Lucifer Argent P.O.V
"Ah, son, there you are. She's terribly useless, she has to go," my Dad stated with a chilling lack of remorse.
A sudden spark of unusual hope flickered within me. "You're releasing her?" I asked, the notion of her freedom feeling strangely significant.
"Of course not, I'm gonna kill her. What happened to you?" he questioned, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Nothing happened to me, I still hate them," I denied vehemently, suppressing the internal conflict raging within me.
My gaze shifted to Valentine, unconscious and battered on the floor, slashes on her skin oozing blood. Every fiber of my being screamed to intervene, to protect her, but I fought against the instinct, immobilized by an internal struggle.
"Oh really, ready to do a task I'm gonna ask you now?" he dared, a sinister edge to his tone.
"Bring it on," I responded, a facade of defiance masking the internal turmoil.
Valentine stirred, gradually regaining consciousness as she knelt on the floor. Relief washed over me, a sensation I hadn't expected.
For the first time, I found myself unprepared for the task my Dad dared me to undertake. It wasn't a matter of capability but a conscious choice, a deviation from my usual compliance. The lines of loyalty and morality blurred, and I stood at the precipice of a decision that could redefine everything.
"Okay then, kill her," he ordered, tossing a gun in my direction.
I caught it mid-air, my hands trembling as I processed the weight of the weapon in my grasp. The stark reality of the situation unfolded before me, and I turned my gaze towards her. Tearful eyes met mine, brimming with exhaustion and despair. She whimpered, resigned to whatever fate awaited her.
Aiming the gun at her felt like aiming at my own humanity. Her weakened state tugged at my conscience, and the eyes that once held hope were now closed, awaiting the inevitable pull of the trigger.
Did she genuinely believe I could go through with it? I had uttered the words, but as I stood there with the gun in hand, the gravity of my own declaration sank in. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I couldn't bring myself to pull that trigger.
A guard intervened, yanking her hair to force her face upward, giving me an easier aim. The pressure mounted as my father's voice echoed, demanding proof of my allegiance.
"Prove it, son. Shoot her now!" he commanded.
The gun in my hands felt heavier than any weapon I had ever wielded. My hands shook, a stark contrast to the ease with which I had handled larger firearms in the past. A single tear traced down her cheek, amplifying the weight of my internal struggle.
"I can't," I confessed, my voice betraying the conflict raging within.
"Why can't you? You're disgracing me!" he bellowed, frustration etched across his face. His response was a resounding slap that echoed through the room.
"No!" she screamed, a desperate plea that cut through the tension.
My attention snapped towards her as she cried out, "Kill me, but don't hurt him."
"Got your wish, child," my father declared, seizing the gun from my trembling hands. Before I could react, he pulled the trigger, the deafening sound resonating with the collapse of my world.
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Sorry for the short chappie, school started back, trying my best.
- Valentine Winters