Her gaze snapped forward, searching, scanning past the fire, past the movement, until she found him.
Daruis stood at the edge of it all, far enough from the flames that the light only touched him in fragments, his figure half-shadowed, his posture relaxed as if he were observing something routine rather than destruction. He didn't look at her immediately, his attention fixed instead on the progression of the attack, on the way the constructs moved through the village with quiet precision.
"Please," Lysira said, the word leaving her before she could stop it, before she could filter it into something stronger, something less exposed. "Stop this."
Daruis didn't respond.
He took a few steps forward, not toward her, but along the edge of the scene, his gaze shifting from one point to another as if assessing the efficiency of the operation rather than the consequences.
"They weren't part of this," Lysira continued, her voice gaining urgency now, the words coming faster, less controlled. "They have nothing to do with you—this is between us."
That made him pause.
Not because of what she said, but because he had finished observing what he needed.
Only then did he turn.
His eyes found her without effort, his expression unchanged, the faintest trace of something resembling a smile touching his features, though it carried no warmth at all.
"You're still thinking like that," he said, his tone calm, almost conversational.
Lysira shook her head, the motion small but desperate. "Don't do this. If you want me, then take me. Leave them out of it."
Daruis tilted his head slightly, studying her for a moment as if considering the request.
Then he shook his head.
"No," he said simply.
The word settled heavily, final in a way that left no room for interpretation.
"You came to kill me," he continued, his voice steady, unhurried. "Twice. You brought your skill, your training, your intent. And you failed."
Another structure fell behind him, the sound of it collapsing punctuating the space between his words.
"This," he added, gesturing faintly toward the burning village without looking back, "is what failure looks like when it has consequences."
Lysira's breath hitched, her grip tightening uselessly against the restraint holding her. "They didn't fail. I did."
"Same thing," Daruis replied.
"No," she said, sharper now, forcing the word out despite the way her voice threatened to break. "They're not part of this. They don't even know—"
"They don't need to," he cut in.
His gaze didn't waver.
"They're connected to you. That's enough."
Lysira shook her head again, more forceful this time. "You're not making a point. This doesn't prove anything."
Daruis let out a quiet breath, something close to a sigh. "You still think this is about proving something."
He took a step closer, not enough to close the distance entirely, but enough that his presence felt more immediate, more defined.
"It's not," he said. "It's about removing variables."
Her expression tightened. "They're people."
"They're leverage," he corrected.
Another burst of plasma lit the edge of the village, followed by the sharp sound of something giving way under force, and Lysira's eyes flicked toward it instinctively before snapping back to him.
"Please," she said again, quieter now, the word stripped down to its core, no longer trying to argue, no longer trying to reason. "Just stop."
Daruis watched her for a moment.
Then looked away.
"Rule one," he said, his tone shifting slightly, not louder, not harsher, but colder in a way that settled deeper. "Attachment is a liability."
Lysira stared at him, the words not fully registering at first, not in the context of everything happening around them.
"You're feeling it right now," he continued, as if explaining something obvious. "That hesitation. That need to protect something that can't protect you back."
Another explosion sounded in the distance.
"Rule two," he went on, ignoring the interruption entirely. "Mercy is a delay, not a solution."
Lysira's breath came unevenly now, her focus splitting between him and the destruction behind him, her mind trying to process both at once and failing.
"You had a chance to kill me," Daruis said. "You didn't take it cleanly. You hesitated, you adjusted, you tried to control the situation instead of ending it."
His gaze returned to her.
"That's mercy," he said. "And this is the result."
Lysira shook her head weakly. "That's not—"
"Rule three," he continued, cutting through her words without pause. "If you fail, you don't get to decide the cost."
The silence that followed was not empty.
It was filled with everything she couldn't stop, the fire, sound. The realization that none of this was changing.
Her body sagged slightly against the restraint, the strength in her limbs draining in a way that had nothing to do with injury and everything to do with what she was being forced to watch.
Daruis didn't speak again. He didn't need to.
The lesson, as far as he was concerned, had been delivered.
By the time the last structure collapsed and the movement of the constructs slowed to a stop, there was nothing left of the village that resembled what it had been.
Only ash and burning corpses, some even suffered as theyre death was quite slow and painful, the bots didn't even bother putting them out of their misery.
The dark sphere lifted sometime after that, the boundary dissolving without trace, leaving the destruction behind as if it had always been that way.
Lysira didn't remember when they moved her. Only that the next time she was aware of anything, the air had changed again.
The cell was small, enclosed, the same one she had been kept in before, the walls close enough to make movement feel restricted even without restraints. The door shut behind her with a solid, final sound, the lock engaging without hesitation.
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Whatever had been holding her together before was gone now, replaced by something quieter, heavier, settling into place without resistance.
Outside, the Driods returned to their routines, the system continuing forward without pause.
And inside the cell, Lysira sat in the silence, the weight of what she had seen pressing down in a way that didn't need to be acknowledged out loud to remain.
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A/N: If you haven't already, drop a review or comment on my work, share some of your concerns if theres any and don't forget to drop a vote