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

The evolved fire Auron strolled forward with casual arrogance, hands buried deep in his pockets. His blond afro bounced with each deliberate step, eyes locked on the three figures blocking his path.

"That supposed to be your boss?" The female thug with the hazard mask nudged her wounded companion.

The injured man spat blood onto the concrete. "Hell no. Boss doesn't get his hands dirty for small-time shit like this. But Jerome?" He grinned through split lips. "You're about to find out why they sent him instead."

Jerome stopped a few yards away, studying the twins and the girl like specimens in a lab. Strange fireballs orbited his shoulders, leaving trails of heat that made the air shimmer. "Well, well. Three little punks think they can waltz into our territory?" His voice carried the lazy confidence of someone who'd never lost a fight. "What exactly made you idiots think you'd be walking out of here breathing?"

Angelo, Red, and Neiva exchanged glances before dropping their defensive stances. Angelo straightened, his orange eyes blazing as he fixed Jerome with calculating intensity. "An evolved criminal operating in Novaria. You're not local, are you?"

Jerome's laugh barked out harsh and mocking. "Sharp eyes, kid. What tipped you off?"

Orange wings unfurled from Angelo's back as he lifted into the air, hovering with predatory grace. "Because every criminal in this city knows better than to cross the Angel of Death." His voice dropped to that familiar cold register that made even hardened thugs step back.

"Angel of Death?" Jerome picked at his ear with exaggerated boredom. "Sounds like some wannabe rockstar's stage name."

One of the thugs shuffled forward nervously. "Uh, Jerome, sir? He's not kidding around. This guy's kind of a legend here." His eyes darted to Neiva. "And the one with the metal mask—that's gotta be the Grim Reaper. The rumors are true!"

Neiva's jaw tightened beneath her mask, but like Angelo, she kept her silence.

Jerome's hands shot up in mock surrender, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Hold up, hold up! So Novaria's got both the Angel of Death AND the Grim Reaper prowling around?" His laughter echoed off the warehouse walls. "You can't write comedy this good!"

The thug glanced at Red's permanent grin with growing confusion. "Though... nobody mentioned the Angel having a twin brother. Where'd this guy even come from—"

Angelo's scythe whistled through the air in a warning arc, his patience evaporating. "Listen carefully, Jerome." The fire Auron's attention snapped to full focus, staring up at the airborne figure. "Evolved or not, you're nothing compared to death's messenger. Your friends are already marked for judgment, but you—you get one final choice."

"What's this psycho talking about?" Jerome whispered to the thug beside him.

"It's his whole thing, man..." came the nervous reply.

Angelo ignored their exchange, his scythe's blade catching the warehouse lights. "Abandon this path and walk away. Or attack me, and face complete annihilation." The weapon's point aimed directly at Jerome.

Jerome blinked once, then burst into fresh laughter. "Get off your damn high horse, you theatrical clown." One of his spinning fireballs shot forward like a missile.

Forged energy barriers materialized instantly, but the fireball detonated like a grenade on impact. The explosion launched Angelo upward, slamming him against the ceiling before gravity dragged him back down near Red and Neiva.

Every criminal tensed for the killing blow—then froze as Red's laughter erupted like a dam bursting.

"Hahaha! Look at you, Angie! Face-first into the dirt like a rookie!" Red slapped his knee, doubled over with manic glee. "What a complete fucking idiot!"

Angelo's head lifted slowly, his face a mask of pure rage. He climbed to his feet, eye twitching as he noticed the criminals fighting back their own laughter.

"Want something to really laugh about?" Angelo's voice turned deadly quiet. He pointed at the mob of thugs, his tone making Red's cackling die instantly. "Red. Sick 'em."

Red's wild grin transformed into something hungry and predatory. "Seriously? All of them?"

"Every. Last. One." Angelo's words dropped like stones into still water. "But Jerome's mine."

"What about me?" Neiva's demand cut through the tension.

Angelo glanced at her as if remembering she existed. "Right..." He paused, considering. "Watch my back. But stay sharp—this isn't a game."

Neiva's metal sword materialized in her grip, her knuckles whitening around the handle. "Understood."

Angelo's gaze shifted back to Red. "The stage is yours."

Red stepped forward, his laughter building again like a kettle about to whistle. Every criminal in the room tensed, fists half-raised, unsure whether to attack or retreat. Red made a sudden jerking motion that sent them all flinching—then relaxed when nothing happened. He swept into an elaborate bow, leaving them confused and on edge.

Crimson smoke began pouring from his skin like blood in water, weaving into wicked magician's robes and gloves tipped with razor talons. He straightened slowly, placing one hand over his face like a mask. When it pulled away, even the hardened thugs stumbled backward—the grinning clown face beneath was nightmare fuel made real.

"Actually, I take it back," Jerome said, his earlier confidence cracking. "This freak IS the real clown here." He raised his palm toward Red, but this time nobody laughed. Nobody except Red.

"Aw, that was brilliant! Why won't the rest of you laugh?" Red tilted his head to an unnatural angle, his voice sickeningly innocent. "Come on, don't you want to laugh just one. Last. Time?"

Before anyone could process the question, Red launched himself into the crowd. When the world snapped back into focus, he stood holding two severed heads while their bodies collapsed in spreading pools of blood.

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Horror froze every face in the room—then battle cries erupted as Aurons of every color charged the crimson monster. Red danced between their attacks like he could see the future, because through Angelo's eyes, he could. Sharp energy constructs carved through flesh while forged tethers punched through bodies like spears.

Screams and the wet sounds of slaughter filled the air as blood painted the concrete. Jerome watched the massacre in stunned disbelief. Most disturbing was Neiva—she stood motionless as Angelo, maybe colder. No flinching, no looking away. Just patient waiting.

Jerome snapped out of his shock and jerked his arm to attack, but an orange energy tether wrapped around his wrist like a vice.

"Your fight's with me, hotshot." Angelo's voice carried infuriating calm.

"Better forget about your friends," Neiva said, her tone smooth as ice. "Those NPCs are already dead."

"N-P-WHAT?!" Jerome roared, hurling fire grenades like a machine gun.

Angelo encased himself in forged energy armor, then called out without thinking. "Neiva, add more protection!"

Blue's sigh echoed in their shared consciousness. "Perhaps I should mention—she cannot hear our thoughts. Unlike Red and myself."

Angelo cursed silently before shouting aloud. "Neiva! More metal coverage!"

"Fine! You don't have to bite my head off!" Neiva snapped back, her body disappearing beneath a full suit of armor. She dodged several grenades before examining herself. "Ugh, now I look like a generic male character. Only with metal boobs."

"Ha!" Red called out while dismembering another attacker. "She said 'boobs'!"

"Real mature," Angelo deadpanned as he launched himself forward, but the endless spray of fire grenades forced him back like a wall of heat and explosions. Changing tactics, he pulled back through the air, weaving between the burning projectiles as orange energy began gathering between his palms like a miniature sun.

While Jerome focused on the airborne threat, Neiva circled behind him. Her metal blade whistled through the air, slicing clean through his jacket—but stopped dead against his skin as if she'd struck solid steel.

"Are you kidding me?" Neiva's voice cracked with disbelief.

Jerome turned slowly, flames dancing around his clenched fists. "That was my favorite jacket, you little bitch."

Neiva backed away, her stance defiant despite the danger. "Seriously? Is 'bitch' the only insult guys know? That's the third time today someone's called me that!"

"Neiva, move!" Angelo's warning boomed from above. Jerome's gaze snapped upward, then back to Neiva as she dove aside. With perfect timing, Angelo thrust both arms downward. "Energy Burst!"

The concentrated beam screamed through the air like a falling star, but Jerome just smirked. He drew a deep breath, smoke leaking from the corners of his mouth, then roared. A torrent of fire erupted from his throat, meeting Angelo's attack head-on. The collision triggered a chain of explosions that lit up the entire warehouse like a festival of fire.

Through the chaos, fire grenades cut through the smoke toward Neiva. She leaped, but not fast enough. The explosions tore chunks from her armor and sent her flying through the warehouse wall in a shower of concrete and dust.

"NEIVA!" Angelo's scream tore his throat raw. He dove toward the hole in the wall, but more grenades forced him to dodge. Two curved throws came from opposite directions—he slipped between them, but they collided behind him. The massive explosion launched him straight down to crash at Jerome's feet.

"Those shockwaves really mess me up..." Angelo groaned, trying to push himself up. "Gah—"

Jerome's boot slammed down on his head, grinding his face into the concrete. A fire grenade materialized in the evolved Auron's hand, ready to detonate.

"Where's all that big talk now, Angel of Death?" Jerome spat. "What a fucking joke."

He didn't notice the thin trail of blue smoke seeping from beneath Angelo's body like morning mist.

"Time to die—" Jerome froze as fingers wrapped around his wrist from behind. He spun to find another Angelo, this one surrounded by a calm blue aura, ice-blue eyes studying him with scholarly interest.

"What the hell?!"

"I typically prefer not to intervene directly," Blue said with polite disappointment, "but I must respectfully request that you refrain from murdering him. Thank you."

Jerome's eye twitched as his brain tried to process what he was seeing.

Angelo clenched his teeth, shame burning in his chest as he climbed to his feet. "Nobody asked for your help!" he growled. "If you want to be useful, go check on Neiva instead."

Blue sighed like a teacher dealing with difficult students. "Very well. That does seem like a more productive use of my time." He turned and rushed toward the hole in the wall with precise, measured steps.

"What the hell are you freaks supposed to be?" Jerome's voice dripped with pure malice.

"Ooh, he said the F-word again!" Red bounced and clung to the wall, giving his victims a chance to escape. "Want me to help you fuck him up, Angie?"

"YES." Angelo's response came flat and immediate. He jumped back, extending his arm as both he and Red began pouring energy into a swirling sphere that glowed dark orange like a trapped sunset at his palm. "Follow my lead."

Jerome's eyes widened as he recognized the threat. He dropped into a tennis player's stance, channeling everything he had into a single, massive fire grenade.

Outside, Blue knelt beside Neiva's still form, gently tapping her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered open, recognition sparked into rage, and her blue aura exploded around her as she leaped to her feet and rushed back toward the battle.

"SUB-TRINERGY BOMB!" Angelo roared, hurling the angry sphere forward. Jerome's grenade flew to meet it with deadly precision.

The two attacks collided in a spectacular explosion that consumed half the warehouse. But something felt wrong to Jerome—suddenly, the Sub-Trinergy Bomb emerged from the fireball, homing straight toward him like a guided missile.

"What the fuck—" The orb slammed into his chest, driving the air from his lungs as it launched him toward the ceiling. Then he realized the horrible truth—the sphere had hardened, that's how it survived the explosion. But just as this dawned on him, it shifted back to pure energy, glowing white-hot. "FUCK—"

BOOM.

"Nice work," Angelo called to Red, watching Jerome's body sail through the air like a broken doll. "Now finish your own job."

Jerome crashed into the floor, his clothes torn and singed. He struggled to his feet, his dark orange aura flickering like a dying flame as he fought to stay upright. Then a high-pitched battle cry rang out behind him as Neiva's blade punched through his back and emerged from his chest.

"GAH!" Blood fountained from Jerome's mouth.

"NO!" Angelo gasped, rushing forward. He looked between Neiva, still gripping her weapon, and Jerome, whose life was draining away with each heartbeat. "Damn it." With one swift motion, Angelo separated Jerome's head from his shoulders. The man's aura died instantly as his body collapsed.

Across the warehouse, Red held the last survivor by the throat, his talons drawing thin lines of blood. The woman stared into his burning crimson eyes, her voice barely a whisper.

"M-Monster..."

Red tilted his head slightly, his mask hiding his expression, but his eyes blazed with pure joy. "Monster? Nah, sweetheart—I'm Chaos!" His other hand punched through her chest, and he tossed her aside like garbage.

Blue rejoined Angelo just as he started laying into Neiva. "I specifically told you NOT to kill anyone! What part of 'don't kill' was unclear?"

Neiva's cheeks puffed out in indignation. "He called me a bitch and then launched me through a damn wall!" She crossed her arms and turned away. "Besides, he wasn't walking away from this anyway, so what's the big deal?"

"That's not the point!" Angelo's voice rose dangerously. "Taking a life leaves scars on your soul. I told you to let ME handle it."

She dropped her arms, confusion replacing anger. "Well, you did handle it. So what's the problem?"

Blue rolled his eyes and dissolved back into Angelo's body, clearly wanting no part of this argument.

Red strolled over casually, his chaotic outfit dissolving into crimson particles. "Hey, maybe save the lovers' spat for later? Check your ears—sirens are getting closer."

"This conversation isn't over," Angelo warned Neiva before his orange aura flared. He grabbed her around the waist and shot through the opposite window in an explosion of glass and wind.

Minutes later, police officers flooded the warehouse, their flashlight beams cutting through the smoky darkness. When they finally surveyed the carnage—the blood-soaked floor, the scattered body parts, the destruction—only one phrase escaped their lips:

"Dear God..."