The day is bright, too bright, almost mocking the destruction surrounding the Trueblood as he sits in a metal chair, grinning like a child with a secret. Behind him, the black helicopter’s blades whir loudly, ready for takeoff, while the world burns around him.
Flames crackle, licking up the sides of the building with dark plumes of smoke twisting into the blue sky. From this high up, Jeongguk has a perfect view of the chaos below, sirens scream in the distance, people scramble like ants, trying to contain the inferno that rages through the city block. He can’t help but giggle softly at the scene. It’s all so… fun.
At his feet, Alois Keeho kneels, barely conscious, his face a swollen, bloody mess. Blood pours from his nose and mouth, dripping onto the sunlit concrete with the ash and dirt that litter the rooftop. Keeho’s breaths are shallow, wheezing, as if each one might be his last. His arms hang limp at his sides, useless, while his head lolls forward, too weak to hold up anymore.
“You know, Keeho,” Jeongguk leans forward, elbows on his knees as he begins, his voice light, conversational. “I warned you not to touch her. She’s a Jeon. My precious little sister. And yet...” He chuckles, the sound high-pitched, almost innocent. “You tried to take her. Isn’t that funny?”
Keeho coughs violently, spitting blood onto the concrete. His body twitches as if trying to muster the strength to move, but it’s useless. The fire crackles louder, the heat growing more intense, but Keeho’s world is fading, slowly and extremely painfully.
The Trueblood tilts his head, watching Keeho like a predator playing with its prey. “But now look at you,” he says in a mock, a twisted smile spreading across his face. “You’re nothing but a bloody little mess, aren’t you? All that power you thought you had... gone.”
He lets out a low, unhinged laugh, tapping his fingers against his knee, his eyes never leaving Keeho’s broken form. There’s something disturbingly cheerful in the way Jeongguk watches him, a horrible gleam in his eyes that speaks of madness, a thrill coursing through him at the sight of the suffering he’s caused.
“Do you regret it, Keeho?” Jeongguk asks, his tone sing-song as he crouches down beside him. “Do you regret getting into the den of Jeon?”
Keeho’s body twitches, his lips parting to speak, but no words come out—only a gurgle of blood and air. His head droops lower, his breaths growing shallower by the second. The Trueblood grins more, eyes sparkling with cruel amusement as he reaches out, gently cupping Keeho’s chin and lifting his face. Keeho’s half-lidded, bloodshot eyes meet his, filled with nothing but agony and fear.
