A place detached from the emotional world — here, only reason and bloodshed existed.
Aaron followed the figure of Jimson Snake, venturing deeper inside. The heavy iron door creaked open, revealing a wide training ground, with shooting targets set up at the far end. The purpose was clear.
Right in front of Aaron, a compact handgun was neatly placed. He tensed slightly.
– "Pick it up."
Jimson's voice rang out, cold and commanding.
Aaron slowly picked up the gun. Jimson also lifted his own weapon, demonstrating each movement: checking safety, loading the bullets, cocking the hammer.
While demonstrating, Jimson spoke, his voice even but sinking deep into Aaron's mind:
– "With Lucian's protection, you probably won't need this. But… only for now. There's no such thing as absolute safety in this world."
– "I understand,"
Aaron replied quietly, gripping the gun more tightly.
Jimson continued:
– "A gun isn't as sharp as a knife, nor as intricate as poison, but it's the fastest way to end an enemy in an instant."
As soon as he finished speaking, Jimson raised his gun and fired three shots — all three bullets hit dead center.
Aaron's eyes widened in awe at the clean holes on the target, unable to hide his admiration.
– "You'll be able to do it too,"
Jimson said lightly, offering one of his rare encouragements.
Aaron took a deep breath and began raising his gun toward the target.
– "Use both hands,"
Jimson instructed, his voice cold but carrying a subtle gentleness beneath it.
Aaron hurriedly adjusted his stance, though his hands were still stiff. Jimson stepped closer, standing right behind him, taking Aaron's hands to correct his grip and help him cock the hammer.
Two shots rang out, the smell of gunpowder spreading thickly through the air.
– "Remember this,"
Jimson leaned in, murmuring by Aaron's ear,
– "The recoil is strong. If your grip is weak, you'll injure yourself before you ever bring down your enemy."
After guiding him, Jimson stepped back, crossing his arms to observe.
Aaron began practicing. His shots weren't perfectly accurate yet, but they weren't far off the mark either.
– "Not bad."
A rare compliment from Jimson. Aaron smiled brightly, filled with renewed determination.
Jimson then asked, as if testing him:
– "Do you know which part of the body can end a life the fastest?"
Aaron lowered his gun, thought for a moment, and answered:
– "The heart. Right?"
Jimson shook his head slightly and pointed a finger lightly at Aaron's temple:
– "The brain. One bullet through here, and it's over in an instant."
Pausing briefly, Jimson's lips curled into a chilling smirk:
– "But… an instant death is boring. There are places where a wound would make someone wish for death."
Aaron smiled casually, a deep meaning hidden in his eyes:
– "That's what makes it fun, isn't it?"
Jimson let out a rare, quiet laugh:
– "You're getting more and more like Lucian."
It was unclear whether it was praise or scolding, but Aaron laughed softly in response.
Yet in his heart, Aaron still harbored a question:
– "I thought… you would teach me how to use poison instead?"
Jimson exhaled a faint sigh, his expression indifferent:
– "Poison is even more dangerous than guns. It can kill others, but also easily kill the user. Lucian would never let his angel bear even a scratch."
Those cold yet gentle words made Aaron chuckle:
– "If I don't get bloodied, how can I be worthy of standing beside a dangerous wolf like Lucian?"
Jimson's lips curved slightly, as if in approval:
– "No one is born perfectly matched. They mold themselves to fit the one they choose."
Aaron fell silent, quietly engraving those words into his heart.
Jimson looked down at him, his gaze tinged with understanding:
– "When you can hit the bullseye, I'll teach you about poison."
It wasn't a sweet promise — it was a cold, absolute commitment.
Aaron tightened his grip on the gun, smiling radiantly:
– "You promised!"
He raised the gun again, ready to continue practicing, but a hand suddenly pressed down, lowering the barrel.
– "That's enough for today. Don't rush. The body needs rest so the mind doesn't falter."
Jimson turned away, his slender figure radiating coldness.
Aaron watched him, calling out:
– "I'll catch up to you soon… Jimson Snake."
Jimson didn't look back. He simply waved a hand — unclear whether it was mockery or acknowledgment.
One final sentence floated back on the wind:
– "Someone will escort you home. I'm busy."
And so, Aaron was left with only the loaded gun in his hand and an unshakable determination burning in his heart.
———————————————————
In the evening, within Raphael's vast house, the soft golden light cast a faint glow across the cold floor. The silence was broken only by the occasional rustle of paper against the dense shroud of night.
Raphael remained at his desk, tirelessly working through the thick stacks of documents spread across its surface.
Lyra stepped inside, carrying a steaming cup of water. She quietly placed it on the table, gently nudging it toward Raphael.
– "It's late… you should rest," Lyra's gentle voice broke the stillness.
Without looking up, Raphael gave a faint smile, his eyes still glued to the dense rows of words.
– "You go ahead. I'll rest once I'm done,"
his voice calm, tinged with a weariness carefully suppressed by patience.
– "Alright…"
Lyra replied softly, a flicker of concern passing through her gaze. But she said nothing more. She quietly turned and left the room, closing the door behind her, leaving Raphael once again in solitary silence.
In that vast house, though only two people lived within it, each occupied a separate room — each confined to their own world.
Outside, the night stretched deep and endless. The wind stirred the trees, causing the branches to whisper against the darkness — a sound like the soft sighs of the earth itself.
Lyra soon drifted into sleep, worn out by the long day.
But the study remained lit, and Raphael continued to lose himself in his work, his eyes growing heavier with every passing line. The exhaustion that had accumulated throughout the day weighed down on him like a suffocating blanket.
By the time he finished sorting through the documents, it was already deep into the night.
Raphael let out a heavy sigh, slumping into the armchair behind him, tilting his head back, one hand draped across his forehead as if trying to shield himself from the overwhelming haze of fatigue.
In that moment, the silence around him grew even more suffocating.
No sound.
No other presence.
Only the relentless ticking of the clock, carving the loneliness into sharper relief.
A shallow breath escaped his parched lips.
And then, almost like a confession meant only for the darkness to hear, Raphael whispered — a voice barely audible against the cold air:
– "Julian… if only you were here…"
Just one small sentence, yet it tore through the silence like a blade.
The helplessness and the aching longing twisted inside his chest, forming a pain so deep, so raw, it seemed to echo through the empty house.
——————————————————
In the laboratory, dim light flickered over rows of glass vials filled with strange, mysterious liquids. A faint scent of natural ingredients drifted through the air — delicate, yet carrying an undercurrent of hidden danger.
A slender figure worked intently at the lab table, his frame appearing almost fragile, yet every movement was steady and precise. His long, pale fingers moved swiftly, deftly concocting. His left hand remained gloved at all times, concealing a secret no one was permitted to touch.
Amidst the suffocating darkness,
Jimson Snake immersed himself silently in his work — no words, no expressions.
As if the entire world had narrowed down to nothing but him and the deadly poisons taking form under his hands.
Outside, footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate, cutting clearly through the heavy stillness.
A low knock sounded against the door.
Jimson offered no reply — and to those who knew him, his silence itself was an invitation.
The door creaked open softly.
Atropa stepped inside, tall and composed, his movements respectful yet unceremonious, as though long accustomed to the rhythm of this place.
His gaze briefly brushed over Jimson, still lost in his meticulous craft, then, without waiting for orders, he moved closer, quietly fetching the materials Jimson required.
No questions.
No instructions.
An instinctive understanding.
In the heavy silence that followed, Atropa finally spoke, his voice low and steady:
— "Boss, what are our next steps?"
Jimson's hands never faltered. His voice rose like a breath, light yet chilling, as if pouring ice into the air:
— "Continue observing Raphael. Watch every move Doll's Eyes makes. If Doll's Eyes dares to make a move…"
He paused, his silver-gray eyes flashing coldly, like a blade freshly unsheathed.
— "…warn them. No mercy."
Cold. Arrogant. Merciless.
Every order from Jimson's lips sounded like a death sentence, absolute and indisputable.
— "Understood, Boss."
Atropa bowed his head slightly, his voice firm with unquestioning loyalty.
The room plunged back into silence.
Atropa withdrew without another word, leaving Jimson alone with the night and his unfathomable thoughts.
The work at the table was finally complete.
Jimson exhaled a faint breath and let his body sink into the simple sofa tucked into the corner of the room.
At that moment, he no longer radiated sheer coldness; instead, a heavy, suppressed exhaustion weighed down his figure — as though a soul had escaped from a body that had been drained to its very limit.
Jimson's silver-gray eyes stared blankly into the pitch-black void ahead.
His thin lips parted, whispering words barely carried by the air, slow and sorrowful:
— "Little brother… I won't leave you alone in the next world."
A vow. A curse.
The words drifted into the darkness, vanishing as though they had never been spoken.
Leaving only Jimson, and the endless emptiness gnawing away at his frozen heart.
——————————————————
At Lucian's mansion, late at night, Aaron still couldn't fall asleep.
Perhaps it was the excitement for what awaited him, or perhaps it was the longing for Lucian — a longing he dared not disturb.
He tossed and turned on the bed, clutching the small cat, Solace, tightly against his chest, seeking a bit of comfort.
He told himself he needed to sleep early, to be ready for his next training session with Jimson Snake.
Thinking of Jimson, Aaron fell into a quiet contemplation.
In this ruthless world, Jimson brought him a strange sense of peace — cold, yet not heartless.
Perhaps that was why Aaron instinctively trusted him, believing Jimson was the only one who never made him feel afraid.
But Aaron was still too young, too unversed in how quickly the underworld could bare its fangs.
He had never seen what Jimson Snake would become once he chose to show no mercy.
Even demons would bow before that darkness.
Aaron had yet to realize.
He was stepping into a game whose rules he didn't yet understand.
Solace nuzzled into Aaron's arms, breathing softly.
In the quiet room, the pale moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting a fragile glow across the young boy's face.
Peace was the thinnest shell of all.
Beneath it, the storm had already begun to form.
EndofChapter15.