1-12-2017 / RedLine Train
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Thud, thud, thud.
The sound filled the narrow train cabin, every step a sharp beat against the silence. The man strode down the aisle, his face shadowed, shoulders tense. With a sigh, he sank into a seat, dropping his worn briefcase beside him. For a moment, he simply stared at the opposite wall, jaw set, eyes flickering with some unspoken frustration.
This was Benjamin Hayes. Dark hair mussed and clothes rumpled, he looked as though he'd wrestled with the night itself and lost.
His gaze drifted to the window, but his eyes held no interest in the scenery beyond. A slight tremor ran through his fingers as he clenched them into a fist on his knee.
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The cabin lights flicker, casting the train in a dim, irritating half-glow. Great. Just what I need—sitting on a rundown train like this, half the lights dead, and the other half buzzing like some dying insect. Classy.
I drop into a seat, letting the creaking leather groan under me. I can't believe this. I mean, how dare he.
My own father—he blocks my account like I'm some misbehaving child who can't be trusted with his allowance? Me, his own son, his own Blood!
I've handled things for years, done everything expected of me and then some. But he has the gall to pull this stunt, as if cutting me off will magically turn me into his little obedient puppet. The thought burns, turning over and over in my mind. The sheer nerve.
Outside, the night rushes by, dark fields and shadowy trees whipping past, but I don't care to look.
I can feel the anger pulsing in my temples. Everything I've built, everything I am—it all starts feeling too small, caged in by him, like he's trying to remind me who holds the leash. He doesn't trust me with my own life, apparently. As if I need him to.
The train jerks, slowing, and comes to a shuddering halt. Another station. Brilliant—one more minute on this clanking tin can and I swear I'll—
The lights flicker again, but this time they go still, stable, holding steady in a faint glow. Finally. I crack a small smile, almost amused. At least something's going right tonight.
But my thoughts freeze when I see a figure at the door, stepping into the cabin. A guy, built like a brick wall, walks in with an unhurried, almost predatory stride. Rolled-up sleeves expose arms covered in swirling tattoos—dark lines curling down his skin, twisting over thick muscles, tracing up his neck, somehow that makes him look even more out of place.
The man settles a few seats away, glancing in my direction for a split second, eyes dead as stone. Pale skin, dark hair—so melancholic it practically drips off him—and those eyes… that hollow look. That's when it hits me. I know this guy.
Ethan Sky. That silent bastard from my university. Top of every class, Mr. Perfect Grades, with nothing to say to anyone. Just sits there, quietly showing everyone else up, like he thinks he's untouchable. I've seen that smug silence a thousand times. A freaking chick magnet.
People admired him, pitied him, whatever—but I knew better. He wasn't better than me. I made sure of that, or at least tried. It didn't matter how many times I'd get in his face, throw a jab his way, challenge him… the guy barely flinched. My attempts to bring him down to size, to make him recognize that I am the one here who matters, all bounced off like they were nothing.
He just… ignored me, like I was air. And that only made me want to push harder, to make him see that he didn't belong at the top. I did.
Now, here he is, as ghostly and miserable as I remember. Only now, he's got his phone out, scrolling through it like I'm not even worth a glance. He hasn't changed. Quiet, emotionless… almost like he's not even human. Yet, I remember one time when I saw him smile. It was with his sister, the one person who seemed to break through that icy exterior.
She sure was 10, I'll give her that. Hot enough to catch attention anywhere she went. It was strange seeing him with someone so alive, so… well, not him.
But then came the rumors. She got mixed up with some gang members, and that was the end of her. She vanished, just like that, and he stopped coming to university.
Better for me, honestly. Guys like Ethan, these overgrown branches hanging in the way, they need to be cut down. Nobody's going to get in the way of my rise to the top—not some gloomy phantom like him, and definitely not some ghost of the past.
I force my gaze down, trying to shake the nagging tension that's pricking at the back of my mind. But then I see it.
Dark stains, almost black in the flickering light, seeping into the fabric of his pants. Blood. Not just a stray drop either—there's a trail of it, tracing a line from where he walked, smearing across the floor and pooling faintly around his shoes. And his shoes... the soles are stained a deep, sickening red complimenting the black color. My heart skips a beat as my mind races to piece it all together.
Before I can stop myself, my gaze flicks back up, and that's when I see him watching me. Those dead, dark eyes fixed right on me, hollow and endless, as if they're staring straight through my skin.
A shiver runs down my spine. Impossible. I don't get scared. Not me. Not Benjamin Hayes. But my body betrays me—my chest tightens, and I can feel my hands start to go numb. This… this isn't happening. How could I feel fear?
But he just sits there, calm as anything, one hand slipping slowly behind him, his eyes never leaving mine. He's reaching for something, and suddenly I feel it, that suffocating weight in my gut.
No. No, no, no. I don't want to die. Not here. Not like this. My breath stutters, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel my composure slipping, cracking under the pressure of his silent gaze.
I clamp my eyes shut, willing myself to breathe, to snap out of it. One minute. I just need one minute to calm down.
When I open my eyes again, he's leaning back, a thin cigarette between his fingers, wisps of smoke curling into the stale cabin air. A casual drag, a cloud exhaled, and his eyes drift away from me, indifferent as before. Just smoking—nothing more.
The train jerks to a sudden halt, and my head snaps up, eyes darting around. I barely notice Ethan toss his cigarette aside, already fishing out another, the last one in his crumpled pack. He lights it calmly, inhaling deeply, as if he's got all the time in the world.
"I'd advise you to run away," he mutters, barely looking at me. "Before they kill you too." Smoke slips from his lips as he exhales, his voice flat, empty, like he's just stating a fact.
Run? Run from what? My chest tightens, that uneasy feeling coiling tighter, but before I can even process it, the doors slide open, and men step into the cabin—gray suits, black masks, carrying machine guns. Guns. Real, actual guns. They're moving in from both sides, closing in with weapons raised, all pointed at Ethan.
And yet he just sits there, unbothered, his voice cold and steady. "I've taken my revenge. I don't have business with you guys."
There's a pause, and then another figure steps forward, a man in black, his face hidden under the brim of a hat. He stops in front of Ethan, arms crossed as he looks down at him. "Mr. Sky," he says, voice laced with quiet authority. "You've been useful. But I can't leave any loose ends."
Ethan just nods, takes another drag, completely calm.
Where the hell have I landed? This is insane. Killers—killers with machine guns, right here. Holy shit. They wouldn't… I mean, I'm not with him. They'd see that, wouldn't they? Maybe if I just tell them I don't even know this guy—
But before I can speak, the gunfire erupts, deafening and merciless. Bullets tear through the air, shredding the space between us, biting into flesh, a storm of red as pain rips through me.
I feel the burn of it, a searing ache that spreads, spreading faster than I can think. My limbs go heavy, my thoughts slipping, drowning in the pounding silence that follows.
And as I slip into the darkness, one last bitter thought takes hold.
Damn you, Ethan… You brought this on me.
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1/1/204AGW
"Glory to the Queens."
The guards knelt, silver armor clinking as they lowered themselves to the crimson carpet that stretched the length of the grand hall, leading straight to the raised throne.
The chamber was vast, towering columns lining either side, their intricate carvings gleaming under the light of enormous crystal chandeliers. Every inch of the hall exuded a sense of reverence and splendor; pristine marble floors polished to a mirror finish, arching ceilings painted with scenes of gods and legends, walls lined with banners bearing the royal crest. But all eyes were on the throne.
At the center of the hall, surrounded by armed guards, stood a woman bound in heavy steel chains.
Despite her tattered dress and rugged appearance from what was clearly a harsh captivity, she held herself with a dignity that was unmistakable.
Her beauty was striking, though marred by exhaustion and mistreatment. Long auburn hair, tangled and dulled, fell down her back, its former luster hidden beneath grime and dust.
Her face, framed by delicate, high cheekbones, still bore an air of nobility—a face that had once captivated, with full lips now cracked, a soft blush still clinging to her skin beneath the weariness.
Her eyes, however, were her most arresting feature: a piercing shade of emerald, vibrant and defiant, even in her ragged state.
They surveyed the hall with a mix of defiance and sorrow, capturing the crowd's gaze just as surely as the shackles held her captive.
And at the end of the carpeted path, seated upon a throne sculpted from ivory and gold, was Queen Seraphine Frost.
She was breathtaking—her beauty an ethereal vision beyond mortal comprehension. Dark, lustrous hair cascaded down her shoulders, a stark contrast to her pure white skin, so pale it seemed almost to glow under the light.
Her face was a masterpiece of symmetry, her jawline tapering perfectly into a soft, diamond-shaped chin, her lips full and colored a natural rose. But her eyes—icy silver with hints of an ethereal gray—were perhaps her most unnerving feature.
They held a sharp, calculating glint, cool and unyielding as winter frost, yet deep enough to drown any who dared meet her gaze for too long.
Queen Seraphine watched the scene unfold below her with a calm detachment, fingers resting on the arms of her throne as if she was born to rule.
She wore a gown of midnight silk that flowed like liquid shadows, enhancing the flawless elegance of her form, and a delicate crown adorned with black diamonds rested atop her head, lending her an almost otherworldly aura.
The hall fell silent, all breaths held as her gaze shifted to the captive woman, her expression unreadable but intense.
The guards kept their heads bowed, awaiting their Queen's word.
Queen Seraphine's cold, unfeeling eyes fixed on Elizabeth, who trembled under the weight of her words. "Elizabeth, I can't believe you could commit such horrendous acts with your own flesh and blood," she murmured, her tone glacial, the bite in her voice almost overshadowed by her chilling calm.
Elizabeth's eyes reddened, tears gathering as she glared up at the Queen. "I know this is all your doing… You've twisted everything. You even killed my only son!" Her voice broke, accusations spilling forth. "Your judgment is as false as your heart!"
Seraphine's lips curved into a cruel smile, her voice rich with mockery. "Oh, you mean the son you so passionately shared a bed with?" She leaned forward, relishing each word. "Tell me, Elizabeth… How was it, spending a steamy night in your own son's arms?"
Elizabeth recoiled, her tear-streaked face twisting in horror. "Shut up! I… I never did anything!" But her pleas went unanswered, her voice breaking into a bitter sob as the hall watched in stunned silence.
Queen Seraphine's smile grew colder. "I hope you incestuous insect, enjoy whatever remains of your miserable existence."
Elizabeth's expression twisted with rage, and she spat, her eyes wide and wild, "I curse you, Seraphine! May your children die before they are even born!"
But her words were cut short. A dark shard of ice erupted from the floor, razor-sharp and glistening with cold malevolence, tearing through the air faster than anyone could blink. It sliced through Elizabeth's neck with chilling precision, her head falling from her shoulders in an instant.
Her face still frozen in a final expression of fury, her eyes wide open and unseeing as her body collapsed, blood spilling in a slow, dark river across the polished floor.
The hall was silent as the pool spread, seeping into the pristine carpet like ink blotting out a page.
Seraphine turned her gaze to her right, where a woman with streaks of white and gray in her hair stood in a deep purple robe, her presence calm yet intense.
"Martha?"
The woman nodded, her expression grave. "She cursed you, my Queen."
Seraphine exhaled, massaging her temple with slender fingers, the ghost of annoyance crossing her flawless features.
"Have them clean it up," she ordered quietly, her voice indifferent, as if they had just spilled wine rather than a life.
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