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

The courtroom buzzed like a disturbed beehive as Judge Joshua made his way to the bench. George couldn't resist stealing a glance back at the packed gallery, his stomach dropping at the sea of faces staring back at him. "No pressure at all," he muttered under his breath.

The crowd was a mix of reporters scribbling notes, curious onlookers craning their necks, and concerned faces that stood out like beacons. A beautiful young woman with fiery red hair sat clutching her hands against her chest, her green eyes bright with worry. Beside her, a middle-aged woman wore the same anxious expression, while a tall young man with striking silver hair maintained a serious, watchful gaze.

The sharp crack of the judge's gavel cut through the murmur like a knife.

"Order in the court!" Judge Joshua's voice boomed across the room, silencing the whispers instantly. The clerk stepped forward with practiced efficiency.

"Court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Joshua presiding. Calling the case of The Nation of Luminia versus Angelo Ashworth."

George felt the weight of every eye in the room pressing down on him like a physical force. His collar suddenly felt too tight.

Judge Joshua settled into his chair, scanning both tables with sharp eyes. "Good morning, counsel. Please state your appearances for the record."

The intimidating prosecutor rose smoothly, his scarred face radiating decades of courtroom authority. "Maxwell Guilford for the prosecution, Your Honor."

The judge nodded, then turned his expectant gaze toward George, who sat frozen like a deer in headlights. Several seconds ticked by in awful silence.

"Oh! Right!" George shot to his feet so quickly his chair squeaked. "G-George Bright for the defense, Your Honor!"

From the corner of his eye, he caught Amaya burying her face in her hands. Heat flooded his cheeks.

"Thank you," Judge Joshua said with professional patience. "Are there any preliminary matters to address before we proceed?"

Maxwell straightened with practiced ease. "No preliminary matters from the prosecution, Your Honor."

The judge's attention shifted back to George, and time seemed to crawl. George's mind went completely blank. "Shit! I forgot what I'm supposed to say here! This wasn't covered in any of the games!"

"Defense?" Judge Joshua prompted.

"No, no preliminary matters from the defense either!" George blurted out, then hastily added, "Your Honor!" He slumped slightly. "Please tell me that wasn't important..."

"Very well. Prosecutor Guilford, your opening statement, if you will."

Maxwell's smile could have cut glass. "With pleasure, Your Honor."

George sank into his chair, feeling about as significant as a dust mote. He couldn't bring himself to look at either his sister or his client.

Maxwell strode to the center of the courtroom like he owned it. "Your Honor—for far too long, our city has suffered under the reign of self-appointed vigilantes." His disapproving gaze fell on Angelo like a spotlight. "And the worst offender is sitting right here in this courtroom—our so-called Angel of Death."

The name hit the room like a thunderclap. Several people in the gallery stretched to get a better look.

"First, he abused his position in the Auron Division, hiding behind official protection while terrorizing suspects." Maxwell began pacing, his voice building momentum. "Then he vanished entirely, and we dared to hope that law and order might finally return to our streets." He spun around, pointing directly at Angelo. "But then he came back—this time as a full-blown vigilante!"

Angelo met Maxwell's stare without blinking, neither man willing to back down. The tension crackled between them like electricity.

"After countless reports of the Angel of Death threatening suspects with death unless they surrendered, last night he finally crossed the ultimate line." Maxwell's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Angelo Ashworth—just nineteen years old—decided he could be judge, jury, and executioner all in one."

George's eyes went wide. He leaned toward Angelo, whispering urgently, "You're only nineteen?!"

Angelo's response was maddeningly calm. "Yeah. So what?"

"So what?!" George's whisper turned into a hiss. "I'm twenty-four! You're five years younger than me! Why do you keep calling me 'kid'?!"

Angelo shrugged, not even bothering to look at him. "You still look like a kid to me."

"That's completely—"

"Would you two stop acting like children and pay attention!" Amaya's sharp whisper cut through their argument like a blade.

"Says the actual child—" George started.

"Shhhh!" Amaya pressed a finger to her lips and jabbed her other hand toward Maxwell.

"...The evidence will show that Angelo Ashworth has transformed from protector to predator. It's time this community holds him accountable for his crimes. Thank you." Maxwell finished with a slight bow before returning to his seat, satisfaction radiating from every step.

Judge Joshua nodded and turned to George. "Mr. Bright, would you like to present your opening statement now, or reserve it until after the prosecution's case?"

George's mind raced frantically. "I don't have any solid evidence to work with. My only shot is poking holes in theirs..." He cleared his throat. "I'd like to reserve our opening statement, Your Honor."

"Very well." The judge's expression suggested George might have just made a tactical error. "Mr. Guilford, please call your first witness."

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Maxwell rose with predatory grace. "The prosecution calls the lead detective handling this case to the stand."

A few moments later, a short, weathered man in a detective's coat took the witness stand. His fingers fidgeted constantly, rolling a pencil between them like he was desperately craving a cigarette.

"Please state your name and occupation for the record," Maxwell requested.

The detective's voice carried years of cynicism and exhaustion. "Mark Plare. Private detective."

"Detective Plare, please tell the court what your investigation revealed."

Plare sighed like a man who'd rather be anywhere else on earth. "Fine. Yesterday at eight thirty-six PM, we got a report about a water Auron going rogue—Rick Chen, thirty-eight years old." He spoke in the clipped, matter-of-fact tone of someone who'd given this testimony a hundred times before. "According to witnesses, Chen attempted to steal a woman's purse. Turned out the victim was also an Auron. Just before she could activate her powers in self-defense, Chen struck first and killed her."

Plare paused to fidget with his pencil again, clearly wishing it was a lit cigarette. "He then stole a vehicle and fled into the alley system when he spotted our police blockade down the main road."

"Wow, that guy's a real piece of work," George muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Angelo to hear. "Pretty messed up treating the criminal like the victim here."

Angelo gave a slight nod of approval.

Plare continued in his monotone voice, twirling the pencil between his fingers like a practiced smoker. "Police surrounded the entire block where Chen was hiding. But when they got the order to move in, they found him already dead—lying at the defendant's feet."

"That's sufficient for now." Maxwell straightened his tie with satisfaction. "As you can see, Your Honor, there's no room for doubt here. Only Mr. Ashworth could have committed this crime."

George's eyes went wide with panic. "I—I object!" he called out, his voice cracking slightly. "I object to the assumption that only my client could be responsible!"

Maxwell turned slowly to face George, his scarred features arranging into a look that could freeze hell over. Under that intimidating stare, George felt like an ant facing down a boot.

"And what exactly are you suggesting, boy?" Maxwell's voice dripped condescension. "That Angelo just happened to be taking a pleasant evening stroll through a crime-ridden alley and stumbled across a fresh corpse?"

George realized how ridiculous it sounded even as the words left his mouth. "W-well, it might sound unlikely, but it's not impossible!" He tried to inject confidence into his voice and failed miserably.

Maxwell shook his head like a disappointed teacher. "Novices..." He sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll grant you that such a coincidence falls within the realm of theoretical possibility. However, we cannot ignore the defendant's notorious history. This is the infamous Angel of Death we're discussing. The odds of such an individual finding himself in this situation by pure accident are virtually nonexistent."

The courtroom erupted in whispers and murmurs. George felt his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged bird. Even Judge Joshua looked ready to bang his gavel and deliver a guilty verdict on the spot.

Amaya leaned forward, her voice barely a whisper. "This is looking really, really bad. What's our next move?"

George took a shaky breath, grasping for any lifeline. "Cross-examination! We still get to question the witness!"

Judge Joshua nodded with visible impatience. "Very well. You may proceed, Mr. Bright."

"Try to poke a hole in his testimony, even if it's small! Just something to kick us off!" Amaya suggested to her brother out of pure instinct. He nodded once in agreement.

George practically launched himself from his chair, walking toward the witness stand on unsteady legs. His internal monologue ran like a panicked sprint: "Just find one contradiction—one tiny hole in his story. Then everything should crumble like a house of cards. But what should I ask him? Wait, I think I got something!"

"Detective Plare," George began, his voice stronger than he felt. "Something you mentioned earlier caught my attention. You said you're a private detective?"

"Correct." Plare barely glanced at him, rolling the pencil between his fingers with practiced ease. "Got a problem with that?"

George rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Not exactly a problem, but... I find it unusual that a private detective would be leading a police investigation."

Plare looked about as impressed as someone watching paint dry.

Judge Joshua leaned forward with genuine curiosity. "That is rather peculiar. Typically, one of the department's own detectives would handle such a case. Private investigators are usually brought in only under special circumstances."

Plare let out a long-suffering sigh. "Chief Ramirez personally requested that I lead this investigation. You want to know why? Ask him yourself."

George sensed an opening and pressed forward. "But surely you have some idea why he chose you? Remember, you're testifying under oath."

Annoyance flashed across Plare's weathered features before he answered. "My best guess? It's because of my involvement in the Grim Reaper case."

Amaya noticed Angelo's eyes flash orange for just a moment, something dangerous stirring beneath his calm exterior. The air around him seemed to grow heavier.

Plare continued with characteristic bluntness. "Probably figures I'm the most qualified to handle the Angelo situation. Or maybe it's some twisted form of punishment. Who the hell knows with that man?"

George's internal celebration died quickly. "Well... that gives me absolutely nothing to work with. Think, think! What else can I try?" His face brightened with sudden inspiration. "Right! Detective Plare, the defense requests that you submit the autopsy report to the court."

"Sure, whatever." Plare's casual indifference made George's eye twitch with frustration. He pulled out a brown folder and handed it to the bailiff, who carried it to the judge like he was delivering a pizza. "Basically, Chen died from something that punched a clean hole straight through his chest and heart. Death was instantaneous."

George absorbed this information carefully. "And did my client carry any weapon capable of inflicting such a wound?"

A bark of laughter erupted from the prosecution table. "Are you seriously asking that question, boy?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" George's face flushed with indignation.

"Please enlighten the court, Detective," Maxwell requested with obvious amusement.

Plare sighed again, still fidgeting with his pencil like it was a lifeline. "Look, kid, Angelo's an Auron. You know what that means, right? Most Aurons can dish out this kind of damage without breaking a sweat. Doesn't matter if they control darkness, light, fire, water—hell, even earth Aurons can make cuts this clean if they hit hard and fast enough." His tired gaze shifted to Angelo. "But the ones who have it easiest? Energy Aurons. Just like your client sitting right there."

George looked back at Angelo with new understanding, pieces of a dangerous puzzle clicking into place.

"Any more questions?" Judge Joshua asked, his patience wearing thinner than tissue paper.

"Yes, of course!" George answered automatically, then frantically searched his memory for another angle. "Think, think, think! What other approach can I take?" Then something from Maxwell's opening statement surfaced like a life preserver. "That's it!"

He turned back to Plare with renewed energy. "Detective, the prosecution claims my client was lying in wait for the victim with premeditated intent to kill. My question is this: how could Angelo have known the victim would be there in the first place?"

Fresh murmurs rippled through the courtroom. George felt his confidence climbing—until he saw Plare's expression. Still unimpressed. Still bored. Still twirling that damn pencil.

"Simple answer, kid. Angelo used his police radio from his days on the force. And before you ask—yes, we had a warrant to search his current residence. We can confirm he never returned department property when he left."

George's heart dropped like a stone into his stomach, but he scrambled for a comeback. "But that doesn't prove he actually used it! Can you demonstrate that he did?"

Maxwell's exaggerated sigh carried across the entire courtroom. "Obviously his fingerprints would be all over the device—that proves nothing. But ultimately, it doesn't matter." His voice turned razor-sharp. "The fact remains that he could have done it. He had the means to learn about the criminal's location, the opportunity to commit the crime, and the motive to act. I believe we have everything necessary to establish guilt beyond reasonable doubt."

Judge Joshua nodded thoughtfully at Maxwell's words, and George felt like a noose was slowly tightening around not just his client's neck, but his own professional future.