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

"—We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news." The news anchor's serious face replaced the cooking show mid-sentence.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Miriam slammed her coffee cup down harder than necessary. "They always pull this crap right in the middle of Fork Fights! Can't they let me watch one goddamn show in peace?"

Angelo barely glanced up from his phone, lounging on the couch like he owned the place. "Easy there, mom. Your blood pressure."

Red stopped mid-sweep, his broom frozen in his hands as his attention snapped to the TV. Meanwhile, Blue continued setting the breakfast table with mechanical precision, though his movements slowed slightly.

The screen cut to drone footage of last night's warehouse, now wrapped in yellow police tape like a crime scene gift. The news anchor's voice took on that practiced gravity they saved for the really bad stuff. "Last night around one AM, two criminal organizations clashed at this industrial warehouse. Police initially assumed it was gang violence. What they discovered was far worse."

That got everyone's attention. Even Blue paused with a plate halfway to the table. Miriam forgot all about her cooking show, leaning forward like someone had dangled a juicy secret in front of her.

"A complete bloodbath. Bodies torn apart like something out of a horror movie." The footage showed blurred images of carnage—blood smeared across concrete, walls blasted to pieces, scorch marks everywhere. "The destruction reminds us of last year's New Light Festival attack. As for who did this... rumors are floating around of survivors claiming it was none other than the Angel of Death."

Miriam's face went white as fresh snow. She whipped around to stare at Angelo. "Please tell me you didn't—"

Angelo sighed like she'd asked him to explain quantum physics. "Come on. You really buying into some random rumor? Look at me—do I seem capable of that kind of mess?"

"I am!" Red practically sang in their shared thoughts.

"We're aware," Blue replied dryly, continuing to arrange silverware like they were discussing the weather.

The anchor kept going. "However, these claims face serious doubt following Angelo Ashworth's recent court acquittal. Many believe this is just misdirection to hide the real killer."

"See?" Angelo gestured at the screen with his phone. "Even the news thinks it's bullshit."

"Sneaky little bastard," Red's mental voice dripped with wicked admiration.

"But Angelo..." Miriam's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "You were out all night."

Angelo felt something tighten in his chest, but he pushed it down. "I told you—I stayed at Neiva's place."

"Did you really?" Miriam fixed him with that look mothers perfect over years of practice, then turned to Blue. "Blue, honey, is he telling the truth?"

Blue's hands stilled completely. Through their shared vision, he could see himself getting stared at intensely. He could feel Angelo's muscles tensing, could feel Red's sudden stillness. The moment stretched like a rubber band about to snap.

Finally, Blue straightened and adjusted his invisible glasses, meeting Miriam's eyes with scholarly calm. "If you're asking whether Angelo spent the evening with Miss Wines, Mrs. Dealer, then yes. He speaks the truth."

The collective sigh of relief was almost audible. Miriam relaxed back into her chair, missing the way Angelo and Red both deflated slightly.

"Well, that's a relief." Then her eyes took on a mischievous glint. "Though I have to wonder... you've been spending an awful lot of nights with her lately."

Angelo's eyes went wide. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know exactly what I mean." Miriam wasn't even trying to be subtle. "You're a young man, she just turned eighteen..."

"That's not—we're not—" Angelo stammered like a broken engine.

"Oh yes! Angelo and Neiva, getting very cozy!" Red bounced on his toes, practically vibrating with glee at Angelo's discomfort.

"RED! I swear to God, I'll murder you!" Angelo's voice cracked with pure venom.

Miriam just smiled that knowing mother smile. "Relax, sweetheart. It's perfectly natural. Just promise me you're using protection."

"Oh my God!" Angelo dragged out the last word like it was physically painful, already pushing himself off the couch. He made it three steps toward his room before spinning back around. "Look, it's not like that—"

Three sharp knocks on the front door cut him off. Everyone turned toward the sound like they'd heard gunshots.

"Who could that be?" Miriam stood and headed for the door. "Coming!"

When she opened it, Chief Ramirez stood there with Vivian and two other officers flanking him. He pulled off his hat in a gesture that looked more like a formality than politeness.

"Sorry to bother you so early, Mrs. Dealer."

"Chief?" Angelo appeared in the hallway, his earlier embarrassment replaced by sharp focus. "What brings you here?"

"Hopefully chasing shadows, son." Ramirez's voice carried the weight of someone who'd rather be anywhere else. His eyes locked onto Angelo with uncomfortable intensity.

"This about the warehouse massacre?" Miriam stepped slightly between them, her maternal instincts kicking in.

"I'm afraid so, ma'am." The chief's expression softened when he looked at her. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" His gaze shifted back to Angelo like a spotlight.

"Don't tell me you're buying into those rumors." Angelo crossed his arms, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "You of all people should know better than that."

Ramirez shifted uncomfortably, his hat turning in his hands. "Look, we're grasping at straws here. No other leads to follow. I came personally to put this rumor to bed, just for the record." His voice hardened. "Where were you last night?"

Before Angelo could answer, Miriam jumped in. "He was at his girlfriend's house."

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Angelo's serious demeanor cracked like an eggshell. "For the love of—she's NOT my girlfriend!"

Both Ramirez and Miriam ignored his protest completely. The chief pressed on. "And what exactly were you doing at your girlfriend's place?"

Angelo threw his hands up in surrender. Miriam crossed her arms and gave Ramirez a look that could have stopped traffic. "Do you really want details about what young couples do when they're alone at night? Are you seriously asking that?"

"MOM!" Angelo shouted in complete indignation.

"I... well, no, that's not..." The chief fumbled his words like he was juggling hot coals. Even Vivian and the other officers shuffled their feet awkwardly.

"Can we just drop this!" Angelo stepped forward, his face burning red.

"This is the best fucking day of my life!" Red's mental voice was pure joy.

"And it might be my very worst," Blue replied with resigned suffering.

Angelo shoved both voices aside. "Look," he turned to Ramirez, "how would I even know about the warehouse? You took my police radio when you searched the house." His words seemed to hit their mark—the chief stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And while we're at it, I want my weapon back."

"Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me." Ramirez's eyes sharpened again. "We noticed that contraption in Mrs. Dealer's garage is made of the same material as your scythe. Care to explain that?"

"Contraption?" Angelo looked genuinely confused for a moment. "Oh, that thing. Just a little project I'm working on. Both are made from our energies."

Vivian and the chief exchanged meaningful looks. "But your energy is orange," Vivian pointed out.

"I said energies, plural." Angelo's voice carried the patience of someone explaining something to a child. "Mix all three of ours together, makes it stronger. More durable."

"Interesting." The chief's tone suggested it was anything but.

"Anyway," Angelo brought them back on track, "here's my offer. You can monitor me, Red, and Blue anytime, anywhere you want. When the next rumor pops up about me causing trouble somewhere else, you'll see it couldn't have been me."

Suddenly Red stepped into the hallway wearing a bright pink apron, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "Chief Ramirez! Vivian! God, it's been forever!"

"Oh no." Angelo and the chief said it at exactly the same time.

"Why are you all standing around like strangers? Come in, come in! I'll whip up some coffee—you must be dying for my special blend!" Red was already waving a coffee pot around like a magic wand.

Ramirez was already turning around, jamming his hat back on his head. "Good to see you too, Red. Thanks, but we're running behind schedule. Besides," he called over his shoulder, "I like my coffee without salt."

"Hehe."

The chief glanced back one last time. "I'll take you up on that monitoring offer. We'll find a comfortable spot and let you know when and where." He started walking away with his officers trailing behind.

"Hey!" Angelo called after them. "What about my weapon?"

"Pick it up at the station," Ramirez called back with a dismissive wave, not even bothering to turn around.

And just like that, they were gone, leaving the morning air filled with unanswered questions and the lingering scent of Red's mischievous grin.

As Miriam shut the door, Angelo threw his hands up in frustration. "Unbelievable. They take my stuff and now I have to waste half my day at the station just to get it back."

"Hey, that's my apron!" Miriam said, completely ignoring Angelo's complaints. She couldn't keep a straight face looking at Red in the bright pink frilly thing.

"I know it is." Red struck a pose like he was modeling for a magazine. "Think it brings out my eyes?"

Blue stepped into the hallway, straightening his posture like he was about to announce dinner at a fancy hotel. "The table is ready, Mrs. Dealer. You two misfits can stop playing dress-up now."

"Thanks, sweetie. Let's go eat—all this morning drama worked up my appetite." Miriam was already heading toward the dining room, leaving the three of them to follow.

The strange little family gathered around the breakfast table. Of course, Red and Blue didn't actually eat anything—they just sat there like polite dinner guests while Angelo and Miriam worked through their plates.

In the back of their shared mind, Blue's voice carried that familiar note of scholarly concern. "Today came far too close to disaster, Angelo. Your nighttime activities are attracting precisely the kind of attention we cannot afford."

"Oh, boo-hoo," Red jumped in with zero sympathy. "Want me to get you a tissue?"

"I wasn't addressing you, was I?" Blue's mental voice could have frozen water.

"Why, you stuck-up little—" Red started.

"Enough!" Angelo cut them both off, then focused on Blue's worry. "Look, don't stress about it. I've got everything handled. The plan's working exactly like I said it would."

"If by 'plan' you mean that... abomination in the garage, then I have serious reservations about your definition of 'handled.'" Blue's disapproval came through loud and clear.

Before they could dig deeper into that argument, Miriam suddenly looked at Blue with curious eyes. "Blue, honey, why don't you call me mom like your brothers do?"

"I beg your pardon?" Blue blinked like she'd just asked him to explain rocket science. Red was trying so hard not to laugh that his face was turning red.

"I thought you said you all saw me as family, but you've never once called me that..." Miriam put on an exaggerated pout that was half-joking, half-serious.

"I... well..." Blue was actually stammering, which was like seeing a professor forget how to speak. "First of all, we're not technically brothers. Our relationship defies standard familial categories." He straightened up, falling back on his formal tone like armor. "Secondly, I believe strongly in proper etiquette. Since you haven't legally adopted us—which would be impossible anyway, considering Red and I lack official documentation—I cannot in good conscience use such intimate terminology. Please understand, there's no disrespect intended."

Miriam stared at him for a moment, processing his overcomplicated answer, then started giggling. "Oh, Blue, you really are something else."

"What do you mean by that?" Blue's composure cracked just a little.

"Talk about having a stick shoved up your ass," Red muttered, earning a sharp look from Blue.

"Blue," Miriam's voice went soft and understanding, "do you honestly think you need a piece of paper to be real? Do you see yourself as a real person, or just some kind of... I don't know, magical copy?"

Both Red and Blue went completely still, their playful banter vanishing like someone had flipped a switch. Angelo was paying attention now too, his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Do you..." Red's voice came out quieter than anyone had ever heard it, all his usual mischief gone. "Do you actually see us as real people?"

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

"Perhaps because we're not made of flesh and blood?" Blue suggested, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"So just because you're different, that makes you less human?" Miriam looked at both of them like they were missing something obvious. "Families existed long before governments started handing out certificates. My son Bill saw you as his brothers. Now I see you as my sons, and I'd give my life to protect you just like he did."

All three of them shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Angelo completely lost his appetite and stared down at his plate. "Don't say stuff like that, mom. Please."

She smiled at them with that warm motherly expression that could melt ice. Then everyone's attention focused on Blue, who looked smaller somehow, almost shy.

"Well..." His voice came out softer than usual, uncertain. "That reasoning is quite... persuasive. I suppose I could attempt it as well... M-mother."

The silence that followed was so complete you could have heard a pin drop. Even Red looked shocked, like he'd just watched Blue grow wings.

"I appreciate that, son." Miriam winked at him, and Blue looked down at his hands like he didn't know what to do with himself.

After breakfast, the three of them retreated to the garage—a big space that could have fit two cars if it wasn't for the massive something taking up half the room, hidden under a tarp like a sleeping giant.

"That breakfast took years off my life," Angelo said, splashing water on his face at the utility sink.

"You're telling me," Red agreed, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Blue was poking around at random tools and boxes, lost in his own thoughts.

"Anyway, time to prep this baby for its first real test." Angelo walked over to a tall storage cabinet and opened it wide. His orange aura flickered to life as he made something float out and settle gently on the concrete floor.

It was the strangest thing any of them had ever seen. It looked like a black mannequin—the same midnight color as Angelo's jacket—but dressed in normal clothes. A hooded jacket with the hood pulled up just right, a ski mask with eye holes, gloves, pants, regular shoes. Only tiny bits of that black skin showed at the neck and wrists, making it look almost human if you didn't look too close.

"Alright, showtime." Angelo sat down cross-legged on the floor and closed his eyes like he was meditating.

A moment later, the puppet's blank painted eyelids snapped open, revealing bright orange eyes underneath. It sat up like someone waking from a deep sleep, then stood and examined its hands, flexing its fingers like it was testing out a new body.

"Yeah." Angelo's voice came from his real mouth. "This is definitely going to work."