Bloody Cooking

As Asmo stood in the grand kitchen of his mansion, the weight of recent events hung heavily upon him. His heart ached with the memory of Johnny's death, and the anguish threatened to overwhelm him at any moment. The sharp, acrid scent of the ingredients filled the air as he mechanically prepared the meal, his hands moving with the precision of someone on the edge of a breakdown.

The once-vibrant mansion seemed to echo with emptiness, the absence of his dismissed servants a stark reminder of the irrevocable loss he had endured. Each clatter of a pot or sizzle of a pan amplified the solitude that engulfed him, and a shiver of grief ran through his body.

His brothers, the very ones he was meant to rule over, lingered elsewhere in the mansion, their ominous presence a constant reminder of the fractured relationships that bound them together. Asmo's thoughts were a tumultuous storm, a maelstrom of sorrow, anger, and the burden of his newfound responsibilities.

In the flickering light of th