Tension thickened the air, settling like a suffocating fog. The commander stood frozen, every muscle coiled in anticipation, blade gripped so tightly his fingers ached with the strain. His gaze never left the figure in front of him. “Mordred’s Solace.” His voice was a low, gravelly growl, tinged with rage, but underlined by something darker—something almost primal. “Bold of you to show your face, traitor.”


    The man before him was a ghost, his figure shrouded in the dim light of the underground chamber. A mask obscured most of his features, but his eyes—those glowing red eyes—burned through the darkness like embers from a dying fire. The black hair that framed his face seemed to absorb the light, adding to the eerie presence he exuded. Mordred’s chuckle was like the crack of ice, cold and hollow. “Traitor?” He tilted his head, his voice soft but mocking. “I prefer ‘freedom fighter.’”


    The commander’s heart pounded in his chest, a frantic rhythm that clashed with the cold, calculating calm of his foe. His instincts screamed to strike, but the weight of memories, of years of this every man being called a hero, held him in place. His grip on his sword tightened, the blade trembling as if it too sensed the agony of what was to come. “Freedom fighter?” he spat, the words bitter on his tongue. “You’re no hero. You’re the one who slaughtered innocent lives. The massacre—because of you and your comrades, how many are dead?”


    Mordred’s head tilted slightly, eyes unreadable. His voice, serene and unbothered, was like a knife cutting through the tension. “Necessary sacrifices,” he said, his words so carefully chosen they stung like poison. “For a better world.”


    “Sacrifices?” The commander''s voice cracked, fury bubbling up from the depths of his soul. “You’ve gone mad!” Without warning, the world shattered. Mordred''s blade moved in a blur, a streak of silver that sliced through the air. Pain exploded in the commander''s body. His scream echoed off the concrete walls as the blade cleaved his arm clean off, severing muscle and bone with effortless precision. Blood erupted from the stump in thick, spraying arcs, painting the floor a deep crimson. His sword clattered to the ground with a hollow ring, swallowed by the chaos of his agony.


    Mordred stood over him, an almost casual observer to the destruction he''d wrought. He wiped the blood from his blade onto the commander’s cloak, the action disturbingly deliberate. “Interrupting me... how rude,” he murmured. His eyes flicked down to the severed arm, which twitched unnaturally. With cold detachment, Mordred picked it up, his fingers pressing it against the security panel on the wall.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    [Access granted.]


    The voice of the security system was mechanical, emotionless, and utterly indifferent to the suffering unfolding. It was a stark contrast to the commander''s ragged gasps, the sound of which seemed to fill the room with desperation. Mordred’s red eyes gleamed as he turned back, his smirk hidden beneath the mask. The commander writhed, clutching the stump of his arm, eyes wide with terror and pain. “You…” he hissed through gritted teeth, voice trembling. “I’ll... kill you.”


    Mordred’s response was silence. He didn’t need words. His boots clanged on the concrete floor as he stepped closer, the sound like a death knell in the tense air. He stooped, collecting the commander''s fallen blade as if it were an afterthought, inspecting it with a dispassionate gaze. “Let’s put an end to this, shall we?”


    The world held its breath. The commander''s eyes widened, panic flickering in his gaze. Time stretched as realization dawned, and then, with the swift motion of a predator, Mordred brought the blade down.


    Thud—!


    The commander’s headless body collapsed with a sickening squelch, the sound amplified by the vast, empty room. Blood pooled beneath him, creeping slowly across the concrete floor like a dark tide, staining everything it touched. The echo of his fall was swallowed by an oppressive silence.


    Mordred stood still for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the growing pool of blood. The air was thick with the scent of iron. “Ah,” he muttered, almost as though he had forgotten something. “You three.” In the shadows, three soldiers trembled, their faces ashen, their eyes wide with terror. One of them whispered, barely audible, “P-please… spare us.” Another broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. “We’ll do anything! Just let us live!”


    Mordred’s gaze lingered on them for a moment, cold and unreadable. He extended his hand with excruciating deliberation. The blood of the fallen commander stirred, rising into the air with a sickening fluidity. It twisted and reformed, coalescing into a wicked weapon—a scythe made entirely of blood. The sight was both beautiful and horrifying.


    “I’m afraid,” Mordred intoned, his voice as empty and lifeless as the void between the stars, “your time has come.” In one smooth, practiced motion, the scythe cleaved through the air, the sound of it cutting through the atmosphere a whisper of death itself.


    Thud—Splash—


    The soldiers’ bodies crumpled, lifeless, their heads rolling from their necks with a grotesque finality. The growing pool of blood mingled with theirs, a sickening testament to Mordred’s ruthlessness. Mordred, unfazed, turned back to the security panel. His fingers moved with practiced precision across the interface.


    [Removing rift shield: Confirmed.]


    Outside, the fortified building''s antennae crackled to life, sending out a signal so powerful it made the air itself tremble. The city’s shimmering barrier, once a symbol of protection, flickered and sputtered, then collapsed entirely. The light sputtered out like a dying star, leaving only the darkening sky in its wake. Distant explosions shook the earth, the sound like the rumble of an approaching storm. Mordred stepped toward the window, watching the chaos unfold with quiet satisfaction. His red eyes gleamed, and though no one could see his smile beneath his mask, it was there, hidden in the shadows.


    “Let the blood of the fallen pave the way for the New World.”


    [End of Chapter]