Chapter 10: The First Sacrifice
The air in Noirhaven was silent as Lance sat on top of a crumbling skyscraper. The city spread out beneath him, its lights twinkling like dying stars. A breeze rustled his loose shirt but he didn't move his gaze from the horizon where the shadows moved with intent. Tonight was it and Lance's whole body was humming with anticipation.
"You're not talking," Evelyn said, standing a few feet behind him. She was used to Lance's sass, his quick wit always one step ahead. The silence was heavy, almost weird.
"Silence doesn't mean still," he said without turning. He stood up, moving slow. "It means the world is about to change."
Evelyn crossed her arms, her grip on the artifact over her shoulder tightening. "Do you think the Syndicate will show?"
Lance's smile was lazy but his eyes were sharp. "They always show when the stakes are high enough. We just need to make the game interesting."
That morning Lance had set in motion a series of seemingly unrelated events across the city. False leads in Syndicate territories, whispers of betrayal in the underground, deliberate leaks about the artifact's location. Each move was a thread in a web only he could see, pulling in his enemies into a trap he'd designed.
As night fell the warehouse district was alive with tension. Lance and Evelyn stood in the middle of an abandoned depot surrounded by crates and flickering lights. Vex, their reluctant ally, leaned against a support beam, cleaning his blade with an unnerving level of focus.
"This is a bad idea," Vex said, his voice rough. "Baiting the Syndicate? You're either crazy or stupid."
"Neither," Lance said, his voice infuriatingly calm. "I'm just better at chess than they are."
Vex snorted but said nothing more. Evelyn's eyes darted between the two men, her unease growing. She didn't doubt Lance's intelligence but his love of playing with fire had her wondering how far he'd go to get what he wanted.
The first sign of the Syndicate's arrival was a movement in the shadows. Then the sound of boots on concrete, the hum of machinery and the glint of weapons. From the darkness a dozen figures emerged, all in black and armed to the teeth.
At the center of them was a man Evelyn recognized from Shade's intel—Ronan Kael, a high ranking Syndicate operative. He was magnetic, radiating power and menace.
"Lance," Ronan said, his voice smooth and cold. "You've been busy."
Lance's smile was almost lazy. "I get bored. Thought I'd mix things up."
Ronan's eyes flicked to Evelyn then to the artifact she carried. "Give it to me and I might let you leave here alive."
Evelyn tensed, her grip on the artifact tightening. Lance didn't flinch. "Tempting," he said. "But I don't do ultimatums."
The air was charged with tension. Ronan raised his hand and the Syndicate operatives spread out, their guns trained on the three of them.
"You win?" Ronan asked, his voice almost laughing.
Lance grinned. "Winning's relative."
The battle was madness. Vex moved like a panther, his sword slicing through enemies with deadly precision. Evelyn was no match for combat but used the artifact's weird powers to blast their foes with bursts of energy. And Lance, as always, was a force of nature, dodging attacks and striking when it counted.
But it wasn't a clean fight. The Syndicate had numbers and tech on their side and the three of them were in for a long haul. Evelyn was knocked to the ground, her vision blurring as a Syndicate operative loomed over her. Before he could hit her, a shadow moved faster than she could process. Lance's sword found its mark and the operative went down.
"Stay sharp," Lance said, offering her a hand. "I'm not saving you twice."
Despite the chaos, Lance's mind was a well-oiled machine. Every move he made, every enemy he killed, was part of a plan. He wasn't just fighting to live—he was making a statement.
Ronan stood amidst the wreckage, bruised but alive. His operatives were down, defeated. Lance approached him, his steps measured.
"This is just the start," Lance said, his voice low. "Tell your people the game's changed."
Ronan's face was full of hate but he didn't say a word as he stumbled away into the night.
As soon as she stepped back into their hideout, Evelyn chastised Lance. "Playing with fire here," she said, anger chewing at the corners of her mouth. "What does it take for you to win-for-how many people should die?"
Lance was impassive, no smirk at all playing up to his features. "Sometimes you must sacrifice pawns to protect the king."
That was the stare from Evelyn, a brewing storm. She wanted to argue, to call him names for his cold logic, but she couldn't deny the results. For better or worse, his plan had worked.
She strode away while Lance reclined into his chair again, allowing his laziness to slide back in. But in the midst of such languor, his mind already went racing. The Syndicate had bitten, but the game had hardly been won. And godhood was there to be taken by Lance.
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