White hair. Trimd beard. Expensive suit wrinkled from sudden transit, eyes wide with shock and disorientation.
A man who had been sitting comfortably in his private office only monts ago, ripped out of safety without warning.
Ravis’s father.
He blinked rapidly, trying to orient himself, then his gaze snapped downward—and all the color drained from his face.
"Ravis—? Ravis!" He shouted, voice cracking as he struggled uselessly against the invisible restraint. "What—what is this? What happened to you? Who did this to you?!"
Seeing his father broke sothing.
Ravis’s composure shattered completely, his face twisting as tears stread freely down his cheeks, voice collapsing into sothing small and childish.
"Daddy—!" He sobbed. "Daddy, look at —look what they did to ! He stabbed —he really stabbed —!"
The man’s expression twisted instantly into fury, veins standing out in his neck as he glared around wildly.
"What the hell did you do to my boy?!" He roared. "What the hell did you do to my son, you little—"
He turned to Elgorn and the others, roaring:
"If ANYONE moves, you’ll be answering to the Federation! STAND DOWN, ALL OF YOU—!"
But Mika hadn’t said a word yet.
He just turned, slowly, calmly, to look directly at Ravis’s father.
"Shut up." He said.
The words weren’t shouted. Barely louder than a whisper.
But they took hold.
The man opened his mouth again—furious, screaming internally—but no sound ca.
Not a croak.
Not a syllable.
His lips were moving. But sealed. Sothing invisible was binding his ability to speak, to interfere. He clawed at his throat, eyes panicking now, sweat starting to bead on his face.
And Mika finally spoke again.
"Your son told I didn’t have the guts." He said cooly, staring into the man’s eyes. "That I didn’t have the guts to touch soone like you. That I wouldn’t dare stand up to your Federation. That I’d crumble under the threat of power."
He raised one hand casually.
"But now, I’ve dragged you out of your office. Across half the city. With one sword."
A pause.
"I think I’ve already proven I have guts, don’t you think?"
And then—he looked back at Ravis.
The boy was sobbing now, trembling violently, babbling incoherently.
"No—nononono—please don’t—don’t look at —don’t—don’t touch —"
Mika drifted forward, slowly.
"But the real question is...do you?" He said, eyes fixed on Ravis. "Do you have the guts that you speak so much off? And to see if you really do..."
"...let’s open you up and check inside, shall we?"
And then suddenly, another dagger appeared again in his hand.
Different than the others. Curved. Thicker. More like a gutting blade.
Mika’s hand then closed around the front of Ravis’s shirt and lifted—pulling it up over his ribs, revealing his twitching abdon. The skin was pale, heaving with each terrified breath.
And then the blade lowered.
Everyone knew what was about to happen.
Elgorn turned away.
The guards looked nauseated.
Ravis’s father thrashed wildly in the air, screaming with his eyes—but no sound ca.
’Don’t do it—DON’T!’ His mind was shrieking.
But Mika didn’t flinch.
He pressed the dagger to the skin—and with a clean, almost surgical motion, slid it in.
SHLLLLK!
"AHHHKKKHKKAAAAA!!!!!!"
Ravis shrieked. A high, gasping, guttural bellow of terror. His body writhed, but the blades held him firm.
And Mika...Mika just kept going.
The blade sank deeper. Flesh split, blood welled. He angled the knife sideways and slashed down.
A line opened across Ravis’s abdon.
Slick heat poured out over the boy’s belly, and then—Mika reached in.
He gripped whatever was inside.
And pulled.
Intestines spilled out in a wet, glistening cascade—ropy, steaming coils of pink and red, slick with blood and mucus. They slithered over Ravis’s thighs, splattering against his legs with wet slaps.
Mika didn’t care about the ss and wrapped the loop around his fist, tugging more free—slow, thodical—until a pile of of gut hung in the air, dripping steadily.
anwhile, Ravis’s eyes rolled back, body convulsing in shock, voice reduced to wet, choking sobs.
The father thrashed wildly, muffled screams of rage and horror turning to desperate, animal pleading.
But Mika just held up the coil of intestines, letting them drip.
"You kept bragging about guts. But look at you now."
He chuckled cruelly.
"You really don’t have any left."
Seeing the sight before him, Chief Elgorn couldn’t move.
He just stood there, his mind lurching in and out of the mont as he stared at the body.
Ravis hung slack in the air, still suspended by the four divine blades, though his body had long since stopped resisting. His arms and legs were limp now, every inch of him soaked in blood, his pale skin glazed with sweat and streaks of torn viscera.
His abdon was torn completely open—a hollow cavity where his organs once were. Flesh peeled back, insides hanging, blood dripping in thick rhythmic splashes onto the floor below.
The exposed ribs glistened wetly. His intestines lay in heaps like ropes tossed aside by a butcher who had no intention of cleaning up.
His eyes were half-open. Vacant. And finally dead.
And standing before him was Mika. Covered from shoulder to feet in blood. It stained his collar, soaked into the fabric of his cloak, streaked across his cheeks and his fingers, still wet and twitching slightly from the effort.
Elgorn staggered.
He felt it—his stomach turning, bile rising, throat burning. His mouth opened slightly, but no words ca.
One of the guards behind him didn’t hold it in.
A sharp gag. A heavy, wet splattering noise from the side as the man dropped to his knees and vomited violently onto the floor, unable to even move away from the sight before it overwheld him.
Another turned his face and held a hand over his mouth, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes—not from emotion, but pure sensory revolt.
Most of them couldn’t even look.
They stared at the platform. At the sky. Anywhere but the disemboweled corpse of Ravis and the nightmare youth standing in front of him.
Because this wasn’t just murder.
This was sacrilege.
This was the son of a Federation executive.
Killed.
While his father watched.
Elgorn’s hands trembled.
And then Mika moved again.
He turned slowly, calmly, toward the older man—still suspended in the air by the floating sword, his legs dangling, his mouth still sealed shut by whatever invisible force Mika had invoked.
Tears ran down the man’s cheeks now, his face twisted in agony, horror, helplessness. He shook his head wildly, sobbing silently as his bloodied son swayed slightly in front of him, head bobbing limply.
Mika looked up at him.
And spoke.
"None of this would’ve happened if you’d been a decent father."
The man’s eyes widened.
Mika didn’t look angry. Didn’t even raise his voice.
"You raised him to believe he was untouchable. That he could mock people, hurt people, lie, bribe, cheat, laugh in people’s faces, and never answer for it."
"You fed him that delusion, day after day. Federation heir. Executive privilege. Absolute impunity. You taught him he didn’t need consequences."
He stopped directly in front of the floating man, Ravis’s intestines still looped over one arm.
"So this?" Mika whispered, eyes locking onto the man’s. "This is your fault."
The man thrashed, but he couldn’t make a sound.
"And if you can’t even raise a child right." Mika continued. "How the hell does anyone trust you with an organization that helps run a country?"
Silence.
"So, that’s why you’re not needed." Mika said. "There’s no use for you in this world anymore."
And with that—he moved.
In one sickening motion, Mika twisted Ravis’s slack intestines around in his hand and threw them upwards—over the man’s head, catching them as they looped around his throat.
A second loop. A third.
They cinched tight.
The man’s eyes went wide as his air vanished.
He kicked violently, struggling to break free, but Mika pulled the guts like rope, tightening the grisly noose around the man’s neck.
The wet sounds—SQUCHH!—CHKK!—GLRRRRKK!—were worse than the visuals. Each tug made the blood-slick innards squeal across the man’s throat, winding tighter, pressing into his trachea.
His feet flailed midair and the bodyguards lost it.
One dropped to his knees, back turned, vomiting onto the floor as the retching sounds joined the wet choking of Ravis’s father.
Another collapsed, hand over his mouth, sobbing, whispering.
"I didn’t sign up for this—I didn’t—I didn’t—"
And Mika?
Mika floated behind the suspended man and pulled.
Hard.
The blood-soaked coils twisted into the skin, digging into the soft tissue of his neck as the weight of his own body pressed downward. The blood from the organ slicked his throat, ran into his collar, soaking the fine white fabric of his uniform.
He convulsed.
Tried to grab at it.
His fingers clawed. But Mika was already pulling harder, twisting the knots tighter, wrapping another loop over the top.
The man’s legs thrashed violently now, muscles seizing.
And then, finally...he went still.
His head drooped forward. His limbs slackened.
The only thing holding him upright were the coils of his own son’s guts wrapped around his neck.
And unable to handle it anymore, Elgorn turned and vomited.
Hard. Violently. He bent over, hands on knees, retching into the floor as his stomach purged every last ounce of fluid it could spare.
Another guard passed out.
A third turned just and flew away at top speed.
And Mika?
He let the corpse go.
It hit the ground with a wet thump, landing partially across the pool of blood beneath Ravis’s hanging body.
And just like that, the two of them—father and son—lay there, still, one eviscerated, the other strangled with the proof of his parental failure wrapped tightly around his neck.
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