LOVE DEADLY GUN

“Tu es à moi… Delilah.” A couple giggles softly, teasing each other with sweet and slightly freaky words. Their young child, barely five years old, watches them with wide, confused eyes. “Mom… why does Dad act so weird around you?” The woman chuckles softly, kneeling beside her son and gently stroking his hair. The little boy pouts, clearly curious and eager for answers. “Dad’s not being weird,” she explains with a smile. “He’s just being possessive. It’s normal—and one day, you’ll understand.” The child shakes his head and stomps his tiny foot in protest. “No! I swear I won’t be like Dad. Why should I feel possessive over someone, Mom?” His father scoops him up in his arms, playfully pinching his cheek. The boy giggles, smiling brightly. “I know you’ll marry someone one day… maybe someone short and cute.” The boy pouts harder. “Nope. I wanna marry someone like Mom.” “Oh? And what’s Mom like?” his dad teases, carrying him over to her. The little boy beams. “An angel.” That memory became the sweetest thing I held onto... until one day— • • • • • 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄. Those are the only words that plague my mind since I lost my dear parents when I was seven. I still remember that day as if it happened yesterday. The rain poured endlessly, a relentless storm that seemed to mourn alongside me. Each drop hit the ground like a cruel drumbeat, the echoes seeping into my soul. The air was cold, thick with the metallic tang of blood and the earthy scent of wet soil. She lay there, her lifeless body sprawled on the muddy ground, her once radiant face now pale and expressionless. Her dark, flowing hair clung to her skin, matted with dirt and blood. Her dress, a soft blue that she always said was her favorite, was torn and soaked in crimson. Her eyes. I can’t forget her eyes. They stared blankly at the heavens above, as though pleading with God to reverse the cruel fate that had befallen her. Those eyes had always been so full of love and warmth, but that day, they were empty, robbed of the spark that once made her so alive. I clutched her hand—cold and stiff now—and shook her desperately. "Wake up, Mama," I sobbed, my small hands trembling as I tried to pull her into my arms. "Please, wake up!" But she didn’t move. But she didn’t move. I wanted to stay there beside her forever… but then I saw it. Him. My father. His body was just a few feet away—crumpled against a shattered tree trunk, half-covered in leaves and blood. My breath hitched. I stumbled toward him, the mud clinging to my legs like chains trying to hold me back. “Dad…?” My voice cracked. “Papa…!” I dropped to my knees, crawling to him with shaking hands. His eyes were open, but just like hers, they stared blankly into nothingness. His chest didn’t rise, his fingers didn’t twitch. The man who used to swing me in the air and joke about stealing Mom from me was… gone. “No—No—NO!!” My scream tore through the rain as I shook his body violently. “WAKE UP!! PLEASE—DON’T LEAVE ME TOO!!” My hands were stained red, but I didn’t care. I clawed at his jacket, pounding his chest with my fists until they ached. Tears and rain blurred my vision, but something—something—glinted beneath the collar of his coat. I leaned closer. There, seared into the flesh between his shoulder blades—burned deep like a brand—was a seal. A grotesque, swirling mark, shaped like a distorted crescent entwined with a cracked eye. The skin around it was charred, blackened as if someone had pressed something scorching hot against him just before he died. It wasn’t random. It was a message. A warning. A claim. My eyes widened as the shape shimmered faintly against the rain. For a brief second, I thought I saw a hand—gloved in black leather—pressing something glowing to his back. A twisted, shadowy figure. The image flickered in my mind like a nightmare half-remembered. “No… no, what is this…?” I backed away, slipping on the mud, hands shaking violently. They didn’t just kill my parents. They marked them. Like trophies. Like… possessions. The seal was burned into my memory that night. Its shape haunted my dreams, twisted through my nightmares like a serpent coiling around my soul. And even now, years later, I still feel it searing beneath my skin—like it wasn’t just meant for them. But for me too. I screamed until my throat burned, my voice raw and hoarse, but the only answer was the relentless pounding of the rain. I was too young to understand why they wouldn’t wake up. Too young to comprehend the cruelty of the world. But even then, I knew one thing: someone had taken from me. And he was still there. The man stood a few feet away, his silhouette outlined by the rain. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face shadowed by the brim of a dark hat. I could see the faint outline of a smirk playing on his lips, the cold arrogance in his posture as he twirled a small object between his fingers. It was an amulet. The rain glistened off its surface as he held it up, letting me catch a glimpse. Inside was a picture—of a woman and a little girl with golden hair. A stark contrast to the scene before me. My chest tightened with a mixture of fear and rage, the image burning itself into my memory. I screamed again, this time not in despair but in pure, unadulterated hatred. I wanted to run at him, to claw at his smug face, to make him pay for what he had done. But I couldn’t move. My legs felt like they were weighed down by the mud, or maybe by the overwhelming grief. He laughed—a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine. Then, without a word, he turned his back on me and walked away, his footsteps splashing through the puddles. The amulet dangled from his hand, swinging mockingly as he disappeared into the storm. That day, something inside me shattered. The vibrant, carefree child I had been was gone, buried alongside my parents in the cold, unyielding ground. In their place was someone else—someone hollow, someone consumed by one singular purpose. Revenge. • • • • • Years later, I still see that day every time I close my eyes. The rain, the blood, the amulet—all of it plays on an endless loop in my mind. It’s what drives me, what keeps me going in this dark, unforgiving world. My hands are no longer the small, trembling ones of a helpless child. They’re scarred, calloused, and stained with the blood of countless others. My grip on the gun is steady now, the metal cold and familiar against my palm. But the pain in my chest is the same. The anger, the grief—it never went away. I sit in the dimly lit room, the walls around me cracked and stained with age. The only source of light is the flickering bulb overhead, casting eerie shadows that dance across the peeling wallpaper. On the table before me is a pile of cash, its crisp edges marked with the fingerprints of my latest client. Across from me stands Œ, my partner in crime. Œ is an enigma. No one knows his real name, not even me. All I know is that he’s the only person besides Imros that I could trust in this godforsaken world. His lean frame is draped in a tailored suit, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he leans casually against the wall. A cigarette dangles from his lips, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. "Another job?" he asks, his voice is smooth and unbothered. I nod, tossing a photograph onto the table. He picks it up, his expression unreadable as he studies the image. "Pretty girl," he says, flicking the photo back at me. "What’s her story?" I don’t answer. Instead, I let my eyes drift to the picture pinned on the wall behind him. It’s Psyche Calathea. She looks so innocent, so untainted by the darkness that consumes this world. Her golden hair cascades down her shoulders, her ocean blue eyes sparkling with kindness and warmth. It’s almost enough to make me hesitate. Almost. But then I remember the man with the amulet. I remember my mother’s lifeless body. And I remind myself that Psyche is connected to him. She has to be. "She’s the next target," I say finally, my voice was cold and detached. Œ raises an eyebrow. "You sure you can handle this one? You’ve been acting... different lately." I glare at him, my grip tightening on the gun. "I can handle it." He shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. "Whatever you say, boss. Just don’t let those big, sad eyes of hers mess with your head." • • • • • 𝑷𝒂𝒑..𝑷𝒂𝒑..𝑷𝒂𝒑..𝑷𝒂𝒑..𝑷𝒂𝒑..𝑷𝒂𝒑..𝑷𝒂𝒑.. The sound of footsteps echoes through the room, cutting through the tense silence. I turn to see a woman approaching, her high heels clicking against the worn floorboards. Her lips are painted a vivid red, her dark hair pulled back into an elegant bun. Beside her stands a man in a black suit, his face expressionless as he carries a briefcase. The woman tosses the briefcase onto the table, the sound reverberating through the room. She doesn’t bother with pleasantries. Instead, she points at the photo on the wall, her red-painted nails glinting under the light. "𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐑..," she says, her voice sharp and commanding. I don’t respond. I simply nod, my eyes fixed on the picture of Psyche. "Consider it done," I say, my voice is steady. The woman smirks, satisfied, and turns on her heel, her heels clicking against the floor as she leaves. Most of my targets are usually women. Why? Because most of my customers are their husbands that are being cheated on. Some of them try to seduce me and f**k me but that's just waste of their time because I would never fall for it. Lay your filthy hands on me..I would definitely torture you until you beg me for your death. Well, I guess maybe that's why I'm still 'pure' even while doing this kind of job. Plus, my code name is A'Shot. • • • • • Hours later, I find myself alone in the room, staring at Psyche’s photo. My fingers trace the edges of the picture, the paper crinkling slightly under my touch. Her face taunts me, a reminder of everything I’ve lost and everything I’ve become. "Delilah," I whisper, my mother’s name slipping from my lips like a prayer. "I promise, I’ll make him pay. Even if it means going through her." The knife in my hand glints under the dim light as I stab it into the picture, the blade sinking deep into her smiling face. But as I pull the knife back, I feel a strange unease settle over me. For the first time in years, doubt creeps into my mind. What..if.. ♫♫♫♫ I tread the path of shadowed strife, A hired hand, a stolen life. With every shot, a soul erased, Yet still the past I cannot face. A mother's scream, a child's despair, Blood-soaked ground, the cold night air. Her lifeless eyes, the rain's cruel drum, A silent vow: Your time will come. Years have passed, the hunt is drawn long, Each target marked, each purpose strong. Their sins, their lies, I've brought to light, But still, my vengeance burns at night. Until one day, the fates align, A twist of fate, a wretched sign. The killer's blood, his daughter's name, Now rests within my deadly aim. Her eyes are so kind, her laughter pure, But bloodlines carry sins unsure. Do I destroy what's not her crime, Or stain my soul one final time? The grip grows tight, the shadows call, Her innocence-my bitter thrall. A hunter lost, a soul torn wide, Revenge or mercy-how to decide? 𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑑 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤..ℎ𝑒ℎ𝑒~