Brandon felt something snap inside him.
Before Annabelle or Gordon could react, his hand moved with lightning speed to the small of his back.
In one fluid motion, he drew a pistol, the cold metal an extension of his fury, and fired.
*BANG!*
The gunshot cracked through the office like thunder, a violent exclamation that left the room quaking in its wake.
"AHHH!!!"
Reginald's eyes widened in shock as he crumpled to the floor, clutching his bleeding leg.
"You... you can't do this!" Reginald sputtered, his face contorted in agony. "I'm a governor of NOA and-"
*SLAP!*
Brandon lunged forward and delivered a vicious backhand across Reginald's face.
The sound of flesh striking flesh reverberated in the room.
Reginald's head snapped to the side, a whimper escaping his lips as blood dribbled from his mouth.
Headmaster Alaric's eyebrows shot up, his usual mask of whimsical detachment slipping for a moment. He watched Brandon with newfound intensity, his gaze sharp and calculating.
'Well, well, what do we have here?' Alaric thought, stroking his wispy beard.
The old man's eyes darted between Brandon, the gun, and the whimpering Reginald on the floor.
There was no fear in his expression, only a dawning realization that the situation had just become far more complex than he'd anticipated.
Gordon watched stoically, his expression unreadable. Annabelle's eyes narrowed but a smile tugged at her lips, a mix of surprise and something darker flickering across her face.
Reginald tried to speak, his lips forming words, but all that came out was a strangled sound of pain.
"Y-you… Urghh…"
He barely had time to process before Brandon's finger tightened on the trigger once more.
*BANG!*
Another deafening crack split the air. Reginald's shoulder exploded in a spray of red.
"ARGHHHH!!!"
He howled in pain, his body convulsing as he slumped forward in front of Brandon, blood pouring from the fresh wound.
The pleasant, charismatic young man was gone.
The man standing over him, the pleasant, charismatic Brandon, was gone.
In his place stood someone else entirely—cold, ruthless, and terrifyingly efficient. Brandon's eyes, usually warm and inviting, now burned with a fury so intense it sent chills down the spines of everyone in the room.
Brandon squatted down, his fingers threading through Reginald's slicked-back hair with deliberate slowness, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.
He tightened his grip suddenly, yanking Reginald's head back, forcing their eyes to meet.
Reginald's breath hitched as he stared up at Brandon, who loomed over him like a specter of death.
The smile that curled at Brandon's lips was more sinister than any scowl could have been—a sharp contrast to the icy, unrelenting fury simmering in his eyes.
"The only identity you can cling to now,"
Brandon began, his voice a chilling whisper, the kind that wormed its way into the soul and festered there,
"is that of a corpse."
He let the words hang in the air, a twisted promise.
"But dying? Oh no… That's a privilege you no longer deserve."
Reginald's eyes widened, his pupils dilating in sheer terror as the reality of his situation set in. His breath quickened, ragged gasps filling the suffocating silence, his chest heaving as if trying to stave off the inevitable.
"LET GO OF ME!!! You can't do this... NOA won't let you! YOU WILL PAY!!!"
Reginald shrieked in desperation, his voice trembling as he thrashed against Brandon's iron grip, but his efforts were futile.
Brandon glanced briefly at Alaric, whose usual joviality had drained from his face,
"No one can save you,"
Brandon's gaze returned to Reginald, his tone devoid of mercy.
"Nothing will speed up your death. You'll beg for it, but the only feeling you'll have left is excruciating pain—one that will grind at the depths of your soul."
Reginald's smugness, that ever-present mask, shattered, leaving him raw and exposed.
"Please..."
Reginald's voice was barely more than a whisper, a desperate, broken plea.
"You...you don't have to do this. We can make a deal—anything you want, just...don't do this."
Annabelle watched with a measured calm, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes—a blend of approval and a sadness perhaps for the loss of here nephew's innocence.
Brandon's grip on Reginald's hair tightened, drawing a pained whimper from him.
"Arghh~!"
"You will know what it means to pray for your own end," he hissed, his voice lowering to a tone so dark it seemed to resonate in the very bones of the room.
"But you'll be the last to go. Worthington, was it?"
The name rolled off his tongue with a venomous disdain.
"Every person in your bloodline, everyone you've ever cared for—they'll wither because of you. And you'll watch. You'll watch as they fall one by one, knowing it's all your fault."
Gordon, standing just behind Brandon, felt a dark thrill of satisfaction pulse through him. His normally stoic expression nearly broke into a smile.
'Is the Young Master finally back?'
"NO!" Reginald's voice rose in panic, his pleas growing more frantic.
"Don't bring them into this. They're innocent—they have nothing to do with me. You want me? Fine. I'll take whatever punishment you want. LEAVE THEM OUT OF IT!"
Brandon's eyes darkened, his expression unyielding.
"Just like you left my family and my security detail out of it?"
"Heh… There's a complexity and beauty to fear and desperation," he murmured, his voice almost reverent, as if discussing a fine piece of art.
"But only a few have the misfortune of experiencing it fully. You, Reginald, will end the book of your lineage with it carved into your very soul."
Reginald's eyes darted wildly around the room, desperation etched into every line of his face. Suddenly, he broke into a frantic outburst, his voice rising to a hysterical pitch.
"ALARIC! YOU CAN'T LET HIM!!"
He screamed, spittle flying from his lips.
"I'm a governor of NOA! I'm entitled to protection! DO SOMETHING, DAMN YOU!"
Alaric, his face now as hard as granite, leaned forward, his hands clasped on his desk.
"Reginald," he said, his voice eerily calm, "you forfeited your rights as an NOA alumnus the moment you betrayed the school. Your actions have consequences, and I'm afraid you must face them."
Reginald's face contorted in disbelief.
"No! You can't... This isn't happening!"
He thrashed violently, trying to shake off Brandon's iron grip. His movements grew more frenzied, his screams more incoherent as denial consumed him.
"LET GO OF ME!!! You can't do this!"
Brandon's expression remained impassive as Reginald struggled.
Without warning, he raised his pistol and brought it down hard on the back of Reginald's head.
*THUD!*
The sickening crack of metal meeting skull echoed through the room. Reginald's eyes rolled back, and he slumped forward, unconscious before he hit the floor.