"How dare you betray me!" A burly man, his disheveled black hair clinging to his sweat-streaked forehead, growled through clenched teeth. His light beard glistened with river mist as his hands tightened like iron shackles around a woman's neck.
The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the lapping of water against the shores of Vargath.
Under the shadow of the towering Washington Bridge, a confrontation unfolded—a tragedy etched into the cold, dark waters.
The woman, her scarlet hair stark against the midnight shadows, thrashed desperately. Her swollen face, bruised and bloodied, betrayed the pain she endured.
The water swallowed her muffled gasps, but her black eyes burned with defiance, even as her strength ebbed away.
"Robert…" she rasped, her voice barely audible, her lips trembling as the river claimed more of her breath.
For a fleeting moment, Robert faltered.
His grip loosened, and his dark eyes glistened with something unfamiliar—regret, or perhaps doubt. But then his fury surged again, and his fingers tightened around her throat.
That moment of hesitation was enough.
In a flash of desperation, Scarlett's hand darted to the hilt of the sword at his waist. With every ounce of strength she had left, she wrenched the blade free and drove it into his stomach.
"AAARGH!"
Robert staggered back, the blade protruding from his abdomen.
His grip slipped, and Scarlett surged upward, coughing and gasping for air.
Her chest heaved as she sucked in the night air, water streaming from her hair and clothes.
Her eyes locked onto his—no longer pleading, but cold, unforgiving. "You'll pay for this," she said, her voice trembling but resolute.
Before he could respond, Scarlett turned and disappeared into the labyrinthine streets of Vargath, her silhouette swallowed by the darkness.
Robert collapsed onto his knees, the frigid water lapping at his sides.
Blood seeped from his wound, mingling with the river.
He let out a guttural sob, staring at his trembling hands—hands that had almost killed the woman he once loved.
The river carried away his tears, his blood, and his despair, leaving only the echoes of his scream to haunt the bridge above.
...
Robert staggered through the shadowed streets of Vargath, his hand pressed firmly against the wound in his stomach.
Blood oozed between his fingers, warm and sticky, as he gritted his teeth against the pain. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to keep moving.
Behind him, the brilliant lights of Valthar loomed across the river—a city of towering skyscrapers and bustling prosperity, a stark contrast to the decaying chaos of Vargath. Here, the air was thick with despair, the streets littered with broken dreams and broken lives.
The lawless inhabitants glanced at Robert as he passed, their eyes cold, indifferent to his pain.
"Hey! You think you're better than me, you bastard?"
The shout cut through the night. Robert turned his head just enough to see a burly man gripping a scrawny figure by the neck.
The smaller man flailed helplessly, his feet kicking inches above the ground.
"You heard me! Show me what you've got!" Another voice snarled nearby. A man with a jagged knife held it to the throat of an old beggar, his tone dripping with menace.
The beggar's trembling hands fumbled for his meager belongings, his cracked voice pleading, "Please… I have nothing, I swear!"
Robert's steps faltered, his instincts screaming to intervene, but the searing pain in his abdomen reminded him of his own fragility. He looked away, gritting his teeth.
Not now… I can't save anyone—not like this.
The sound of muffled laughter and gasps drifted from a darkened alley.
Robert's gaze flickered toward the source, and he caught sight of four figures, shadows entwined.
Three young men and a girl, all of them stripped bare, were tangled together in a hedonistic frenzy. Their voices carried through the night.
"Harder, baby… yeah, just like that…" one of them moaned, oblivious to the decay and desperation that surrounded them.
Robert clenched his jaw and turned away, the scene only deepening the ache in his chest.
This city… this place… it's rotting from the inside out.
He pushed forward, his breathing labored.
Each step was a battle, each movement a reminder of the fight he'd lost—and the woman he'd driven away.
Vargath loomed around him, its crumbling buildings and jagged alleyways a reflection of his own fractured soul.
But in the distance, the lights of Valthar sparkled like a taunt, a promise of a better world just out of reach.
But for Robert, there was no escape from this darkness—atleast not in this life.
...
Robert trudged through the chaos of Vargath, his steps slow and heavy.
The pain in his abdomen burned with every movement, but it was nothing compared to the weight in his chest.
The lawlessness around him—men choking life from each other in alleyways, desperate pleas drowned in violence, the hollow indulgence of lost youth—blurred into insignificance.
With a weary sigh, he reached his home, a crumbling structure at the edge of the city.
He pushed open the creaking door, and the faint sound of hurried footsteps greeted him.
"Robert!" A small boy with jet-black hair and piercing black eyes ran toward him, his face pale as he took in Robert's bloodied stomach. "What happened to you?"
Without waiting for an answer, Zachary darted to a small cupboard, pulling out a worn medical kit.
His small hands trembled as he applied antiseptic to the wound, the smell of alcohol sharp in the air.
Robert watched him in silence, a mixture of affection and guilt twisting in his heart.
Zachary—his son—was too young to carry such burdens. And yet, life had made him older than his years.
Ruby, Zachary's mother and Robert's first wife, had died barely a year after giving birth. Her twin sister, Scarlett, had stepped in, marrying Robert and helping raise the boy.
But Zach had never called Scarlett "Mother."
He'd only ever called Robert by his name, a silent reminder of the loss that had shaped him.
"Dad?" A small, sleepy voice broke the heavy quiet.
Robert turned to see a younger boy, no older than five, shuffling into the room with a pillow clutched to his chest.
His fiery red hair glowed in the dim light, his matching red eyes wide with innocent curiosity.
"Danny…" Robert's voice cracked. He knelt down, wincing as pain shot through his body, and held out his arms. "Come here."
The boy toddled over and wrapped his tiny arms around Robert's neck.
Robert pulled him close, his throat tightening as he buried his face in Danny's soft hair.
Zachary stood quietly to the side, his dark eyes flicking between Robert and his younger stepbrother.
Despite everything, he adored Danny. He'd been the one to name him, and their bond was one of the few lights in their shattered family.
Robert's voice was a whisper, broken and raw. "Danny… your mother… she won't be coming back."
Danny froze, his small body trembling as Robert's words sank in.
"What do you mean?" he whispered, his voice a fragile thread.
Robert's arms tightened around him. "The Sentinels... They killed her."
For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of Danny's ragged breathing.
Then, the boy let out a heart-wrenching wail, burying his face in Robert's chest.
"Mommy! No,"
"Mommy!" he sobbed, his cries echoing through the small house.
Robert clenched his teeth, his tears falling silently as he rocked the boy back and forth.
Zachary stepped forward, his expression calm but his eyes filled with a quiet sorrow.
He gently pried Danny from Robert's arms, holding his stepbrother close.
"It's okay, Danny," Zach said softly, stroking the younger boy's hair. "I'm here. I'll take care of you."
Robert watched them, his heart breaking all over again. Zach was just a child, yet he stood there, holding his family together with a strength that Robert felt he no longer possessed.
Danny clung to Zach, his sobs gradually subsiding into quiet sniffles.
Robert looked away, unable to bear the guilt that gnawed at him.
He'd failed Ruby.
He'd failed Scarlett.
He'd failed his family.
Tears streamed down his face as he whispered, "I'm so sorry… for everything."
...
Thump.
The door burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that echoed through the dimly lit room.
A woman staggered in, her scarlet hair clinging to her face in soaked tendrils, her black eyes wide with desperation.
Each ragged breath she took seemed like a fight against the weight of death bearing down on her.
"Doctor… Walsh…" she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. "Help… me…"
Her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud, the sound reverberating through the stillness like a final plea.
The dim overhead light flickered, casting eerie shadows across her battered figure.
Angry, red handprints encircled her neck, bruises blooming like storm clouds.
A thin line of blood traced its way from a small tear in her skin, and dark veins spidered outward from the wound, pulsing ominously.
Whoever had choked her had wielded enough raw strength to nearly sever her head from her body.
The blood mingling with her soaked skin carried an unnatural taint, the dark veins creeping upward as though alive.
Her neck bore veins that bulged and writhed unnaturally, their darkened lines creeping toward her jaw and collarbone — a sinister invasion racing toward her heart and mind.
From the shadows of the room emerged a figure, cloaked in black from head to toe.
The robes swayed with her deliberate steps, her face obscured beneath a veil that only revealed piercing, calculating green and orange eyes.
The woman's hands, pale and steady, reached out to examine the fallen woman.
"You've been exposed to radiation," the hooded figure murmured, her voice low and clinical, yet laced with an unsettling calmness.
"A significant amount. It's moving rapidly through your bloodstream."
She leaned closer, her eyes scrutinizing the signs of decay on the woman's neck.
"The radiation is pushing toward your heart and brain. Given the damage, you should have been paralyzed the moment the river's water breached your bloodstream." She paused, her tone shifting to something almost reverent.
"Your will to live is… extraordinary."
The words hung in the air, chilling in their gravity.
The woman in black stood, her movements precise and unhurried, though there was an undercurrent of urgency in her posture.
With deliberate care, she grasped the unconscious woman by the arms and began dragging her toward a waiting stretcher.
The sound of fabric scraping against the floor and the soft rattle of medical instruments were the only noises that broke the silence.
The dim light overhead flickered again, casting the hooded figure in and out of shadow as she moved, her robes sweeping behind her like a grim specter.
The stretcher groaned under the weight as the scarlet-haired woman was lifted onto it, her body limp yet defiant in its struggle to hold on.
The figure loomed over her, a shadow against the dim light, her hands steady, her intent clear.
The sound of the stretcher wheels screeching to life broke the suffocating silence.
As the injured woman's head lolled to the side, a soft, labored whisper escaped her lips. "Will I… survive?"
The hooded woman didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she secured the straps around the woman's trembling frame, her movements deliberate and methodical.
Finally, she leaned in close, her voice no longer clinical but ominously soft.
"Survival depends on more than will," she murmured. "Sometimes, the price of life is worse than death."
With that, she wheeled the stretcher deeper into the shadows of the room.
The door hissed shut behind them, and the room descended into an oppressive, uneasy silence.
...
In the quiet of the house, muffled breaths echoed from the next room.
Danny and Zach lay side by side, their faces slack with the fragile peace of sleep.
Yet their stillness was a lie; they had spent the night wide awake, their minds swirling with sadness and unease until exhaustion finally claimed them.
In the adjacent room, Robert lay sprawled on the cold floor, his body wracked with agony.
His hand pressed firmly against the wound on his stomach, but the pain was relentless, spreading like wildfire.
The torn flesh burned as though laced with acid, and an overwhelming urge gripped him—a savage, animalistic desire to rip, to destroy, to give in to the chaos clawing at his sanity.
His breath came in ragged gasps as black veins began to slither across his skin, pulsating grotesquely.
They crawled like living tendrils, inching toward his heart and brain, their sinister march an omen of doom.
Robert's vision blurred, his strength waning.
He could feel death's icy grip tightening around him, dragging him toward the abyss.
But then, a memory surged through the haze of pain.
Two faces, innocent and full of life, burned brightly in his mind. Danny's sleepy smile. Zach's steady, watchful gaze. His children—his reason to fight.
"I can't die," he growled through clenched teeth, his voice guttural and filled with defiance.
His bloodshot eyes burned with a crimson glow as he forced himself upright.
Gritting his teeth, he drove a clenched fist into his chest, the impact like a jolt of fire through his system.
His heart stuttered, then roared back to life, pumping adrenaline like molten lava through his veins.
The black tendrils faltered, their advance slowed by his sheer will.
But the pain didn't abate—it grew sharper, more insidious.
With a shaking hand, Robert tore away the bandage from his stomach, letting blood spill freely.
He braced himself, his other hand balling into a trembling fist.
"For my family," he muttered, the words a mantra that anchored him.
With a savage growl, he drove his fist into the wound.
A fresh wave of agony erupted as blackened blood splattered onto the floor.
He repeated the brutal act, each punch forcing the tainted blood from his body.
The room filled with the metallic tang of blood and the sounds of his labored breathing, each gasp a battle cry against the darkness threatening to consume him.
Finally, the black veins began to retreat, receding to the edges of the wound.
Robert collapsed onto his hands and knees, blood pooling beneath him, his body trembling from the exertion.
His vision blurred, but his resolve was unbroken.
His glowing eyes flickered as he whispered hoarsely, "For them… I'll endure anything."