Bryce tore into the room, his heart pounding, the sound of gunshots still ringing in his ears. The air felt heavy, thick with smoke and something else — something colder. He stopped dead at the sight in front of him.
Executioner was sitting on the floor.
A pistol was clutched in his small hand, too big for him, almost comical if the situation wasn't what it was. He was laughing. Not the giggle of a baby, not the laugh of a child watching cartoons. It was low and sharp and wrong — too cold, too knowing. There was a body on the floor, twisted, lifeless. Blood spread slowly across the wooden boards like it had nowhere else to go.
Bryce's breath caught in his throat. He didn't even think. His legs moved on their own. He rushed forward, yanked the pistol from Executioner's tiny fingers, and scooped the boy up in one quick, hard motion. His arms shook as he held him.
"We need to get out of here," he whispered, voice tight. He couldn't look at the body again.
They left the house with nothing. No bags. No clothes. No plan. Just the two of them swallowed by the cold night air.
---
They found a town three cities over. Nothing big. Just an old gas station, some motels, and people who didn't ask questions. Bryce used the last of his cash to rent a dirty room that smelled like wet towels and cigarette smoke. The floor creaked with every step. He didn't care.
He was unlocking the door when he felt it — someone watching.
A man stood in the hallway. Tall. Quiet. He didn't say a word at first. Just stared. There was something strange about him, something off.
Then Bryce saw it — a third eye in the middle of his forehead. Just sitting there like it had always been part of his face.
The man spoke, calm and even. "You're holding a devil," he said. "A killer in the making."
Bryce's chest tightened. He glanced down at Executioner. The kid's face was unreadable, still and blank. But his eyes — his eyes were cold. They met the man's gaze without blinking. Then Executioner slowly raised his hand and made a slicing motion across his throat.
Bryce didn't see it. He stepped forward, shoulders tense. "Back off," he growled, pushing the man lightly toward his own door.
The man didn't resist. He just backed up and disappeared into the shadows.
But Executioner didn't take his eyes off that door. He stood still, silent, like a wire pulled too tight. Bryce wrapped an arm around him, tried to guide him inside.
"Let's go," he muttered. "It's late."
---
Inside, they cleaned the place together. Wiped the counters. Kicked dirt off the floor. Laughed a little. Tried to make it feel like home. For a moment, just a moment, it almost felt normal. Like a father and son trying to start over.
By the time they were done, it was quiet. The rain had started outside, tapping against the windows like soft fingers.
Bryce lay on the bed, his breathing slowing. "Get some sleep," he whispered.
But Executioner didn't move. He sat still for a long time, watching him. Then, slow and quiet, he stood.
He didn't speak.
He just moved.
Bryce didn't stir. He was too deep in sleep.
Executioner walked to the corner, pulled his small bag open. From inside, he took a sword — thin, sharp, polished like it was waiting for something. He touched the blade lightly with his finger. Then he turned and left the room.
The hallway was quiet.
The man's door was half open. Executioner slipped in. The man was asleep, arms folded across his chest, the third eye closed like the others.
One clean motion.
The sword moved fast. The man never even woke up. Blood spread across the pillow like ink dropped in water.
Executioner didn't stop. He left the room, footsteps light, and headed toward the exit.
That's when he saw her — a woman in a raincoat, umbrella in hand. She froze when she saw him. Her eyes widened.
"Whose child is this?" she asked gently, stepping closer.
Executioner hid the sword behind his back. Let her get close.
She smiled and reached out to lift him.
Then — one swift motion. The blade flashed. Her head dropped like a falling apple.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
He turned and ran back into the motel, footsteps masked by the rain. Slipped into the room like nothing happened.
Bryce didn't even move.
Executioner cleaned the blade in the bathroom, careful and slow. Wiped it dry. Put it away. Then climbed into bed beside Bryce.
Sleep came fast.
---
4:00 a.m.
Bryce woke with a jolt.
Screams outside. Sirens in the distance. Red and blue lights flashed faintly through the motel window. Then — a hard knock at the door.
Bryce sat up fast. Executioner was already standing near the window, staring out. His hands were tucked behind his back.
Bryce opened the door.
A police officer stood there. Tired eyes. Wet hair.
"I'm investigating a double murder," he said. "A man and a woman. Both killed last night. This floor. Just asking around."
Bryce's stomach sank. He looked past the officer, into the hallway. A body bag was being wheeled out. White sheet. Red stain.
"Did you see anything?" the cop asked.
Bryce shook his head. "No. I didn't hear anything."
His voice felt dry. Empty.
The officer nodded slowly. "Both were cut. Not shot. Clean slices. Surgical. Whoever did this knew what they were doing."
Bryce swallowed hard.
He closed the door. Locked it. Turned around.
Executioner was sitting in the chair, swinging his legs again. Smiling.
Bryce's voice shook. "Did you kill them?"
The boy leaned back. "Yeah," he said. Just like that. Calm. Easy.
Bryce's knees almost gave out. "Why? Why the hell would you do that?"
"They were a threat," Executioner said. "People like them... they talk too much. They watch. They think they understand things. They don't. So I ended it."
"You don't get to decide that!" Bryce snapped. "You're just a kid!"
Executioner tilted his head. "I'm not just a kid, Bryce. You know that."
"You're not a monster," Bryce whispered. "You're my son."
Executioner stood.
"You call me son," he said. "But you're the one who brought me here. You picked me up from that bed. You gave me this name."
Bryce couldn't speak.
Executioner stepped closer.
"You made me, Bryce."
Then he walked back to the window.
And for the first time, Bryce saw it — the truth behind those green eyes.
Not a boy.
Not anymore.
Something else looked back at him.
Something born from death, fire, and lightning.