The Divided Guardian [Cursed Anti-Hero, Progression, Dark Fantasy]

The sun sank toward the horizon, painting Novaria's busy town square in warm golden light. Long shadows stretched across cobblestone streets as shopkeepers began closing up for the day. The bright blue neon sign of Pizza Zap flickered to life, casting an electric glow that cut through the orange sunset. Inside, the pizzeria buzzed with life – cheese sizzled on hot pans, the scent of fresh garlic and tomato sauce hung in the air, and the happy chatter of customers created a blanket of comfortable noise.

Bill sat in the corner booth, hunched forward with his elbows on the table, occasionally running his fingers through his curly hair. Across from him sat Angelo, arms crossed tightly, his expression cold enough to freeze the air between them. Beside Angelo, one of his identical duplicates kept snickering at Bill's discomfort, while the third sat with perfect posture, his hands folded neatly on the table.

"This can't be real," Bill muttered, eyes fixed on a water stain on the table. "I'm dreaming, right? There's no way my mentor is the actual Angel of Death, and there's definitely no way there are three of him." He shook his head slightly, still not daring to look up.

Angelo's eyes narrowed. "You realize I can hear every word you're saying?" His fingers drummed against his bicep as his scowl deepened. "Talking about someone when they're sitting right in front of you isn't just weird—it's disrespectful. Especially when that someone is your superior officer."

Bill's head snapped up, his limbs flailing like he'd been shocked. "I—holy crap—I'm so sorry!" The words tumbled out as his face flushed crimson. "I didn't mean to—it's just—this is a lot to process!"

Angelo exhaled slowly through his nose, shoulders dropping slightly. "Yeah... figures I'd get stuck with a trainee who talks to himself." He leaned forward, resting his cheek against his knuckles. "This mentorship is going to be an absolute nightmare."

Bill's shoulders slumped in response, his gaze dropping to his untouched water glass.

"Bill." The formal duplicate spoke suddenly, making Bill jump. Though the face was identical to Angelo's, the voice carried a completely different cadence—measured and precise. "I fully comprehend your psychological distress. Our particular condition is not common knowledge among the general populace."

Bill let out a bitter laugh, his fingers nervously tracing the condensation on his glass. "You know what? If you'd just told me you were triplets, I probably would've believed you. But since you two literally materialized from thin air, I'm seriously questioning my sanity right now."

"Welcome to the hellscape I call daily existence," Angelo muttered, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

Bill slapped both cheeks with his palms, the smacking sound drawing glances from nearby tables. "Okay, can someone—anyone—please explain what's actually happening here? For real?"

Angelo sighed, the sound heavy with years of exhaustion. "Short version? We're split. It's a condition. End of story."

"Shouldn't you see a doctor or something?" Bill asked, voice hesitant. "Or maybe a specialist?"

The third duplicate—the one who'd been snickering—burst into raucous laughter, slapping the table hard enough to make their glasses jump. "That's a good one, rookie! What's the doctor gonna do? Prescribe us some magical un-splitting pills?" He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "Listen up, kid. Whatever shit-show curse created us isn't something your average white-coat can fix with a scalpel or a bottle of pills, got it?"

"A curse?!" Bill's eyes widened to comical proportions. "Are those actually real?!"

The formal duplicate pinched the bridge of his nose. "I implore you to disregard whatever he says," he cast a withering glance at his laughing counterpart, who responded with an exaggerated wink. "Our condition almost certainly has scientific origins. While the exact cause remains elusive, the effects are quantifiable."

Bill shook his head vigorously. "I've watched every Pro-Aurons match since I was ten. I've seen Aurons do all sorts of wacky things. But I've never seen anything like..." he gestured vaguely at the three identical men, "...whatever this is."

"That's because we're a special kind of freak show," Angelo said flatly, his voice hard as stone. "Lucky us..." Bitterness dripped from every syllable as he stared at nothing in particular.

"Aww, you secretly love having us around!" The snickering duplicate threw his arm around Angelo's shoulders and used his free hand to ruffle Angelo's hair aggressively. "Admit it, life would be boring as hell without me keeping things interesting!"

Bill watched the identical men struggle, a small, uncertain smile forming on his lips. "You know, now that the initial shock is wearing off..." he gestured toward them, "this actually seems kind of awesome."

"GET OFF ME!" Angelo shoved his double away with enough force to make him slide across the booth seat. He turned to Bill, eyes flashing with barely contained frustration. "You think it's 'awesome'? Try living with this menace for a single day. See how 'awesome' it feels when he replaces your toothpaste with wasabi or sets your alarm for three AM just for laughs."

Bill's chuckle died in his throat. "I, uh, hadn't considered that part." He cleared his throat. "Still, tactically speaking, you're essentially three Aurons fighting as one. No wonder the Angel of Death has such a fearsome reputation!"

Angelo's jaw tightened. "You'd think that, wouldn't you? If only you knew the cost we pay for this 'tactical advantage.'" The words came out sharp enough to cut.

Bill leaned forward, curiosity overriding his nervousness. "Cost? What kind of cost?"

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The formal duplicate straightened impossibly further. "The 'cost,' so to speak, is directly proportional to our divided state." He gestured toward Angelo with a precise movement. "When a singular entity is fractured, all attributes—including power—are distributed among the resulting fragments. Consequently, Angelo functions at approximately fifty percent capacity at all times." His hand moved to indicate himself. "Red and I operate at twenty-five percent each."

Bill's jaw dropped so fast it nearly hit the table. "You're kidding me!" He glanced between Angelo and the duplicate he now understood was called Red, noting their soured expressions. He chose his next words carefully. "So this... limitation affects physical strength or Auron abilities?"

"Both," Angelo confirmed, voice flat as a dead heartbeat. "Still think it's 'awesome'?"

"Aren't there any benefits at all?" Bill asked, genuine interest evident in his voice.

Angelo glanced at the smiling Red, then back at Bill, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "No. None whatsoever."

"Oh come on, Angie-boy—" Red moved to drape his arm over Angelo's shoulders again.

Angelo's hand shot up like a barrier. "Touch me again and I swear I'll destroy your body here and now."

Red's grin widened as he leaned toward Bill, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Don't listen to Captain Buzzkill over here," he jabbed his thumb at Angelo, who glared in response. "We've got some seriously sweet perks that make up for it!"

"Really? Like what?" Bill perked up, leaning forward so eagerly he nearly knocked over his water glass.

Red tapped his temple with one finger. "For starters, we've got a built-in spy network. We share everything—sight, sound, touch, the whole package." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Not to mention we can hear each other's thoughts. It's like having walkie-talkies in our brains."

Bill's jaw dropped. "No freaking way! That's gotta be made up!"

"Totally legit!" Red slapped the table for emphasis. "Why do you think we aced every test back in school? Three-man operation, baby!"

Bill's forehead wrinkled as he processed this. "Wait, so you guys studied together? I guess three brains working on the same problem would be—"

Red made a loud buzzer sound, cutting him off. "Wrong answer, rookie! Angelo would drag his sorry ass to class for the test, while I stayed home and..." he trailed off, chuckling darkly as he mimed typing on a keyboard.

The realization hit Bill like a thunderbolt. "Hold up—you were at home looking up answers while he took the test?" His eyes widened with newfound respect. "That's freaking brilliant! I'm so jealous right now!"

"Red!" Blue's voice snapped inside their shared consciousness. "It is profoundly inappropriate to discuss academic dishonesty with our trainee! You're undermining our authority and setting a detrimental example!"

Red swiveled toward Blue, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Oh, shove it where the sun doesn't shine, Blueberry," he said out loud, seemingly talking to empty air from Bill's perspective.

Bill's gaze darted between them, confusion written across his face. "So... you're Red," he pointed hesitantly, then turned to the formal duplicate. "And you're... Blueberry?"

Blue opened his mouth to correct him, but Red practically lunged across the table. "Yep! You nailed it, kid! Blueberry it is!"

"Absolutely not!" Blue's normally composed voice rose an octave. "My designation is simply 'Blue.' I must strongly advise you to disregard Red's statements, as they frequently contain misinformation or deliberately misleading content."

Bill's nervous chuckle softened into a genuine smile. "Noted." His eyes suddenly lit up as he turned to Angelo. "Wait a second—with this three-in-one setup, you'd be an absolute sensation in the Pro-Auron circuit! The fans go crazy for unique abilities like this!"

Angelo raised an eyebrow, absently stirring his untouched soda with a straw. "You're really into that whole spectacle, aren't you?"

"Hell yeah!" Bill nodded enthusiastically, then caught himself. "I mean, yes sir, absolutely sir!" His excitement bubbled through the formality. "So what's your official rank? With your reputation as the Angel of Death, you've got to be at least Veteran rank... But taking your condition into account... Elite maybe?"

"Don't have one," Angelo replied flatly, his straw making small circles in his drink.

Bill blinked rapidly like his brain was buffering. "Wait—what? You've never taken the ACE test? Not even once?"

Angelo shrugged one shoulder. "Never saw the point. A fancy title doesn't make me any better at what I do."

Bill leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "But what about the perks?" His eyes darted left and right as if sharing state secrets. "They just taught us today that your salary gets serious upgrades based on your ranking. The higher you score, the fatter your paycheck gets!"

"WHAT?" Red slammed both palms on the table, making the silverware jump. "You're telling me we could've been making bank this whole time?!"

Angelo grabbed Red's collar and yanked him back into his seat. "Sit down before you cause a scene, you idiot!" He turned to Bill with a tired sigh. "Even if I did take the test, I doubt we'd score as high as you think."

"How is that possible?" Bill's voice was thick with disbelief. "With your reputation as the Angel of Death, you'd automatically qualify for Adept rank at minimum!"

Angelo let out a short, humorless laugh that sounded more like a bark. "My reputation, huh?" He ran a hand through his hair. "It's smoke and mirrors, kid. I take down petty crooks and two-bit criminals. Not Pro-Aurons."

"Still," Bill said slowly, "you're talking like you're barely above average."

"That's because I'm not." Angelo's fingers drummed against the table. "Against untrained Aurons who couldn't power a light bulb with their aura? Sure, I look impressive." His mouth twisted into a bitter line. "But compared to your precious Pro-Auron champions? I'm probably at the bottom of the barrel."

Bill glanced between the three identical faces, noting how Red's usual cockiness had deflated like a punctured balloon. "And that doesn't bother you? You don't want to push higher?"

Angelo stared out the window at the darkening sky. "Look, I made peace with this a long time ago. I wasn't meant for spotlight glory." His voice hardened. "I'm exactly where I need to be—cleaning scum off the streets. Not everyone gets to be a star."

"Oh." Bill's shoulders slumped, his excitement visibly fading. "That's a real shame. Someone with your unique abilities would've been amazing to watch in the arena."

Blue shot Angelo a look so sharp it could've cut glass. Angelo caught it from the corner of his eye and sighed heavily.

"Listen, kid, I get the fascination, but would they even allow someone like—"

A distant boom cut through his words, the sound rolling through the restaurant like far-off thunder. Conversations stuttered to a halt as diners looked up from their meals, heads turning toward the windows. The pizzeria fell into an unnatural hush as everyone strained to hear.

BOOM!

The second explosion hit with enough force to rattle the windows in their frames. Glasses vibrated across tables, and the lights flickered ominously. Panic erupted instantly—chairs scraped against the floor as people jumped to their feet, voices rising in a chaotic chorus of fear.

"What's happening?!" Bill's voice cracked as he gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. "Sir, what is that?!"

Angelo rose in one fluid motion, his body suddenly tense as a drawn bowstring. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the screams coming from outside, filtering through the din of the panicking restaurant crowd. In that moment, the self pitying superior was gone—replaced by the Angel of Death.