The wind howled through the trees, carrying whispers—Lucian’s voice, or something twisted into his likeness. Shadows moved, flickering between the trees, but there was nothing every time a soldier turned. Just darkness. Just fear.
"Hold formation!" the commander barked. But his voice wavered. He could feel it—something was watching them.
A breath. Behind him.
He whirled—nothing.
A soldier beside him dropped his sword, his hands trembling. "Captain… I-I think—"
SHLICK.
His voice was cut off, a dagger embedded deep in his throat. He choked, clawing at the steel, blood gushing through his fingers. His knees hit the snow.
Panic erupted.
The soldiers confusedly turned on each other, blindly swinging their weapons at the moving shadows. One lunged forward—only to slice his comrade across the chest.
"STOP! Hold your positions!" the commander screamed.
But it was too late.
Lucian had already turned them against themselves.
A soldier ran, bolting into the darkness.
He didn’t make it far.
A scream tore through the night—short, sharp, then gurgling.
Then silence.
Lucian was toying with them.
The commander gritted his teeth. No. He would not let his men fall like this.
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Then he heard it.
A pained wheeze. A figure stumbled from the shadows.
Lucian.
His body trembled, barely standing. His fingers twitched around his sword, his arms limp. Blood dripped from countless wounds. He was broken. Finished.
The soldiers exhaled, relief washing over them.
"He''s done," one of them murmured.
"He can barely stand," another scoffed.
The commander sneered. “Kill him.”
A soldier stepped forward, raising his sword—
Then Lucian’s head lifted.
His eyes.
Crimson. Glowing. Drenched in bloodlust.
The soldier froze.
The torches flickered.
And then—Lucian smiled.
A slow, chilling grin.
Lips cracked. Teeth glistening red.
His face was soaked in blood—not all of it was his.
The soldier stumbled back. "C-Captain…"
Lucian swayed—then, without warning, he collapsed.
Silence.
Then—
A breath of relief.
"He''s dead."
"Finally."
The commander exhaled sharply. "Check his body."
Three soldiers approached cautiously, nudging his limp form with their boots. Nothing. No reaction.
One kneeled, reaching out—
Lucian’s hand shot out, clamping onto his wrist.
The soldier''s breath caught.
Lucian looked up.
That smile was still there.
Bloodstained. Unholy.
And then—
Lucian yanked him down and drove his blade straight through his gut.
The soldier choked, blood spraying from his mouth.
Screams.
Lucian sprang to his feet.
His wounds were forgotten. His movements were unnatural.
His blood-red eyes gleamed like burning coals, and his smile stretched wider as he tilted his head at the horrified soldiers.
"Did you think..."
His voice came low, guttural.
"... I was done?"
The soldiers broke.
One swung wildly—Lucian dodged, grabbing his wrist and twisting until the bone snapped like dry wood.
The soldier screamed—Lucian silenced him with a dagger to the throat.
Another turned to run—Lucian let him.
He wanted them to run.
To scatter.
To feel hunted.
Like a jackal, he waited in the shadows.
"Regroup! Keep your backs to each other—"
CRUNCH.
A soldier collapsed, a dagger buried in his spine.
Another shrieked, clawing at his face as Lucian ripped out his eye with his bare hand and crushed it between his fingers like pulp.
The mutilated man staggered, his remaining eye wild with terror before Lucian drove a blade through his temple.
The commander’s hands trembled around his sword. This wasn’t war.
This was a slaughter.
Lucian tilted his head, running a bloodstained hand through his hair.
The last few soldiers broke. Weapons clattered to the ground.
They turned—and ran.
Lucian let them.