The bar thrummed with life, a chaotic blend of thumping bass, raucous laughter, and the occasional crash of glass shattering in the distance. Cigarette smoke curled through the air, mingling with the scent of spilled whiskey and sweat, as patrons of all kinds—businessmen in sleek suits, wanderers in worn shirts, and mysterious figures draped in medieval robes—mingled and clashed in this strange, timeless haven. The dim lights flickered like dying stars, casting an ever-shifting glow over the sea of bodies swaying to the music.
Janet sat at the bar, her fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the worn wood. The bartender, a grizzled man with tattoos snaking up his arms, slid a glass her way with a nod, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the door, frustration mounting with each passing minute. Half an hour. Blaze was never on time, but this was pushing it. Her teeth clenched in irritation, her knuckles white as she gripped the glass.
Then, just as she was about to give up, a figure glided into the seat beside her—silent and smooth, like a shadow. His white robe stood out starkly against the dimness, his hair a silver curtain that caught the light.
"Always late, brother," Janet muttered, her voice low and edged with annoyance. "Did you forget about our meeting here?"
Blaze turned to her, his eyes blank, as if he had no idea what she was talking about. Janet's frustration flared, but she forced herself to calm down, a remarkable feat given her usual temperament. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she sipped her drink, allowing the alcohol to dull the edges of her anger.
A tense silence settled between them, broken only by the clamor of the bar. Finally, she turned to him with a sigh, her voice laced with a bitterness she couldn't quite hide. "Old Man Ju died... you killed him, didn't you?"
Blaze looked away, his gaze distant. The mention of Old Man Ju stirred something faint in his memory. The old man had always been kind to Janet, raising her when no one else would. True, he wasn't perfect, but he had never treated her poorly. Blaze's mind was a fog; he couldn't even remember why he'd done it, only that he had.
Janet's eyes were hard, unyielding, but she waited. Blaze shifted, refusing to meet her gaze. "Remember, I still have three more questions to ask you, sister," he said, his voice flat, almost detached. "Honest answers, cold and considered, without kindness or restraint. Be my ally for once... Tell me," he finally glanced at her, his blue eyes were like dark pools that reflected the bar's dim light, "Am I a good man?"
For a long moment, Janet said nothing. The music and noise of the bar seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of tense silence. She studied her brother, the man she once admired, now a monster she barely recognized. He was cruel, ruthless, and reveled in chaos. And yet, here he was, asking her for judgment.
Janet took a slow breath, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "I see into your soul, brother. I see beauty, I see divinity, and I... see hatred."
Blaze nodded slowly, as if her words were a confirmation of something he already knew. He was a murderer, a monster who wore a human mask. The things he had done—the orphanage he burned to the ground, the 3000 innocent lives snuffed out for his amusement—haunted him, even if he refused to show it. He had tried to be like her once, tried to find goodness within himself, but all he found was a void.
"I used to analyze myself down to the last thread," Blaze murmured, his voice barely a whisper over the noise of the bar. "I'd compare myself to others, recall every smile, every glance, every kind word... interpreted everything in a bad light, laughed viciously at my attempts and ridiculous it was to pretend I could be like you and suddenly in the midst of my laughing, I'd give way to sadness, fall into ludicrous despondency... and once again started the whole process all over again, in short, I am running around like a squirrel running on a wheel."
Janet watched him, her expression unreadable, but Blaze could see the storm brewing in her eyes. He knew he had crossed a line he could never return from, and he was ready for whatever judgment she would pass. Perhaps, in a twisted way, he even welcomed it.
Given that Janet has already made up her mind to kill Blaze, her response would likely be layered with a mix of cold resolve and underlying sorrow. She's not just dealing with the fact that her brother is a monster—she's wrestling with the pain of what he used to mean to her and what he's become.
Janet held his gaze, her fingers tightening around her glass as she listened to his confession. For a moment, something flickered in her eyes—pity, perhaps, or a shadow of the affection she once felt. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a steely determination.
"You always did have a way with words, Blaze," she said softly, almost gently. "But words don't erase what you've done. They don't bring back the people you've killed, the lives you've destroyed." She set her glass down with a quiet clink, the sound lost in the noise of the bar around them.
There was a long pause, the weight of her words hanging between them like a blade poised to strike. "You know," Janet continued, her voice dropping to a whisper that only he could hear, "I used to believe there was a part of you worth saving. That somewhere beneath all that cruelty, there was still my older brother."
Her eyes were cold now, devoid of the warmth they once held for him. "But you're right, Blaze. You're running on a wheel, going nowhere. And I'm tired of watching you spin in circles, hurting everyone who crosses your path... but showing a vulnerable and innocent side to the clan, acting like an hero."
Slowly, almost tenderly, she reached out and touched his cheek, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "I see you, brother. I see the monster you've become. And I'm done pretending I can save you." With that, she pulled away, her hand slipping to the hidden blade at her side, her decision final. There would be no more questions, no more chances for redemption. The next move would be hers—and it would be swift, ruthless, just like him.
She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Goodbye, Blaze," she whispered.
And then, in one fluid motion, she struck.