Page 115 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

His legs trail blood in the water, the wounds hampering any attempt to brace himself for what's coming. But I want him to feel it — that desperate burn in his lungs as they scream for oxygen he doesn't deserve. That primal panic when your body betrays you when survival instinct wages war against conscious control.

He manages barely a minute before the struggle becomes visible - his composed researcher's facade crumbling under the weight of real experience. Just as his mouth opens to gulp that first deadly breath of water, I press the button to halt the submersion.

His gasping relief draws a dark smile to my lips. Because I can see in his wild, fear-filled eyes that he knows what comes next. He understands with perfect clarity that his wounded legs won't save him from the drop into that endless pit — the abyss where so many omega bodies lie forgotten, their decomposing forms a testament to his "scientific pursuits."

My hand hovers over the final button as an unexpected moment of hesitation strikes.

Would showing mercy make me better than him? Would sparing his life prove I've retained something he lost long ago?

Atlas's arm wraps possessively around my waist, his solid presence pressing against my back with grounding strength.

"Did he give you mercy when you needed a moment of redemption?"

I tilt my head up, finding his lips set in a firm line of judgment.

"No," I whisper, the word carrying years of accumulated pain.

"Then he doesn't deserve your empathy. He hasn't earned that grace." Atlas's words carry absolute conviction. "His regret comes only because death knocks at his door, not from true understanding of his crimes. He would never have offered you the same mercy you consider extending to him." His grip tightens slightly.

"Seek the revenge you and all those fallen omegas deserve, little Goddess."

The title sends warmth through me even in this moment of darkness. His approval, his support, his understanding of why this matters — it steadies my resolve.

With a nod of finality, I press the button.

The researcher's face registers pure horror in the split second before the floor drops away. His scream echoes up from the pit, growing fainter until silence reclaims the chamber.

The shadows sing a victory hymn in my mind, celebrating this moment of balanced scales. One tormentor facing the fate he dealt so casually to others.

One debt paid in the currency of perfect justice.

Atlas's continued embrace keeps me anchored in the present, preventing me from losing myself in the darkness of vengeance. His strength reminds me that this isn't about becoming likethem — it's about ensuring consequences for choices freely made.

Watching the empty chamber, I feel no regret.No guilt.Just a cold satisfaction that one more monster has faced judgment for his crimes. One more debt has been paid in full.

The water drains away, leaving no evidence of what transpired except for faint traces of blood. How fitting that this chamber, designed to hide evidence of omega deaths, now conceals the fate of one of its creators.

"Time to move," Atlas murmurs against my hair, his tactical focus returning. But his arm lingers around my waist for a moment longer, offering comfort even as we prepare to face whatever awaits us beyond this room.

I take one last look at the chamber that featured in so many of my nightmares. It holds no power over me now. Its horrors have been turned back on its creator, its purpose perverted to serve justice rather than torment.

Let his daughter wonder what happened to him.

Allow his family to feel the uncertainty that plagued so many omega families.

May his disappearance become another of Ravenscroft's unsolved mysteries.

The shadows hum their approval as we turn away from the chamber. Their song carries notes of satisfaction and anticipation — one debt paid, but more justice yet to be served.

Because somewhere in this facility, more tormentors await their reckoning. More monsters hide behind clinical masks and scientific justifications. More debts remain to be collected.

Atlas's arm finally releases my waist, but his presence remains solid beside me.

With one final glance at the chamber, we decide to move. It’s not long before we’re back in the hallway, and heading towardthe nearest exit we both can recall from my experience and his memorization of the blueprints.

Running beside Atlas toward promised freedom, my focus narrows to each turn, each corridor that brings us closer to escape.

The path ahead represents everything I've dreamed.

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