Vincent's Small House - Ednan Verdaselles, 9:00 PM
Blood pooled on the floor, thick and dark, while the sound of a woman's voice filled the room, broken by sobs and violent coughs. It was Vincent's wife, kneeling amidst the mess. Her hands, stained with blood, trembled as tears streamed down her face, mixing with the dirt on the ground.
Her sobs came in painful gasps, her voice barely a whisper. "Why would you do this... why?" she choked out, her hands pressed against the cold floor. "I told the police... I told them it wasn't true!"
She collapsed forward, her forehead touching the ground, consumed by the betrayal. The weight of her husband's crime pressed down on her, and the truth was more than she could bear.
Flashback
Earlier that day, Vincent's wife had been outside, hanging up freshly washed clothes in the cool evening air. The sound of a car approaching broke the peaceful rhythm of her task. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the flashing siren—a police car, rolling to a stop right in front of their modest home. She froze, the cloth she was holding slipping from her fingers. What could have gone wrong?
Two officers stepped out of the car, their faces grim, their uniforms crisp. One of them, a tall man with short black hair, approached her with a serious expression. "Good evening, ma'am. Is this the residence of Vincent?" he asked.
She nodded cautiously. "Yes, officer. Is something wrong? Please... we can discuss it over some tea." Her voice was steady, but her heart raced with dread. Gesturing for them to enter, she led the officers inside.
Once seated in the cramped living room, Vincent's wife poured tea for the officers. The air was thick with tension as the first officer began questioning her, his voice low and authoritative.
"We're here regarding a serious investigation involving your husband," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Vincent is implicated in a crime... the attempted murder of Lady Evangeline."
The words hit her like a physical blow. Her hands, mid-pour, slipped, and the teapot crashed to the floor, scalding water splashing onto her wrist. But the pain was nothing compared to the horror that surged through her.
"No," she gasped, sinking to her knees, her body trembling. "Tell me this isn't true. My Vincent could never... he wouldn't—" She grabbed onto the officer's uniform, her tear-filled eyes searching his face for some sign of reassurance.
The second officer, a younger man with a compassionate expression, gently placed his teacup down and leaned forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said quietly. "I know this is difficult to hear, but the evidence is strong. If you want the truth, you'll need to come to court tomorrow."
As he stood, he noticed two children lying on the bed in the corner of the room. They were frail and sick, their pale faces a silent testament to the hardships this family endured. His heart softened, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bag of coins.
"Take this," he said, handing it to her. "Use it to get the children the treatment they need. We'll see you in court."
The first officer gently pried her fingers off his uniform and rose from his seat, nodding to his colleague. Without another word, the two policemen left the house, leaving Vincent's wife kneeling on the floor, clutching the bag of coins with shaking hands.
Back to the Present
Now, in the dim light of her blood-stained home, she clenched her fists, her entire body shaking with anger and sorrow. "How could you betray us like this, Vincent? How could you...?" Her voice broke again as fresh tears spilled from her swollen eyes.
She knew what she had to do. The betrayal was too deep, the wound too raw. As much as it broke her heart, she began to plan her next move. "Divorce," she whispered through her sobs. "I'll prepare the papers. You've left me no choice."
As she struggled to stand, the weight of the decision hung heavily on her shoulders. She wiped her bloody hands on a rag and looked toward the bed where her children lay. For their sake, she had to stay strong. No matter what Vincent had done, she needed to protect them from the storm that was coming.
She coughed violently, her breath ragged and strained. Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain tore through her abdomen, causing her to gasp. The pain was unbearable, and it felt as though something inside her was ripping apart. She screamed, clutching her stomach as her legs buckled beneath her.
Her hand frantically searched for something to hold on to, gripping the edge of a nearby chair. But the sharp, warm sensation of blood began to seep through the fabric of her gown, staining the floor beneath her.
She blinked, dazed, the horrifying realization hitting her like ice through her veins—she was losing her child. Her vision blurred, the edges of the room spinning, but she could feel the unmistakable flow of blood, thick and hot, pouring from her.
Her body trembled as she tried to remain standing, but her strength was fading fast. "No... no, not now..." she whispered weakly, her voice lost in the suffocating silence of the room.
She stumbled, her knees giving way, and collapsed onto the cold floor. Her trembling hand reached out toward the door, fingers shaking as they grazed the wood, desperate for help, for anyone. But the pain was too much, and her vision darkened as her fingers slipped, leaving faint streaks of blood.
The world around her grew distant, a hollow echo of her suffering. Her heart pounded in her ears, but her body began to numb, sinking deeper into the cold pool of blood spreading beneath her. Her hand fell limp, and with a final, shallow breath, her eyes fluttered closed.
The room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the faint sound of her blood dripping to the floor. She lay there, motionless, swallowed by the crimson tide, unconscious in a sea of grief and loss.
The chill of death hung thick in the air, suffocating, as though the very walls had absorbed the tragedy. The weight of it pressed down on everything, leaving a cold, lingering emptiness like the breath of a life snuffed out too soon.
Streets of Verdaselles - The Blossom Road, 9:30 PM
The quiet path was lined with blossom trees, their pale petals illuminated by the faint moonlight. Richard strolled alone, his hands tucked into his pockets, taking in the stillness of the night. The soft wind whispered through the trees, but something else pricked at his senses. He slowed his pace, his instincts sharp. Someone was following him.
Richard stopped abruptly, the silence thick around him. The air crackled with tension.
"I know you're here... no need to hide. Come out now." His voice was calm, but his muscles tensed, ready for the inevitable.
Before he could fully turn, a figure in a black coat lunged from behind, slashing a knife across Richard's cheek. The blade barely missed his throat. Reacting in a split second, Richard spun around and landed a powerful punch to the attacker's face, sending the figure staggering back. A black hat fell to the ground, revealing silver-streaked hair glinting under the moonlight.
Richard's eyes widened in recognition. "Edward?"
The figure, now steady on his feet, wiped the blood from his mouth with a twisted grin. "It's been a long time, Mr. Berbill. Your punch has gotten better. I suppose you have my father and Bruno to thank for that—without them, you'd still be a street dog." Edward's mocking tone cut through the air, his knife gleaming as he pointed it toward Richard, daring him to retaliate.
Richard clenched his fists, his face grim. "You've always been full of yourself, Edward." He surged forward, throwing a barrage of punches, aiming for Edward's face and torso.
But Edward moved like a shadow, effortlessly dodging each strike. With a swift motion, he countered with a powerful kick to Richard's midsection. The impact sent Richard flying backward, crashing into a nearby tree. He hit the ground hard, coughing up blood as he tried to steady his breath.
Edward's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Is this really the same Richard I used to know? Seems like Evangeline's charms have made you soft. You've lost your edge." He spun the knife in his hand, taunting Richard.
Wiping blood from his mouth, Richard rose slowly, his gaze burning with defiance. "At least I'm not a coward who hides behind manipulation and gets under every woman's skirt. Who knows? Maybe you got under your mother's and sister's too."
The insult hit its mark. Edward's smirk faded, replaced by a murderous glare. His entire posture shifted, the knife still spinning in his hand, but his movements were now cold and calculated. "What did you say?" His voice dropped, ice-cold.
Richard's voice was unwavering. "You heard me, Brusward. Quite well. Considering how you treated Magdalene in court, maybe it's not so far-fetched."
A growl escaped Edward's throat, his face twisting in fury. "I'll teach you to keep your filthy mouth shut. Evangeline's given you too much confidence. I'll tear those wings right off."
With deadly precision, Edward lunged, aiming the knife directly at Richard's neck. But Richard was ready. He sidestepped just in time and delivered a hard punch to Edward's jaw, sending blood flying from his mouth again.
The two men clashed fiercely, exchanging brutal blows. Richard's fists hammered against Edward's body, while Edward's knife flicked through the air, slashing Richard's arms and torso. Blood dripped from Richard's wounds, but he refused to back down, his determination fueling him.
The fight turned into a blur of movement—Edward's kicks landing with deadly accuracy, while Richard countered with bone-crushing punches. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed down the deserted street, punctuated by the occasional grunt of pain.
Despite the knife wounds, Richard fought like a cornered beast, his body aching but his resolve unshaken. Edward, though bleeding from the mouth, seemed to thrive on the violence, his eyes alight with sadistic glee.
Suddenly, Edward aimed a vicious kick at Richard's knee, causing him to stagger. Taking advantage of the opening, Edward slashed his knife across Richard's shoulder, the blade cutting deep. Richard hissed in pain but didn't falter. With a burst of energy, he grabbed Edward's arm, twisting it painfully and landing a powerful elbow to Edward's ribs.
Edward gasped, winded but not beaten. "You've still got some fight left in you. Good. Let's see how long that lasts."
The battle raged on, both men pushing themselves to their limits. The quiet street, once peaceful under the blossoms, had now become a war zone of fists, knives, and blood.
Edward's knife flew from his hand as Richard delivered a precise strike, the blade clattering to the ground. Edward quickly regained his composure, blocking Richard's follow-up kick with his forearm and shoving him backward.
"When it comes to combat... the Bruswards are superior," Edward taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. He sprang into the air, his body twisting as he aimed a powerful strike toward Richard's head.
But Richard was ready. In a swift, fluid motion, he grabbed Edward's leg mid-air, twisting his body to throw him off balance. Edward was sent flying, but with a remarkable agility, he landed on a nearby tree branch, the wood creaking ominously beneath him. Hearing the branch splintering, he leapt off just in time, rolling onto the ground in a controlled manner, immediately back on his feet.
"Nice try!" Edward sneered, adjusting his stance. The two combatants faced off again, the air thick with tension.
Richard charged, unleashing a flurry of strikes, each punch thrown with purpose. Edward met him blow for blow, blocking Richard's attacks with practiced ease. With a smirk, Edward struck back, landing a harsh blow to Richard's Adam's apple. Richard gasped, his vision blurring momentarily as he fought to regain his breath.
Seizing the opportunity, Edward delivered a brutal kick to Richard's face, followed by a rapid punch that sent Richard crashing against a streetlight. The metal pole rattled as Richard's head collided with it, a warm trickle of blood running down his forehead. He stumbled back, clutching his neck in agony, pain radiating through his body.
But Richard's resolve hardened. He shook his head, clearing the dizziness from his vision, and steadied himself. "You'll have to do better than that, Edward!" he shouted, determination flooding his veins.
With a swift, low kick, Richard swept Edward's legs from under him, forcing him to the ground. But Edward rolled away, avoiding a potentially crushing blow. They sprang back to their feet simultaneously, circling each other like predators ready to strike.
"You think you can beat me? You're just a shadow of your former self," Edward taunted, his eyes narrowing. He lunged forward, executing a spinning kick aimed at Richard's head.
Richard ducked just in time, his instincts kicking in as he countered with an uppercut that connected with Edward's chin, sending him reeling backward. Edward stumbled but quickly regained his footing, his expression shifting from cocky confidence to a fierce intensity.
"Now we're talking!" Edward growled, igniting his adrenaline. He charged at Richard, throwing a series of rapid jabs and hooks, each strike aimed with deadly precision.
Richard responded with expert counterattacks, deflecting blows while delivering his own, their bodies a blur of movement. Each hit echoed through the quiet streets of Verdaselles, the sound of flesh meeting flesh mingling with the rustling of the blossom trees above them.
As the fight escalated, both men became increasingly battered, their breaths heavy and labored. Edward, with a wild gleam in his eye, launched himself into a high kick, aiming for Richard's head. But Richard ducked low, grabbing Edward's leg and using the momentum to throw him once again. Edward barely managed to land on his feet, springing back to Richard with renewed ferocity.
"You're not as weak as I thought," Edward admitted, a hint of respect slipping into his tone.
"And you're not invincible," Richard replied, determination etched across his face as he prepared for the next round, his body poised and ready for the fight of his life.
As the battle continued, the stakes rose, each combatant pushing beyond their limits, their fierce rivalry spiraling into an epic clash of wills beneath the blossoms of the quiet night.
"Richard, you can't win. Beat it!" Edward sneered as he turned away, dismissing Richard with a wave of his hand. But just then, a stone struck his head, and he yelped in pain, blood trickling down his face. Glaring at Richard, his expression darkened. "I'll kill you..." he hissed, his breath coming in heavy bursts as he lunged at Richard, knife glinting menacingly in the dim light.
Richard, regaining his focus after throwing the stone, dodged the initial thrust, but Edward was quick. He slashed at Richard's arm, the blade grazing his skin. With a grunt of pain, Richard retaliated, landing a powerful punch to Edward's ribcage, causing Edward to spit blood onto Richard's face. The sight of Edward's blood fueled Richard's adrenaline, and he struck again, driving Edward back a few steps.
As Edward staggered, Richard seized the moment. He slowly removed the knife from his arm, grimacing as he tossed it aside, the blade clattering to the ground. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Richard charged at Edward, unleashing a series of rapid kicks aimed at his chest, each one landing with precision and force. Edward staggered and finally fell to the ground, clutching his ribs in agony.
"You think this is over?" Richard growled, grabbing Edward by the shoulder and pinning him against the wall, ready to unleash another punch. But Edward, ever cunning, countered with a swift knee to Richard's groin. Richard gasped, doubling over in pain as Edward pushed him down, gaining the upper hand.
On the floor, Edward mounted Richard, raining down punches with ferocity, his fists pounding against Richard's face. Each strike echoed in the quiet street, and Richard could taste blood as he struggled beneath Edward's relentless assault. "You're weak, Richard!" Edward taunted, each punch punctuating his words. "You should have stayed out of my way!"
Richard gritted his teeth, drawing on every ounce of strength he had left. He blocked one of Edward's punches and countered with a quick jab to Edward's jaw, stunning him momentarily.
But Edward quickly recovered, his rage boiling over. He continued to strike, each blow landing harder than the last, the hunger to defeat Richard evident in his eyes. Richard, already battered and bleeding, tried to defend himself, but he was losing ground.
With one final effort, he swung his arm, catching Edward off guard and sending him sprawling backward. Breathing heavily, Richard attempted to rise, but the pain in his stabbed arm was overwhelming. He clutched it tightly, struggling to stay conscious.
Both fighters, now bloodied and bruised, faced each other, their breaths mingling with the tension in the air. Neither willing to concede defeat, the fight had reached a stalemate, a fierce battle of wills between two men locked
Edward, breathing heavily, pulled out a sleek gun, leveling it at Richard's battered form. "You really thought you could win?" he scoffed, finger hovering over the trigger. Richard coughed, blood splattering on the ground, his face bruised and battered from the relentless assault. The wind swept through the scene, tugging at Edward's disheveled hair and torn clothes, while Richard's hair hung in wild disarray, stained with the remnants of battle.
Despite the pain coursing through him, Richard forced a laugh, revealing blood-stained teeth. "What's so funny?" Edward growled, striding forward. "Do you realize I could end your life in an instant?" He delivered a vicious kick to Richard's face, the impact resonating with a sickening thud. Richard lay on the ground, dazed and struggling to regain his bearings.
With a cruel smirk, Edward yanked Richard up by the hair, forcing him to meet his gaze. The cold barrel of the gun pressed against Richard's temple, and Edward leaned in, his voice dripping with menace. "I'll spare you this time... but only because you're still breathing for a reason. If you dare cross my path again, it won't end well for you. And don't think your precious mistress will come to save you."
Richard's heart raced, not just from the pain but from the sheer audacity of Edward's threats. He could feel the cold metal against his skin, the weight of his impending doom hanging heavy in the air. But even in his weakened state, a flicker of defiance ignited within him.
"You think you can scare me?" Richard spat, voice trembling but resolute. "You're nothing but a coward hiding behind a gun!"
Edward's expression hardened, and he pressed the gun tighter against Richard's head, the threat palpable. "You're in no position to make demands, Berbill. Remember this moment. I could end it all right now, and no one would care."
Richard met Edward's gaze, the intensity of the moment electrifying. Edward's eyes narrowed, contemplating the fragility of Richard's life in his hands. In that instant, Richard understood the danger—this was not just a fight but a battle of wills, a dark dance where only one could emerge victorious.
The tension crackled as Edward stood poised to pull the trigger, the weight of their rivalry hanging in the balance.