"Look who we have here," Elias mocked, his eyes tracing every inch of Kenzii's form. He paced in a slow, predatory circle around the young man, pausing occasionally to take a long, deliberate sip from a glass of wine. "I never thought anyone would actually find me. I've been waiting a long, long time."
Kenzii stared back with hollow eyes, his expression unreadable despite the lethality of his predicament. He stood perfectly still, his weight distributed evenly on the pressure-sensitive mine beneath his feet; a single tremor would trigger an explosion. While he appeared calm, it was only because he had long forgotten how to project fear; internally, his mind was a storm of calculations and rising dread.
"A boy? Just a super young man?" Elias chuckled, stopping directly in front of Kenzii. He reached out, gripping Kenzii's chin firmly to inspect his features. "What brings you here? Which high-ranking fool—which government official or billionaire—was stupid enough to deploy a child like you against me?" He leaned in closer. "You have courage, I'll give you that. Or perhaps you're just too ignorant to realize the depth of the hell you've walked into?
Elias released Kenzii's chin with a dismissive flick and drained his glass. He shattered the expensive crystal against the very path Kenzii had used to approach. "Still no reaction? Impressive. I wonder how long that bravery lasts when the blood starts to cool."
Maintaining eye contact, Elias reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial and a syringe. Kenzii watched the movements intently, his muscles coiled. Damn it, Kenzii thought bitterly, if I wasn't pinned to this mine, I would have ended his life ten minutes ago.
Elias drew the clear liquid into the syringe. "Don't worry, you won't die from something as mundane as a needle. I am a renowned artist; it would be a tragedy to end you in such a simple, uninspired fashion." He squirted a tiny bit of fluid from the needle, his eyes gleaming as the droplets caught the moonlight.
"Artist? Don't insult the craft; a true artist breathes life into their work, while you only know how to exhale rot." Kenzii's jaw tightened. "Art is a sanctuary meant to prolong existence and inspire the soul to continue, not a slaughterhouse for your depravity. You aren't creating a masterpiece—you're just documenting your own cowardice." He couldn't stomach the idea of his own passion being desecrated by a butcher like Elias.
Elias's eyebrows shot up, a look of genuine delight crossing his face. "Ah, so you are a fellow artist? How rare. When I was young, people looked at my work and saw nothing but worthless scribbles. My parents tried to force me away from my calling because they found it disgusting." He took a step closer, looking almost sentimental. "I'm happy to hear this. I rarely meet someone who—"
"I am nothing like you," Kenzii interrupted, his jaw tight. "I don't use sickening, depraved methods to create."
Elias erupted into a long, booming laugh. "How naive! Have you not learned that art is subjective? There are infinite ways to create, to interpret, and to manifest beauty. My methods are merely my way of presenting my masterpiece to the world." He sighed, tucking his free hand into his pocket, his expression shifting to one of mock disappointment. "I thought we might find common ground, but it seems your mind is too small to grasp the scope of true art."
"Enough talk," Elias hissed, raising the syringe to strike.
"It's better if we just end this now," Elias muttered. He raised the syringe, angling it for a lethal strike toward Kenzii's neck, but Kenzii was faster. He caught Elias's wrist mid-air, and using his free left hand, he delivered a punishing blow to Elias's exposed midsection. The force of the punch sent Elias doubling over, but he refused to let go. Gritting his teeth through the pain, Elias lashed out with his own free hand, catching Kenzii squarely in the face.
Kenzii's head snapped back, his other foot sliding back an inch, but he braced his weight with desperate focus where the mine is. He made sure that his foot remained firmly pressed against the mine. One slip, one lapse in pressure, and they would both be vaporized.
Elias lunged again, using his shoulder to ram into Kenzii's chest, trying to knock him off balance. Kenzii took the hit, the metal of the mine creaking beneath his boot. He couldn't move his lower body, so he fought like a cornered animal from the waist up. He grabbed Elias's collar, pulling him into a brutal headbutt that left both men dizzy.
They became a blur of desperate violence—elbows clashing, hands clawing for dominance over the syringe. Every time Kenzii felt his center of gravity shift, he poured all his willpower into his right leg, anchoring himself to the explosive device.
Elias tried to sweep Kenzii's other leg, but Kenzii countered with a downward strike to Elias's collarbone, forcing him to stay upright. They were locked in a deadly dance where the music was their gasping breath.
Finally, Kenzii saw an opening. He redirected Elias's momentum, managed to seize the syringe, and drove it toward Elias's chest. A smirk played across Kenzii's lips as the needle pierced the fabric of Elias's shirt.
But the victory was short-lived. Before Kenzii could depress the plunger, Elias roared and ripped the syringe away with raw, frantic strength. In one fluid, violent motion, he swung his arm around and plunged the needle deep into the side of Kenzii's neck.
Kenzii's hand flew up, grasping at the barrel of the syringe, but Elias's grip on his shoulder was like a vice, pinning him in place. As the strength began to drain from Kenzii's limbs, his resistance crumbled. Slowly and relentlessly, Elias pressed the plunger down, and Kenzii could feel the cold, chemical liquid beginning to seep into his veins.
""Sleep well, kid," Elias smirked as he let Kenzii collapse onto the grass. "He really believed he stepped on a real mine. Why would I do that? This island would blow apart, and I'm not about to destroy my precious island for worthless people like him."
.
"Oh, you're finally awake. Ah, it seems I grabbed the wrong dosage. It was supposed to last only sixty minutes, but it turned out to be thirty-four hours." Elias shook his head as if frustrated by the long wait.
Kenzii's eyes widened at the words; those thirty-four hours felt like a dying countdown for him. He immediately activated his demonic system to check the remaining time he had left to kill his target.
Total Duration: One Week.
Time Left: Fourteen Hours.
Kenzii began to thrash in his spot, and only then did he realize where he was. He was in a vast, white room filled with various medical kits and rows of canvases leaning against easels. The walls were covered in sickening pieces of art—among them, Kenzii recognized the victims Alas had shown them days ago.
Elias sat in the center of the room, facing an easel as if he were currently painting Kenzii.
Kenzii looked down at himself and saw he was bound hand and foot in a cross-style position against a circular board that looked like a black-and-white roulette wheel. He was no longer wearing his swimwear; he was stripped down to his boxer briefs.
"Did you know that I enjoy painting the people I turn into art before they become my masterpieces?" Elias smirked, looking like he was putting the finishing touches on his work.
"I hang them in my other room, the 'Yellow Studio.' Do you know why it's yellow? You're an artist, so you should know why." He stood up and set his brushes down on a nearby table. He stepped back to inspect the portrait, glancing back and forth between Kenzii and the canvas to compare the likeness. "Perfect," he said, picking up the canvas and walking toward Kenzii to show him. "Look at this. It looks exactly like you."
Kenzii stared at his own image, stunned by the style. He couldn't deny that Elias was a truly talented painter. The canvas captured everything: a wide shot of him tied to the roulette wheel, with a detailed close-up of his face below it. "I perfectly captured your face—your pointed nose and that tiny mole at the tip. Your thick eyebrows, your full lips, and the exact shade of their color. Even the small moles across your face. Tell me, are you a Taurus?" Kenzii knitted his brows; how could this man guess his zodiac sign?
"Because, look at the direction of your moles," Elias pointed to the marks on the canvas. "Your moles form the constellation of that sign. Your face alone is a work of art." He smiled widely.
"I'm glad I remembered the color of your eyes when they were still open—dark green. Those eyes remind me of someone I've painted before." He paused to think but couldn't recall who.
"Tell me, what is your heritage? Who sent you here, and how did you track me down?"
Kenzii simply scowled and gave him a sharp, sideways look. "For an old murderer who looks like a dirt-covered peasant, you sure talk a lot," Kenzii remarked. Elias was taken aback by the comment but eventually let out a laugh.
Elias froze, then burst into laughter. "And for a man so close to death, you are remarkably calm." He stepped back, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "What kind of masterpiece shall I make of you? Perhaps a Pierrot Portrait or something inspired by The Anatomy Lesson. Your features are so perfect, I don't want to ruin them. I'll give you a decent, dignified piece."
Elias turned and began walking toward the door with the canvas in hand. "Wait for me here. I'll just place this in the Yellow Art Studio. When I return, I'll begin transforming you into one of my greatest work of art." He didn't look back as the door clicked shut.