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

- 08:12 AM, Bedroom(Basement) -

The morning sun painted Novaria's streets in golden light. Just another workday for most people—but not everyone had work to wake up for.

"Wake up..." A soft voice drifted through George's dreams. "Come on, brother..." The voice grew sharper, more insistent. "Wake. Up. George!" Two sharp slaps cracked across his cheeks.

"Whoa, what the—" George bolted upright, his head spinning from the sudden movement. He blinked at his sister standing beside his bed, arms crossed. "Amaya? What are you doing in my room? Get out!"

She stepped back, rolling her eyes. "Well, excuse me for trying to help your pathetic ass."

George rubbed his stinging cheeks. "Help me with what exactly? Getting out of bed?"

"For starters, yeah." Amaya's voice carried that particular edge younger sisters perfect over years of practice. "You barely scraped by on the bar exam, every law firm in the city turned you down, and now you're hiding under your blankets like a five-year-old. Mom and Dad aren't gonna let you live in the basement forever."

Each word hit like a physical blow. George slumped back against his pillow. "If you just came here to twist the knife, you can leave now."

"Look, it's not my fault you picked your career because of some stupid video game about lawyers—"

"Amayaaaa..." George's voice stretched into a warning growl as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

She grinned, clearly enjoying his reaction. "Ooh, did I hit a nerve?" Her expression softened slightly. "Sorry, sorry. How about I make it up to you?"

George snorted. "Yeah? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"By getting you your first client."

"What?"

"You heard me." Amaya pulled out her phone, waving it like a winning lottery ticket. "Not just any client either—the perfect first client. Get him off the hook and every law firm in the country will be begging you to work for them. Hell, you could start your own practice!"

George's eyes widened as she thrust the phone at him. The headline blazed across the screen: "The Angel of Death Arrested on Murder Charges."

"The Angel of Death..." His voice came out barely a whisper. "Arrested last night... First-degree murder..." He lowered the phone slowly and looked up at his sister, possibilities racing through his mind. "If I defend him and win, I'll be—"

"Famous," Amaya finished. "Or completely destroyed. Could go either way."

George was already moving toward his closet, pulling out his best suit. "We need to get down there before someone else snatches him up."

"We?" Amaya raised an eyebrow.

"It was your idea." George straightened his tie with shaking hands. "Besides, I might need backup."

"Ugh, fine. Good excuse to skip school anyway." She shrugged. "But don't tell Mom."

"Deal. Let's go!"

- 09:07 AM, Detention Center -

Forty minutes later, they stood outside the detention center. The building loomed gray and imposing against the morning sky. Amaya started up the concrete steps, but George remained frozen on the sidewalk.

"Well?" She looked back at him. "What are you waiting for? Come on!"

Now actually being here, George swallowed hard. "I'm... I'm scared!"

"Seriously?" Amaya's shoulders sagged. "He's detained, George. What's the worst he could do—stare at you to death?"

"I heard his stares actually CAN kill people!" George's voice cracked.

"Oh for crying out loud." Amaya marched back down and started pushing him from behind. "Just. Get. Moving. You giant baby!"

After several more minutes of coaxing, shoving, and one threat to tell their mother about his hidden magazine collection, they finally made it inside.

"Go!" Amaya gave him one final push toward the reception desk.

A tired-looking officer glanced up from his paperwork. "Can I help you?"

George straightened his tie nervously. "Um... yes. I Uh... I'm a lawyer... And I'm here to see the Angel of Death. I want to represent him."

The officer studied him for a long moment, and George could swear he saw amusement flicker in the man's eyes. "Very well. We'll arrange a meeting room. Please wait over there—someone will escort you shortly."

"Thank you!" George's voice came out higher than intended. He shuffled to the indicated area, Amaya trailing behind with obvious reluctance.

Minutes crawled by until another officer approached. "Right this way, sir. Mr. Ashworth is waiting for you." Was that definitely amusement in his voice?

George's stomach dropped. "Right... let's go." George said as he made a mental note. "Last name's Ashworth, okay, not too hard to remember."

They followed the officer through heavy double doors into a dimly lit hallway. Their footsteps echoed off the concrete walls until they reached the last door on the right. George kept reciting the last name in his head over and over.

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"He's in there." The officer gestured and walked away, leaving them alone.

George stared at the door like it might bite him. The metal handle felt cold under his sweaty palm. Amaya grabbed his arm as the hinges creaked.

Inside, a figure sat hunched over a metal table under a single flickering bulb. Handcuffs secured his wrists to the table's surface. He wore a strange black jacket with glowing silver stripes that pulsed with colorful veins of light. When he looked up, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

"Um... hello there." George stepped forward slowly, extending his hand before remembering the restraints. "I'm George Bright, attorney at law."

Angelo stared at him like he'd grown a second head, then rattled his handcuffs meaningfully.

"Oh. Right. Sorry." George pulled back his hand, face burning. "Mr. Ashworth—"

"Just Angelo."

"Angelo, of course." George carefully pulled out the other chair. "May I sit?"

Angelo nodded. His gaze shifted to Amaya, who was trying to blend into the wall behind them. "Who's the kid? Looks young for a lawyer."

"That's Amaya, my little sister. She's fifteen—definitely not a lawyer." George settled into the chair, trying to project confidence he didn't feel.

Angelo's attention returned to him with laser focus.

"If it's alright with you, we'd like to hear what happened last night." George kept his voice steady and respectful.

Angelo's eyes locked onto his—or maybe through him. For several long seconds, he didn't move, didn't speak. His left eye began to twitch.

Then his eyes flashed bright orange, making both siblings jump. But he just kept staring.

George glanced at Amaya, who returned his confused look with a helpless shrug. He turned back to Angelo and cautiously waved his hand in front of the man's face. "Mr. Ashworth?"

Angelo blinked rapidly, his eyes returning to normal brown. "What? Sorry, what were you saying?"

Both stared at him. "...I asked if you could tell us what happened last night."

Angelo leaned back as far as his restraints allowed, studying the stained ceiling. "Let's see... I was standing in this alley, minding my own business. Heard sirens going off all around the block. Then I heard someone running toward me—my instincts told me he was the one they were chasing. So I intercepted him."

"What exactly did you do to him?" George's voice barely rose above a whisper.

Angelo's eyes snapped back to his. "I told him to stand down. Surrender and turn himself in. But he didn't listen—instead, he attacked me."

"You fought him?" George braced himself for the answer.

Angelo paused, something unreadable crossing his features. "No. Don't get me wrong, I was ready to defend myself... But someone else beat me to it. Came out of nowhere—couldn't even see who it was because the police got me before I knew what happened."

George exchanged a quick glance with his sister, hope flickering in his chest. "As long as you're telling the truth, you've got nothing to worry about! I'll clear your name, I promise!" He tried to inject confidence into his voice, though he wasn't sure if he was convincing Angelo or himself.

Angelo leaned back slightly, something calm and sure settling over his features. "Don't sweat it, kid. Just let the evidence speak for itself. Everything will work out."

George's eyes went wide. "Wait—so that means you actually want me to represent you?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

George shot up from his chair like he'd been launched from a spring. "You can count on me, sir! I won't let you down!" He spun toward his sister, practically vibrating with excitement. "Come on, Amaya! We've got a crime scene to check out!"

They rushed out of the room, George's footsteps echoing down the hallway with newfound purpose.

"He wasn't that scary after all," Amaya said, matching his pace. "Pretty weird though."

"Weird or not, he's still the biggest case I could ever hope for! If I can pull this off, it's smooth sailing from here—"

A door ahead of them burst open, and two officers stumbled out, wiping tears from their eyes like they'd been laughing for hours.

They spotted George immediately and hurried over. "Oh man, you were incredible in there!"

The second officer grinned. "Thanks, dude! I just won ten bucks because of you!"

George stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"

"We had a bet going," the first officer explained, barely containing his laughter. "Ten bucks says the Angel of Death makes you wet yourself with fear!"

"And you held it together like a champ!"

Both officers dissolved into laughter again. George's face turned three shades of red.

"I gotta hand it to you though," one of them said, extending his hand. "Taking on a case nobody else will touch with a ten-foot pole? That takes guts."

Amaya stepped forward, frowning. "Wait, why won't anyone else take his case?"

"You're kidding, right?" One officer looked genuinely surprised.

"He's called the Angel of Death for a reason," the other explained. "Everyone thinks he's guilty as sin."

George straightened his shoulders, some of his dignity returning. "Everyone deserves fair representation and the benefit of the doubt. He told me to trust the evidence—that's all I need to hear."

He grabbed Amaya's arm and marched past the still-chuckling officers. "Let's go, sis!"

And with that, George and Amaya left to investigate the crime scene, Angelo's future hanging in the balance.

- 08:36 AM, Courtroom #2's Lobby -

"I can't believe they wouldn't let me investigate!" George paced back and forth, gesturing wildly. "The games totally betrayed me!"

Angelo sprawled across the lobby sofa, his cuffed hands cushioning his head, looking like he didn't have a care in the world.

Amaya shook her head at both of them. "I thought that should've been obvious to you by now, George."

George clutched his chest dramatically. "A man can still hope and dream!"

"Right..." She glanced at Angelo, her backbone returning now that the infamous Angel of Death looked like just another guy in the lobby's bright fluorescent lighting. Well, if regular guys wore jackets that glowed like neon signs. "Nothing bothers you, does it?"

Angelo's eyes drifted lazily toward her. "Think so?"

"Yeah... I guess that's what happens when you risk your life all the time, huh?"

"Hmm." Angelo considered this. "Nah, that's not it."

George stopped pacing, curiosity replacing his frustration. "Then what is it?"

Angelo sat up straighter, his expression growing serious. "I know the evidence will prove I'm innocent. As long as nobody messes with it or hides it completely."

"So if it's a fair trial, you're golden?" Amaya asked.

"Pretty much." Angelo settled back into his relaxed position.

Both siblings fell into thoughtful silence until Angelo suddenly groaned. "Ugh... fine." He turned to George with a look of mild exasperation. "Hey kid, that game you mentioned—the one that 'betrayed' you. You talk like you expected real life to work like those games."

George's eyes went wide as sweat beaded on his forehead. "What? No! Of course not! That would be ridiculous!"

Angelo studied him for several long seconds. "Yeah, I can tell he's lying. Pretty obvious, really. Don't need to be an empath for that one."

George's face scrunched in confusion. He looked at Amaya helplessly. "Is he talking to me?"

His sister's expression clearly read 'I have absolutely no clue what's happening.'

Before anyone could respond, the bailiff opened the lobby door. "Angelo Ashworth and his defense team, please proceed to the courtroom."

George swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Alright, here we go. Good luck to all of us." He tried to gather what remained of his courage.

- 09:00 AM, Courtroom #2 -

They sat at the defense table facing the judge's bench. The courtroom buzzed with quiet conversation as everyone took their places, including a stern-looking prosecutor with a white mustache and a nasty scar running from his right eye down to his neck.

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Joshua," someone announced.

Everyone stood. George felt his legs trembling beneath him. This was it—the real deal. Everything he'd studied for, everything he'd dreamed of. His client's future hung in the balance, and there was only one acceptable outcome: victory.