in my voice. It was a new level of depravity, even for him. The sound of footsteps approached from the hallway, and Levi reappeared in the doorway. It was Finn.

Fucking idiot.

Of all the days, all the moments, he had to choose this one? Finn, oblivious as ever, his usual cheerful demeanor likely plastered across his face. He had no idea what he was walking into.

Oh god.

The Conqueror's gaze had already snapped to Finn, his lightless eyes narrowing, a flicker of something dangerous igniting within them. I could see it, the predatory stillness, the subtle shift in his posture.

He is gonna butcher him.

“Finn, get out. Get out!” I shouted.

Finn, initially offered a confused shrug in my direction. But then his eyes traveled around the room, taking in the horrifying tableau: the dark smears of blood on the polished floor, the imposing figure of the Conqueror lounging on the couch with a makeshift bandage on his broad shoulder, the glint of the revolver lying on the nearby table, and finally, me – sprawled against the window, disheveled and clearly injured. The cheerful expression on Finn's face slowly dissolved, replaced by a dawning horror and confusion.

“Come.”

Just as Levi had moments before, Finn obeyed. Without question, without hesitation, he stepped fully into the room.

Finn the oblivious idiot.

"Hello, sir," Finn said, his voice still carrying a hint of his usual cheerful tone. He offered the Conqueror a tentative smile, completely unaware. It was like a lamb cheerfully greeting the wolf. The Conqueror's lightless eyes fixed on Finn, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.

“Are you alright?” Finn asked while looking at his shoulder with concern.

"No, my boy," the Conqueror replied, his smile widening, a chillingly affable expression that didn't reach his lightless eyes. He gestured casually towards Levi. "My grandson just shot me... with the gun I gifted him."

"What? Oh God? Is that true?" Finn's eyes widened in disbelief, his gaze snapping from the smiling Conqueror to Levi, who stood silently near the doorway, his expression unreadable. "Do you need a doctor, sir?"

"Finn, you idiot, get the fuck out of here!" I roared, my voice still hoarse but laced with a desperate urgency.

"Raph, what are you saying? He is wounded," Finn replied, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at the Conqueror's bandaged shoulder.

"Who do you think hurled me across the floor with a bullet lodged in his shoulder, you dumb son of a bitch? Get out!"

"Ah, that would be me," the Conqueror interjected, his triumphant smile widening as he took in Finn's bewildered expression. He seemed to relish the newcomer's confusion.

Finn completely froze, his eyes wide with a dawning terror as he took several hesitant steps back towards the doorway.

But Finn's fear seemed to have the opposite effect on the Conqueror. The amusement that had flickered in his lightless eyes vanished, replaced by a cold focus. "I couldn't shatter the window last time," he stated, his gaze locking onto me with a chilling intensity. "Let me try again, boy. Stay still. It will only hurt a little."

The Conqueror shifted on the couch in the living room. The air crackled with a renewed sense of danger, the threat directed squarely at me. Finn remained frozen near the doorway, his face pale with terror, caught like a deer in headlights. Levi, standing a little behind Finn, finally seemed to snap out of his daze. His eyes, flickered towards the revolver still lying on the nearby table.

The window behind me seemed to mock my helplessness.

This was it.

The Conqueror rose from the plush couch, his towering frame suddenly eclipsing both Levi and the petrified Finn. Even with the three of us present, a desperate alliance against him felt futile. I braced myself, expecting him to lunge towards me again, to repeat the brutal assault that had left me pinned against the window. But he didn't. Instead, with a speed that belied his size, he reached out and lifted Finn by his throat, his powerful hand encircling Finn's neck with terrifying ease. Finn's feet dangled uselessly in the air, his eyes wide with shock and a dawning, strangled terror, mirroring the very helplessness I had felt just moments before.

Levi's gaze darted to the revolver on the table once more, his knuckles white as his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. We were trapped, outmatched, and time was running out for Finn, who was now dangling precariously, his face rapidly turning an alarming shade of red as he clawed at the Conqueror's iron grip. Overpowering him was a fantasy. What do we do? My mind raced, searching for any viable option, any weakness, any sliver of a chance in this impossible situation. The metallic tang of fear filled my mouth as I watched Finn's struggle.

"I am sorry!" I yelled. The Conqueror didn't even flinch, his lightless gaze still fixed on Finn, who was gasping for air above him.

"Tell me your name, tell me!" I shouted again. The Conqueror's grip eased infinitesimally, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"I did not understand what you meant, when you said you were bored. I understand now," I choked out, the realization hitting me with sickening clarity.

"I'll go fishing with you!" I yelled. He finally turned his attention to me, his head tilting slightly, and with a casual flick of his wrist, he hurled Finn across the room. Finn landed with a heavy thud right beside me against the window, coughing and sputtering for breath.

Then, the Conqueror lunged, his massive hand closing around my collar this time, lifting me with a rough jerk.

Not my throat this time. Baby steps.

"I understand now," I gasped, the fabric of my shirt digging into my neck, restricting my breathing. "Why did it... why you choke me. You were telling Levi that he still has someone, unlike you. Right? Tell me I am right."

The Conqueror's brow furrowed deeper, his lightless eyes narrowing slightly as he held me suspended by my collar. He didn't speak, but the subtle shift in his expression was a clear indication that my words were hitting a nerve.

"Everybody is calling you something else, right?" I rasped, the pressure on my neck making it difficult to speak. "They all fear you, and you like it. But you are so lonely, right? That's also why you are so bored. Tell me I am right."

He let out of a short laugh.

“Loneliness? A concept for the weak, shadow.”

"No," I rasped, the pressure on my neck making each word a struggle. "You are fucking lonely. A man called 'The Conqueror,' 'Your Excellency.' Who doesn't even have a name. Even your own daughter is scared of saying your name out loud."

The silence that followed was thick with a tension far greater than before. Even Levi, who had been watching the exchange with a wary apprehension, seemed to hold his breath.

"My power is my name," he stated, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "And fear is a far more potent companion than sentiment."

He seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as me.

“Not anymore… There are no titles, no wars anymore. You are bored and lonely. So lonely that you talk to the fish even if they can’t answer. Don’t you?”

The image of this powerful, terrifying man reduced to confiding in silent fish was both pathetic and strangely… humanizing. It chipped away at the aura of invincibility.

"Fish can't hear you underwater..." I gasped, the fabric of my collar digging deeper into my neck as the Conqueror's grip remained firm. "They can only hear you when you hunt them... Right? Tell me..."

I was pushing, desperate to break through his facade. A powerful predator whose only real connection was through dominance and destruction.

"You dare to mock me, shadow?" His grip tightened, the fabric digging sharply into my neck, a clear and immediate threat. Levi and Finn remained frozen, witnesses to my potentially fatal miscalculation.

"Mock you... Why?" I gasped, the pressure on my collar intensifying as the Conqueror's growl vibrated through his hand. "You hurled two grown men across the floor, with a bullet lodged in your... shoulder... you are... five decades older... Shit..."

My vision started to blur at the edges, the lack of air and the lingering pain finally starting to overwhelm me. The edges of the room swam, and the Conqueror's imposing figure seemed to waver before my eyes.

Is this how I die? Fuck… The thought clawed at the edges of my fading consciousness as the Conqueror's grip remained unyielding. The world was starting to tilt, the sounds of the room fading into a muffled hum.

"Release me before you... lose... your... only fishing companion..." I managed to choke out, the words a desperate, last-ditch effort. My vision was tunneling, the Conqueror's face a dark, indistinct shape before me. The absurdity of my plea... Would it even register in his twisted mind?

The Conqueror's grip on my collar loosened fractionally. A flicker of something akin to consideration, an emotion I hadn't seen in his eyes before, registered for a fleeting moment. He tilted his massive head slightly, studying me with a new, unsettling intensity, as if truly considering the bizarre offer I had just made. The blurring edges of my vision seemed to recede slightly, a sliver of hope flickering within the darkness. Was it possible? Had my desperate gamble actually landed?

"Tell me... your... name..." I choked out, the pressure on my collar having eased ever so slightly.

"Ragnar!" Levi interjected suddenly, his voice surprisingly firm, cutting through the tense silence.

Ragnar?

What a fucking name. It sounded ancient, brutal, fitting for the monster who held me captive. The Conqueror, or rather, Ragnar, remained silent, his gaze shifting from me to Levi, a new intensity entering his lightless eyes.

Just as Ragnar's gaze locked onto Levi, Finn spoke up from where he was still slumped against the window.

"I don't like fishing..." he said, his voice still a little rough from being choked, "...but I am good at... grilling."

Grilling? It was so utterly out of left field that it momentarily broke the heavy tension. Ragnar's head swiveled towards Finn, a flicker of something akin to… bewilderment? crossing his imposing features. Even Levi looked surprised.

Ragnar's lightless eyes narrowed, a suspicious look replacing the flicker of consideration as he looked at Finn in the living room. "Grilling what, boy? Your friends?"

Levi tensed near the doorway, his gaze flicking back to the revolver.

"Nah... The fish... I can grill the fish..." Finn replied, his voice still a little shaky but laced with a hopeful earnestness in the tense living room. He seemed to latch onto the one thing Ragnar had shown even a sliver of interest in.

"Enough of this culinary nonsense," he stated, his voice regaining its cold authority. "My name, shadow?"

“Yeah… Your name… It’s been decades right? It’s been decades since anyone… called you your name… Ragnar… What a name…”

It was a small act of recognition, acknowledging the man beneath the terrifying persona. Would it be enough? Ragnar's lightless eyes remained fixed on me, unreadable.

"Why do you say it, shadow?" he asked, his voice still low but lacking its earlier harshness. "Does it make me less of a monster in your eyes?"

"Not at all," I replied, my voice still raspy but gaining a sliver of steadiness. "You are still you... Ragnar... A weird name... It means... Wisdom of the army... Right? Your family... Chose your path... the moment... you were born... just like what you did to Cybil... naming her Prophetess... and Levi... means... hero..."

Ragnar's brow furrowed, a flicker of genuine surprise, perhaps even a hint of discomfort, crossing his imposing features. "You know these things?" His tone held a note of unexpected curiosity, a shift from his earlier dismissiveness.

“Of course I do… And I am a Cyrusian… I learned the language only… 7 years… ago.”

"You ARE Cyrusian?" Ragnar roared, the sound echoing through the living room, making Finn flinch. It was the same visceral reaction Cybil had displayed.

"But you are so weak for a Cyrusian," he added, his lightless eyes raking over my battered form with undisguised contempt.

Ouch. Again.

"Yeah," I replied, meeting his gaze with a weary resignation. "Cybil said the exact same thing..."

Ragnar's lightless eyes swiveled from me to Levi, his earlier roar softening into a low, dangerous growl. "And you, grandson?" he questioned. "You consort with such weakness?"

Finn watched nervously, caught in the crossfire of this intense family dynamic.

"He is no weaker than anyone you have broken, Grandfather," Levi stated, his voice steady.

Ragnar let out a booming laugh, the sound echoing ominously. "Brave words, boy," he stated, his lightless eyes fixed on Levi. "Let us see if your actions match your tongue." He then gestured towards me with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Perhaps you would care to demonstrate your loyalty, grandson?"

Finn flinched at Ragnar's booming voice, his eyes darting nervously between the three of us.

Levi met Ragnar's gaze directly, his own dark blue eyes hardening with a resolve I hadn't seen before.

"My loyalty is to what is right, Grandfather," he stated, his voice firm despite the tremor that ran through it.

Ragnar's lightless eyes narrowed dangerously. "Treason, boy?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "Is that the path you choose?"

The years of obedience shattered in Levi's stance. His hands, once nervously fidgeting, now clenched into fists of tightly controlled fury as he walked towards Ragnar, each step deliberate, each movement imbued with a newfound, terrifying resolve. He stopped directly before his grandfather, meeting those lightless eyes with a gaze that held not a trace of the fear that had defined their interactions for so long.

"I ended the monarch bloodline, Your Excellency. With the drug I myself synthesized. I shaped the very nation you now walk upon, a nation built upon the ashes of your empire. I stripped the vaunted title you clung to like a drowning man to driftwood. I cast that daughter of yours, to whom you never showed a single ounce of affection, onto a desolate island, severing the last vestiges of your precious lineage. I ended the suffocating reign of nobility in one day, Your Excellency. In one swift, precise, irreversible motion. Call it treason, call it terrorism, call it defiance born of years of silent suffering, call it a childish tantrum if it soothes your wounded pride. What truly matters right now, stripped bare of all pretense and power, is that you are a sad, lonely, old man, so utterly isolated that you cannot even bring yourself to ask your own grandson for a simple drink. The revolver you so generously gifted me lies upon the table, Your Excellency. Spare us all this protracted pain. Spare yourself the indignity of a meaningless end."

A hollow, broken laugh escaped Ragnar's lips, the sound devoid of any amusement, filled only with a crushing sense of betrayal. "My own blood... my own flesh..." he murmured, his lightless gaze still fixed on Levi, a profound anguish etched onto his aged features.

Slowly Ragnar's aged hand, the knuckles gnarled and weathered, reached out towards the revolver. The movement was heavy, laden with unspoken threat. Finn gasped, instinctively shrinking back, while my own heart pounded in my chest.

The metallic click of the revolver against Ragnar's temple echoed.

Ah, shit.

This wasn't a power play; this was the end.

The desperate hope for de-escalation, for some semblance of understanding, vanished completely. Finn whimpered, his face pale with terror. Levi stood frozen.

Without a second thought, fueled by a surge of adrenaline and a desperate need to prevent the unthinkable, I lunged myself at Ragnar's wounded shoulder. The sudden impact sent a jolt of pain through my own body, but I didn't care. "Stop, you idiot!" I yelled, my voice raw with urgency, my hands scrabbling for purchase on his massive frame, trying to knock the revolver away from his temple.

"Are you really gonna do this?" I grunted, my voice strained as I pressed my hand against Ragnar's already wounded shoulder, hoping to elicit some kind of reaction, any flicker of hesitation in his resolve. "To your own grandson? In the middle of his living room? Don't." My fingers dug into the torn fabric, the dampness beneath likely his blood. The pain seemed to register, a slight tremor running through his massive frame, but his grip on the revolver remained firm against his temple.

"Snap out of it! All of you! LEVI! FINN!" My voice cracked, raw with desperation, as I pressed harder on Ragnar's wounded shoulder. Levi remained frozen, his face a mask of shock and disbelief, seemingly paralyzed by the unfolding horror. Finn, huddled against the wall, let out a choked sob, his terror rendering him useless.

Someone had to break this nightmare.

Startled by my desperate cries, Finn, despite his earlier terror, lunged forward as well. Even with both of us clinging to him, Ragnar still towered above us. Ignoring the potential consequences, I ripped the makeshift bandage from his shoulder. Then, with a primal scream of frustration and desperation, I dug my fingernails deep inside his raw, open wound, hoping to shock him out of his trance with pain. Ragnar roared, a guttural sound that shook the very foundations of the house.

Despite the obvious agony etched on his face, his strength surged forth. With a casual effort, he flung both me and Finn across the room. We crashed against the far wall, the impact stealing our breath and sending jolts of pain through our bodies. The dull thud of our landing echoed in the sudden silence that followed his outburst. Ragnar stood swaying slightly, his chest heaving, the revolver still clutched tightly in his hand.

“LEVI! DO! SOMETHING!” I shouted as hard as I could. I could feel the burning on my throat. The impact of being thrown against the wall still reverberated through my body, and the sight of Ragnar, still armed and dangerously unstable, filled me with terror. Finn lay groaning beside me, equally stunned.

Levi's dark blue eyes flickered towards me and Finn, lying bruised and winded against the wall. He remained frozen.

Finn's eyes darted frantically around the living room, a desperate search for anything to break the deadly stalemate. His gaze landed on the heavy desk lamp, he grabbed it and hurled it at Ragnar with all his might. The lamp flew through the air, a clumsy projectile against the imposing figure of the Conqueror. But Ragnar, his reflexes honed by decades of violence, simply snatched the lamp out of the air with one massive hand, his grip like iron. With a dismissive snort, he hurled the lamp back towards us, the heavy base thudding against the wall near where Finn and I lay.

"Why do you prolong this?" he asked, his voice low and heavy with a strange mix of anger and exhaustion. "It only delays the inevitable."

Shit. Levi said the same thing on the cemetery. This fucking family.

"I don't want your pierced skull and brain all over my carpet, you idiot!" I yelled, my voice raw with a mixture of anger and desperation. "If you really wanted to do it, you would have done it already. Stop traumatizing your grandson, he is already in a state of terror because of you!"

"Traumatizing him?" he echoed, his voice low and laced with a cynical weariness. "I am showing him the only certainty in this miserable existence." His lightless gaze flickered towards Levi, who remained a silent, horrified spectator.

"This fucking family!" I spat out. "I am sick of your shit. Every single one of you is a self-serving, manipulative pieces of shit! Self-pitying but somehow still so damn proud! Lonely as hell but you all think you rule the world! Do you understand what the fuck you are now, Ragnar? A pathetic, one-bullet man with a decaying mind clinging to some twisted sense of control! If you must do it, go do it in the shower so we can at least clean it up easier!"

Finn flinched at my outburst, his wide eyes reflecting the raw emotion in the room. Ragnar, the revolver still pressed against his temple, remained motionless, but a flicker, a twitch in his jaw, suggested that my venomous tirade had finally pierced through his self-imposed wall of despair.

"You pathetic excuse for a human being!" I roared, my voice ragged with pain and fury. "I possibly fractured every single rib in my goddamn body because of your tantrum, you fucking asshole! But did I lie down and bleed? No! I still tried to stop you! Not for your miserable hide, believe me, but at least for your grandson, the one person you clearly have some twisted semblance of respect or affection for! Look at him, you heartless bastard! Look at the terror in his eyes! Now, for the first time in your pathetic, brutal, blood-hungry existence, do something that might actually put a genuine smile on someone's face instead of a lifetime of fear and nightmares!"

"Smile?" he echoed, his voice laced with a lifetime of cynicism. "The only smiles I've ever inspired were born of fear and obedience."

"And look where it got you, old man?" I spat, my voice still raw but laced with a bitter satisfaction. "A gun pressed against your temple, and you're silently begging us to save you from your own miserable existence. You fucking waste of a life."

Ragnar simply closed his eyes. His aged face a mask of utter weariness. The fight seemed to have drained out of him, my harsh words perhaps echoing the silent truths he had long tried to suppress. The hand holding the revolver against his temple still trembled, but it was a tremor of exhaustion, not defiance.

I made a subtle gesture towards Levi. A silent plea to seize this fragile opportunity. For a moment, Levi hesitated, his gaze darting between his grandfather's still form and the revolver clutched in his trembling hand. Then he slowly reached out. It was a bizarre, almost surreal battle of wills played out in slow motion – the younger man gently but firmly prying the weapon from the grasp of the once all-powerful Conqueror. Ragnar offered little resistance, a strange surrender in his stillness. Once the cold steel was in his possession, Levi didn't hesitate. With a decisive motion, he released the bullets, one by one, onto the carpet.

“Finally. Now call an ambulance Levi. I think I have internal bleeding.”

My words seemed to snap Levi fully into action. He rushed towards me, his earlier paralysis replaced by a frantic urgency. His hands, still trembling slightly gently lifted my shirt, his eyes scanning my abdomen. Finn remained huddled nearby, his earlier terror slowly giving way to a look of concern.

"I am not a medical professional, but it does not look like internal bleeding," Levi said, his brow furrowed as he gently examined my torso. "It is possible that you fractured some ribs."

Just then, a groan escaped Ragnar's lips. He slowly walked towards me, his movements still stiff and labored. "It is not internal bleeding, obviously," he stated gruffly as he also checked my torso, his large, calloused hands surprisingly gentle despite his gruff tone.

Ragnar's brow furrowed as he palpated my ribs with a practiced hand. "Likely fractured ribs, maybe a hairline crack or two. No obvious signs of internal hemorrhage, but we can't be certain without proper scans. Still need that ambulance."

“Wow… Years of battle fields teaches someone ‘caring’.” I mocked.

Levi was already on the phone, his voice low and urgent. Finn watched us both, a tentative curiosity replacing his earlier terror.

“How… Strong are you? You threw both of us at the same time. And you are what? 70 or something absolutely shredded.”

It was hard to reconcile the frail, suicidal old man of moments ago with the raw power he had displayed. Levi continued his hushed conversation on the phone, while Finn's wide eyes mirrored my own astonishment.

“I was stronger in my prime. You should have seen me then.”

"Wow... I cannot even imagine that," I replied, a shiver tracing down my spine. The casual way he spoke of even greater strength was unsettling. "When I got shot in my shoulder, I thought my entire body was on fire. You didn't even flinch when I dug my fingers into your open wound."

Ragnar's lightless eyes finally focused on my shoulder. "You got shot on your shoulder?" he asked, a flicker of something akin to curiosity in his tone.

"Yeah," I confirmed, gesturing vaguely towards the area beneath my torn shirt. "We have the same scar now, just on opposite sides."

The shared experience, however brutal and different in context, was a strange, unexpected point of connection. Levi, still on the phone, glanced over at our exchange with a puzzled expression.

“How are you Finn?” I asked.

"I... I don't even know," Finn stammered, his voice still trembling slightly. He hugged himself tightly, his eyes wide and unfocused. "One minute... one minute he was going to... and then... then he just threw us. Like... like we were dolls." He shook his head, a look of bewildered fear still etched on his young face. "I thought I was bigger than that." Levi, having finished his call, knelt beside Finn, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"You are light. Easier to move."

It was not an insult. Just an observation. Which sounded ridiculous, as if he was deducting the weight of inanimate objects.

"It was... like he wasn't even trying. Like it was nothing. It was... scary." Finn hugged himself tighter, his gaze flicking nervously towards Ragnar, who remained a silent, brooding presence. "He's... he's not normal, is he?"

Levi got closer to Finn’s ear. “It is okay now. Try to talk about it. It might help.”

"Yeah, it certainly helps me process," I interjected, a sardonic edge to my voice. "Knowing exactly how much the old man can bench press after throwing us around like we're filled with helium. I am really curious about it.”

Levi rubbed his temples. "I have no idea, and frankly, I've spent my entire life trying not to find out the full extent of it."

“Well… It is kinda over now. Not entirely, obviously, but... kinda... Ugh... I need a lot of alcohol to even begin to grasp the sheer insanity of what just transpired." I then turned to Finn, a genuine question in my voice. "And Finn, seriously, why are you even here, man? What brought you into this glorious family drama?"

“Levi did not come to the office for two days man. I thought something happened to him. I came to check. And this… happened.” Finn replied, gesturing vaguely around the disheveled living room.

The irony of the situation, the mundane reason for Finn's presence midst the extraordinary violence, was almost darkly comical. The wail of the approaching sirens grew louder.

"Yeah..." I agreed, a hollow chuckle escaping my lips. "Both of them owe us some fucking good drinks. I still cannot grasp it, man. It was like being a bowling ball, yeah? Or maybe even a curling stone, just sliding across the room with no control."

I then shook my head, a strange mix of terror and a morbid kind of relief washing over me. "Do you know what the first thought that actually solidified in my brain was? I am so damn glad there's a window right there. Because if there wasn't a window, I couldn't have possibly stopped myself from going straight through that wall."

"You... you really thought that? You could have been seriously hurt." Levi said with a disbelief.

“Curling stone… Yeah… It’s exactly that. It’s funny but in a messed up, dark sorta way.” Finn chuckled nervously.

Levi shook his head slowly, still looking at me with disbelief. "You really were thrown that hard, weren't you? I saw it, but... hearing you talk about it like that..."

The sound of the ambulance sirens was now just outside, the flashing blue and red lights painting streaks across the drawn curtains. Finally, some professionals to deal with this chaotic mess.

The front door of the house burst open, and two paramedics in uniforms rushed into the disheveled living room. One immediately knelt beside me, he began to assess my injuries, gently palpating my ribs and asking questions about my pain levels and breathing. The other paramedic moved towards Finn, who was still looking pale and shaken, his initial assessment involving checking his pulse and asking if he had hit his head or was experiencing any dizziness.

Then, their attention turned to Ragnar, who remained seated and silent, his presence still radiating a strange aura of power. They approached him cautiously, their questions direct but respectful, inquiring about his well-being and the nature of his wound. Ragnar answered in short, gruff sentences, his gaze distant and unfocused.

After their initial assessments, the paramedics began to take more detailed vitals. One continued to examine my ribs, carefully taping them to provide some stability and asking about any other areas of pain. The other focused on Finn, gently checking his pupils and asking him to follow his finger, ensuring he hadn't sustained any neurological damage from being thrown.

Ragnar, despite the paramedics' attempts to engage him, remained somewhat withdrawn. He answered their questions about his shoulder wound curtly but resisted any further examination. His gaze kept drifting towards Levi, who stood nearby.

"We need to get you all to the hospital for proper evaluation," one of the paramedics stated, his tone calm but firm. "Sir," he addressed Ragnar directly, "that wound needs to be cleaned and stitched, and we need to make sure there's no internal damage." He gestured towards me. "And you'll need X-rays for those ribs, at the very least."

...

The initial shock was beginning to wear off, replaced by a dull ache that encompassed both physical and emotional exhaustion. The absurdity of the situation – being thrown across a room by a suicidal septuagenarian only to end up in the back of an ambulance together – was almost darkly comical.

Finn was quickly ushered to a separate area for observation, his pale face. I was wheeled into an examination room where doctors began the process of X-rays and further assessment of my likely fractured ribs.

The hours that followed were a blur of medical examinations, paperwork, and the dull ache of pain.

Later, as the initial flurry of activity subsided, Levi appeared in the doorway of my examination room, his face etched with exhaustion. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. "They want to keep you overnight for observation," he said quietly, his voice hoarse. "Finn's going to be okay, just shaken up. They're keeping him for a few hours." He hesitated, then added, "And... they've admitted my grandfather."

“Yeah? Good. How are you Levi? You were pretty shaken up.”

"Yes," Levi murmured, his gaze still distant as he leaned against the door frame. "Good that they're both... being looked after." He finally focused on me, a weary attempt at a smile touching his lips. "And me? I'm... running on fumes. Seeing... all of that... it wasn't exactly a Tuesday afternoon." He rubbed his temples. "But I'm here. And you're... mostly in one piece. So, I guess we're both still standing."

“Come sit on the bedside and tell me, yeah? You were more scared then me.” I said gently, patting the edge of the narrow hospital bed.

Levi hesitated for a moment, then pushed himself away from the door frame and slowly sat on the edge. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his gaze fixed on the sterile white blanket covering my legs.

"Yes," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing him like that... the gun... it brought back a lot of... things. I always knew he was capable of... darkness. But that... that felt different. Final. And the thought of... of him actually doing it... in my own home..." He trailed off.

"And then when he threw you... both of you... it was like seeing a monster unleashed. I felt completely helpless. Like that little boy again, watching him..." He clenched his jaw, the unspoken memories clearly painful. "So yes," he concluded with a shaky breath, "you were busy being a human bowling ball, and I was just... frozen. Watching my life fall apart all over again."

"Don't feel bad about it, Levi," I said softly, my voice a low murmur. "There was nothing you could have done differently. Even if the three of us were in top shape and coordinated, we couldn't have stopped him. It was insane, actually. Seeing a man that age capable of such raw strength... it defied logic." I shifted slightly, a twinge of pain reminding me of my own encounter with that strength. "But yeah... I would like to hear more, if you want to tell me. About what it was like for you, growing up with him. Only if you're ready, though."

Levi's voice was low, a haunted whisper. "As you can see, even now, in his old age, he still possesses that brute force. Now, imagine that same man, in his forties. He was mostly away, at war, a phantom figure who occasionally descended upon our lives. I only heard the horrific tales of his butchery, whispered in hushed tones by terrified servants. Most of them were so unspeakably violent that I can barely bring myself to articulate them even now. He never lost a war. If his gaze fell upon a land, it was as good as conquered. Even the former King himself, lived in fear of him. He knew even his most seasoned royal guards, men who had faced countless battles, couldn't stand against Ragnar.

"When he did return from war, he brought that same insatiable hunger for violence into our home. He seemed to crave the same bloodshed, the same absolute dominion, within our walls. He was particularly cruel towards my father, perhaps because my father was everything he was not – gentle, kind, and scholarly. But his cruelty towards my mother... that was something else entirely. A cold, calculated torment. He mostly disregarded my sister, as if she were invisible, focusing his attention solely on me. It wasn't just walking on eggshells; it was navigating a landscape of shattered glass, every step threatening to draw blood. He demanded absolute obedience, even if that obedience meant witnessing or enduring acts of utter savagery.

"Probably the most shocking, the most traumatizing thing I ever witnessed firsthand was how swiftly, how casually, he snapped a royal guard's neck simply because the man didn't bow low enough, didn't show what he deemed sufficient deference. Yes, I was barely a child then, hidden behind my mother's skirts, but the sound... The back garden of our family mansion was his favorite playground. He would hunt animals there, train with his weapons until his knuckles bled, then hunt again, train again, a relentless cycle of violence. And if he still wasn't satisfied, if his blood lust hadn't been fully sated, he would return to the house and unleash his simmering rage on us.

"Another thing... something that showed me the true, terrifying extent of his strength, something you might call his full power? I'm not sure how else to describe it. I saw ten seasoned, veteran soldiers, men who had survived countless campaigns, lunge at him all at once. He didn't even seem to exert himself. He simply threw every single one of them aside, then proceeded to beat them to a pulp, methodically, almost leisurely. He was taking his time, savoring their pain. When it was finally over, when he had reduced ten hardened warriors into broken, hollow shells, he just glanced around, a look of utter boredom on his face. He actually asked for more. That was when... that was when I was truly grateful that I wasn't born earlier. I couldn't even begin to imagine him as a man in his prime, in his twenties or thirties. The sheer terror of it..." Levi's voice trailed off, his body trembling slightly.

“Is that why you never liked the gardens?” I asked.

"Yes," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, that's... part of it. It wasn't a place for beauty or peace for me. It was his arena. I remember the smell of blood... not just from the animals. Sometimes... sometimes there were accidents during his 'training' sessions with the guards. Or the servants who displeased him.

"The sound of the dogs... the screams of the animals... even the birds singing... it all just reminded me of him. Of what he was capable of. It was never a place I could relax. Never a place that felt safe." He finally looked back at me, a sad smile touching his lips. "So yes. Gardens... not really my thing."

“Did you feel bad when I offered him some sort of… friendship?”

"Did I feel bad...?" he finally echoed, turning back to me. "It wasn't exactly 'bad,' more... complicated. The idea of him having any sort of genuine connection... it feels... Almost wrong, after everything. He hasn't earned kindness, let alone friendship."

He paused, considering his words carefully. "But on the other hand... maybe that's what desperation looks like. Maybe you saw something... a crack, a flicker of something human that I've spent my whole life believing doesn't exist. And if there's even the slightest chance of pulling him back from the abyss... maybe it's worth trying. Even if it feels... deeply uncomfortable."

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "So, no, not exactly 'bad.' More like a collision of hope and a lifetime of ingrained fear and cynicism. Does that make sense?"

"I mean, I haven't seen him through your eyes," I said softly, my gaze steady on Levi. "I only saw a seventy-year-old, suicidal man. A really, really strong man, granted. But I also saw that he knew... he understood your boredom, Levi. And I think... in a really sick, fucking monstrous way... he kinda helped you. He forced you to confront something, even if it was terrifying."

I paused, considering the weight of my words. "You were gone for two days. I was genuinely scared. Not just worried, scared. So, yes. I am glad you're here now. And I'm grateful that you told me all of this. Thank you, Levi. You can always tell me more. Whenever you're ready."

"Yes," he murmured, his voice still rough. "Yes, thanks. It... it helps, just saying it. Knowing someone... someone outside all of that... understands, even a little." He managed a weak smile. "And you're right. That boredom... it's always been there. Like a low hum beneath everything. And yes... maybe he did... in his own twisted way... shake things up. Show me that even after all these years, there are still new levels of unpleasantness to experience." A dark chuckle escaped his lips.

He took another deep breath, the sterile hospital air filling his lungs. "Maybe... maybe later. I'm still... processing. But thank you. For listening. For... everything today."