Chapter 13: The Mysterious Fruit
Dusk crept forward, step by silent step, approaching the three sleeping men. His movements were utterly furtive—so sneaky that anyone witnessing the scene would have mistaken him for nothing more than a cowardly rat.
Once he'd chosen the perfect position, he raised his knife high, every muscle in his body tensing in preparation.
'Farewell.'
The thought drifted softly through his mind as the corners of his lips curled into a faint smirk. His arm surged with strength.
A deadly slash sliced cleanly across the throat of the first man. Moving with fluid instinct, Dusk spun around, driving his blade into the neck of the second, then the third.
They writhed in agony, their eyes bulging wide with disbelief—stunned by how suddenly they'd found themselves in this nightmare.
Was it a workplace accident? Of course not. They weren't even working. It was simply misfortune—extreme, merciless misfortune.
Their eyes were filled with unwillingness and desperation. With the last of their strength, they reached out, clawing at Dusk's leg, trying to cling to life.
They wanted to speak. They wanted to scream that Dusk was a cold-blooded murderer, hoping someone—anyone—would come and avenge them. But it was all in vain. Dusk's strikes had been too precise.
Even as the dying men grabbed at his leg, Dusk's expression remained unchanged. The weak grip of the soon-to-be dead was meaningless. A simple flick of his leg was enough to shake them off.
In their final moments, as their bodies convulsed, various objects slipped from their trembling hands and scattered across the ground.