Amid the relentless sounds of battle, with cries of pain and furious gunfire echoing around her, Beatrice's voice was filled with urgency, clinging to the hope that help would come in the chaos.
Slowly, Beatrice lowered her hands and looked up, only to feel the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed against her temple.
"BLAAAADE!" she screamed as loudly as she could.
The attacker's head jerked back as smoke rose from the barrel of the gun. Within moments, he collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, blood pooling around him.
Standing beside Beatrice, Atlas held a revolver in his right hand, its barrel still smoking from the fatal shot.
"What? What just happened? Atlas?" Beatrice's thoughts raced, her mind struggling to comprehend the sudden turn of events. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to piece together the chaos unfolding before her.
"Blade," Atlas uttered with his characteristic deep voice, the word hanging ominously in the tense silence. "What is Blade?"
"N-nothing…," Beatrice managed to answer, her voice trembling. She felt as if the ground beneath her was shifting, making it hard to keep her balance. She clutched her head, overwhelmed by confusion and fear.
Everything felt heavy and bewildering for Beatrice, each breath a laborious task. "Why... did you save me?" she murmured, barely able to form the words.
Atlas's cold gaze met hers, and he replied with chilling detachment, "I'm not done with you yet, Beatrice."
His words sent a shiver down her spine. The coldness in his voice was unmistakable, a stark contrast to the violence that had just erupted. She realized that whatever had just transpired was only the beginning, and Atlas had plans that went far beyond saving her life.
Atlas walked over to David and nudged his body with the tip of his shoe. "Are you dead?"
A groan escaped from David's lips, signaling that he was still alive.
"So, you've been hiding here all this time," Atlas said. "Hiding in the apartment of the cop investigating your disappearance. How unique. And you came to me, accusing me of hiding Beatrice. How amusing!" With a swift, vicious kick to David's stomach, Atlas sent him coughing up blood.
"Stop! Atlas, stop!" Beatrice pleaded desperately. "Save David, please… I'll go with you!"
Atlas turned to Beatrice, his expression unreadable. "You think your life is worth bargaining for, Beatrice?" he asked, his voice laced with contempt. "You think you can sway me with your pleas?"
Beatrice's heart sank. She felt powerless, caught in the deadly game Atlas was playing. "Please, Atlas," she begged, her voice trembling. "I'll do anything, just don't hurt him anymore."
Atlas considered her words for a moment, the cold calculation in his eyes making Beatrice shudder. "Anything," he said finally.
"You are in no position to negotiate, Beatrice. I can kill your friend here and still take you with me." Atlas pointed the revolver at David, his finger hovering menacingly over the trigger.
"Stop!" Beatrice screamed. "I'll follow your game, Atlas! I promise! Just let him go! Please!"
A devilish smile spread across Atlas's face. "Deal."
He stepped back from David, who lay on the floor, gasping for breath. Beatrice rushed to David's side, tears streaming down her face. She knew she had to comply with Atlas's demands, no matter the cost, to save David from further pain.
*
Beatrice paced back and forth in her opulent bedroom, the grandeur of the mansion now feeling more like a suffocating trap than a refuge.
Her room, with its plush carpets and elegant furnishings, had become her solitary confinement. The heavy curtains blocked out any glimpse of the outside world, and the door remained locked, cutting her off from everything she knew.
"They bring me food and always in silence. No words, no contact. Just the clinking of silverware against porcelain as they slide the tray under the door," Beatrice murmured to herself, her voice echoing faintly in the room.
Her phone, usually a lifeline to the outside world, sat inert on the bedside table. It had been taken away, along with any means of communication. She wondered if anyone was searching for her.
"Outside these walls, life goes on—parties, laughter, the hustle and bustle of servants—but here I am, forgotten, cut off," she continued, her pacing growing more agitated.
Sometimes, faint echoes of conversation or laughter drifted through the walls, mocking reminders of the life she once led. She pressed her ear against the door, straining to catch any snippet of information about the world beyond her confinement, but the mansion remained a silent fortress, imprisoning her in luxury.
"I can't endure this isolation much longer. I need someone to find me, to rescue me from this gilded prison," Beatrice whispered desperately, her voice trembling with fear.
After a warm shower, Beatrice stared at her reflection in the mirror, her own shadow appearing to smirk sardonically, though she did not feel amused.
"Blade," she murmured, her voice hollow in the quiet room.
"What?" He replied to herself, smirked.
"Why didn't you come when I called?" Beatrice asked, her voice tinged with disappointment.
"Didn't you drive me away?" came the sharp retort, filling the room and reminding Beatrice of her decision.
"I'm sorry, Blade."
"Too late."
"But you're already dead in your world, Blade, so you have nowhere else to go," Beatrice remarked as she stepped out of the bathroom in her bathrobe. "I could have died yesterday for all I care!"
"I could be a spectator in the dark corners of your soul," Blade retorted casually. "I want to see how you survive without me, you arrogant girl. And I want fo see how you die."
And just like that, he vanished again.
"Blade!" she called out. "Blade!" Her calls echoed repeatedly through the empty room.
"Once again, you're calling out that name. Blade. What is Blade?" Atlas asked, appearing unexpectedly. He sat on the sofa, his arms crossed. "Who is Blade?"
Clearly, he had been waiting for her. He sat on the sofa with his arms crossed.
*