09-27-2025, 10:24 PM
He sat like a marble carving, his eyes shadowed but bright with something primal beneath the calm. The laughter had long died down. Even the crew felt the shift in the air. Dante walked like a man who didn’t fear consequences. His voice dripped with the kind of certainty Zholdin had only ever seen in madmen and warlords.
But when the man’s fingers trailed across Zholdin’s shoulders, lingering too long, something electric snapped through the room. Chairs scraped. Boots thudded. Limon and Mikov were on their feet in an instant, hands reaching for weapons, the rest not far behind despite their collective injuries. The room didn’t breathe.
Zholdin lifted a hand. Just a flick of his fingers. Nothing more. And like dogs to a whistle, the men froze, glanced at one another, then slowly, deliberately, backed down. No orders. No barked commands. Just one movement, and the room obeyed.
Zholdin smirked, but it was the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “If you really want to suck my dick, you’ll have to ask nicely,” he said. A ripple of uneasy laughter moved through the crew, unsure whether they were meant to laugh or brace for a corpse.
Zholdin stood with the stiffness of a man who’d killed through worse. His leg burned from the venom, but he didn’t limp, refusing to show it now. His hands flexed once at his sides facing Dante full on.
His green was of bared teeth that may as well have shown fangs for all their mirth.
"Let me tell you something, Dante." His voice curled around the name like it was something he was ready to break. "I don’t run. I don’t kneel. And if I find out there’s something burning inside me that can tear the world apart?”
Arms spreading lightly, like daring a bullet to do its job, he accepted this duel.
"Then light the fucking match.”
But when the man’s fingers trailed across Zholdin’s shoulders, lingering too long, something electric snapped through the room. Chairs scraped. Boots thudded. Limon and Mikov were on their feet in an instant, hands reaching for weapons, the rest not far behind despite their collective injuries. The room didn’t breathe.
Zholdin lifted a hand. Just a flick of his fingers. Nothing more. And like dogs to a whistle, the men froze, glanced at one another, then slowly, deliberately, backed down. No orders. No barked commands. Just one movement, and the room obeyed.
Zholdin smirked, but it was the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “If you really want to suck my dick, you’ll have to ask nicely,” he said. A ripple of uneasy laughter moved through the crew, unsure whether they were meant to laugh or brace for a corpse.
Zholdin stood with the stiffness of a man who’d killed through worse. His leg burned from the venom, but he didn’t limp, refusing to show it now. His hands flexed once at his sides facing Dante full on.
His green was of bared teeth that may as well have shown fangs for all their mirth.
"Let me tell you something, Dante." His voice curled around the name like it was something he was ready to break. "I don’t run. I don’t kneel. And if I find out there’s something burning inside me that can tear the world apart?”
Arms spreading lightly, like daring a bullet to do its job, he accepted this duel.
"Then light the fucking match.”
There is nothing false in the words of demons