The club was loud, but inside the back room silence ruled.
Men knelt before him—some trembling, some bleeding, some already lifeless on the floor
enemy
*hard Breathing*
enemy
..l...let me go*Begging,tears coming out continuously*
𝙰𝚣𝚊𝚚𝚒𝚛 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚚𝚊𝚛 leaned back in his chair, one hand lazily circling the rim of his glass, crimson liquid catching the dim light. Not wine. Never wine.
𝙰𝚣𝚊𝚚𝚒𝚛 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚚𝚊𝚛
𝙰𝚣𝚊𝚚𝚒𝚛 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚚𝚊𝚛
Beg louder ❄️
He murmured, his voice low, almost bored.
The man at his feet choked on his own blood, whispering for mercy.
Azaqir smiled—a smile that never reached his ember eyes. He leaned forward, pressing a blade under the man’s chin, tilting it up like he was admiring a painting.
enemy
..p.. please...let..me..go
𝙰𝚣𝚊𝚚𝚒𝚛 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚚𝚊𝚛
“𝙰 𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚜… is no lion at all.”
The blade sliced clean. Silence swallowed the room. The others didn’t dare breathe.
Azaqir simply sat back, sipped his glass, and whispered:
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