’’I apologize. I just recalled a few old memories.’’

Adyr’s voice came light, almost playful, his laughter spilling into the dim, stinking room and circling back on itself as it bounced between the cracked walls and the ceiling stained by years of smoke, and the man’s features twisted first with confusion and then with anger.

His jaw clenched, veins standing at his temple as his boots scraped over the rough concrete; with the boy already in his grip, he yanked him close and drove a fist deep into his stomach.

The impact sent a heavy, dull sound through the air, followed by a short gasp as Adyr folded and collapsed to the ground like a sack of flour thrown from a cart.

"You said memories?" The man’s voice cracked through his teeth, rough and low.

He stepped forward and kicked the boy—once, twice, again. His boots struck soft flesh, each hit sounding wetter than the last.

"You don’t have any memories. You don’t have any emotion. You don’t have any future," he shouted, the spit flying from his lips.

He didn’t slow down or hold back; his breath came ragged, his eyes wild. "You’re not allowed to have anything. Just me. You have only me."

He kept going, breath hitching between kicks, as if each strike could carve obedience into the boy’s bones. He wanted to break him, shatter everything that still lived behind those empty eyes until only one thing—submission—remained.

Then, on his next swing, his foot hit nothing.

He felt his balance gone, and he stumbled forward, the world tilting sideways before he hit the floor.

"What...?" The sound died as his eyes dropped to his right leg, and he finally saw it end clean at the knee; below the joint, there was only a raw, wet stump, blood pouring in sheets, pattering onto the concrete, and spreading in a dark, shining pool.

"AAAGHHH!" The scream tore from his throat, the pain crashing into him like delayed lightning.

"W-what did you do?" He turned his head toward the boy, his trembling hands trying to stop the bleeding.

The air reeked of blood and metal and something sharp like terror. His voice shook with his hands as he stared at the small figure on the concrete, trying to make sense of it. Adyr’s hands were empty—no blade, no shard, nothing that could have done this—and the absence made the horror bloom wider in his chest.

Then the boy began to move. Slowly, silently, he rose from the ground.

His shadow stretched long across the floor, and as he straightened, the man’s breath caught.

The dirt that had clung to the boy’s skin vanished. The bruises from the kicks disappeared. The body that stood before him was not that of a child anymore—taller, leaner, its outline heavy with quiet menace.

"You... what are you?" he whispered, voice cracking.

From Adyr’s shoulders, faint tendrils of black smoke drifted upward, twisting through the cold air like oil in water. The man’s chest tightened. His heart raced so violently he could hear it pounding in his ears as he dragged himself backward, pulling his severed leg and leaving a long trail of blood behind.

"Ah, you’re talking too much." Adyr’s tone was casual, almost lazy. He brushed invisible dust from his sleeves as if the chaos around him didn’t exist.

A heartbeat later, the man’s mouth erupted with new pain. "Aaaghhh!" His hand shot up to his face. When his trembling fingers met his lips, they found only blood—slick, hot, and dripping between his teeth. His lips were gone.

Adyr tilted his head, studying him like an artist admiring a half-finished painting. A quiet laugh slipped from his throat. "Yes... that was the second thing I took from you."

The man’s breathing came fast and shallow, his face pale as wax. He tried to speak with his mouth torn open, teeth slick with blood, and what came out were lipless sounds: "Ha... at’nin... ha ith... thiss...?" The words broke into wet consonants and leaking vowels, barely formed, his mind fracturing under the fear.

"You’re confused, huh?" Adyr knelt slowly until their eyes met, his calmness making the man’s panic even louder. "I’d be so much happier if this were happening now—not just in memory. I’d enjoy this moment all over again." His sigh carried something almost mournful.

Then came another scream. The man’s right eye burst into nothingness, vanishing like smoke in a gust. He clawed at his face, feeling only emptiness where the socket had been.

"And that," Adyr murmured, "was the third one." His disappointment softened into laughter. "How is it? My memories of you? They aren’t so boring, are they?"

As his words fell, the man’s left arm disappeared, ripped clean from existence. He shrieked, his voice breaking, echoing through the room until it became just another sound among the others—the drip of blood, the quiet hum of flies, and the faint rattle of wind slipping through cracks in the wall.

These were not illusions but memories carved into Adyr’s mind—the precise steps of how he had killed this man long ago.

"Don’t misunderstand," he continued, voice calm and patient, as if explaining a lesson. "It wasn’t this fast. It took years to turn you into this. Every day, piece by piece, you became smaller. Weaker. Less human."

With each word, more of the man vanished—skin, flesh, fragments of his voice—all consumed by the invisible force eating him alive.

"I kept you alive," Adyr went on, smiling faintly as the black smoke thickened around him like a living shadow. "I fed you your own flesh with my own hands. You resisted at first, but eventually, you begged—first for your life, then for your death. Those were the best times."

By now, only the man’s head and torso remained. The rest had been devoured by the darkness, leaving a half-shape of shredded meat, raw and trembling like something chewed and spat onto the ground.

"I would like to enjoy it longer," Adyr said quietly, straightening his back and brushing his fingers together, "but I still have important matters to take care of."

His gaze shifted toward the corner of the room, where a small girl crouched, her knees drawn to her chest. Her breath was trembling, her wide eyes frozen on him, reflecting both the fear and the silence that followed.

"Aysa."

Adyr’s eyes softened. The black smoke thinning off his skin eased as he took a step toward her—and stopped at the next.

"D-don’t come." Aysa’s voice tore out thin and high. She looked as if her composure had just snapped back into place, only to shatter again, small hands clutching her trembling legs, all color draining from her face.

"I..." He paused, eyes widening for a breath, and the look of understanding returned as he stepped back to where he had been.

He wanted to speak, to say something that would bring back her smile, to see the light return to her ice-blue eyes one last time, but nothing came. In the quiet that followed, a cold clarity settled over him: he was no longer the brother she remembered; he was a monster, shaped by the man who had made him so.