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

A thunderous explosion tore into the cliff face, carving out another smoking crater in the rock wall. Angelo's orange aura sputtered and died like a candle in the wind. Red and Blue beside him, all three with their arms aimed at their previous target. Cracks ran across Red and Blue's bodies like broken glass, leaking crimson and azure light through the gaps.

They stood frozen for several heartbeats, muscles tense as violin strings, before slowly releasing their battle stance.

Sol had been working on his own EDR training in a corner of the beach, but the sudden silence made him cut his aura short. He jogged over to the trio, sand crunching under his boots.

Neiva kept practicing nearby, her metal manipulation finally starting to click. The blob of silver metal stretched exactly where she wanted it to go, even forming jagged spikes that looked genuinely dangerous. She only noticed everyone else had stopped when Sol rejoined their group.

"Well?" Sol crossed his arms, studying their exhausted faces. "Any progress? Can you actually use that thing in a real fight yet?"

The silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap. Red glanced at his duplicates' grim expressions and threw up his hands.

"Hell no. The whole damn thing's like trying to juggle flaming chainsaws while riding a unicycle," Red said, kicking at the sand. "Backwards. In a tornado."

Worry creased Neiva's forehead. "So what's our next move?" She looked between them all. "Do we just solve this mystery and let the cops handle Hugo?"

"You think the police give a damn about some forgotten port town?" Angelo's voice cut like a blade as he turned back toward the cliff. "They don't. If we want to save these people, we do it ourselves. I swore I'd fix what's broken in this world, and I meant every word."

Sol let out a quiet chuckle, not bothering to hide his doubt.

Angelo's gaze snapped to him, cold as winter steel. "Find something funny about that?"

Sol shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. "You're just... idealistic sometimes. Hard to picture you as the Angel of Death who made Novaria's criminals piss themselves."

Red wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Damn right we're that scary."

"Shut it, hothead." Angelo's attention stayed locked on Sol. "Doubt me all you want. But you said it yourself—there's a reason they fear my name."

Sol shrugged. "Sure, but maybe Novaria's criminals weren't that tough to begin with. Look at you now—busting your ass just to take down some local gang boss. Yet you think you can change the world?" He shook his head. "That's what I call naive."

Angelo didn't answer right away. He stared at the crater-marked cliff, something shifting in his expression.

"I used to think street thugs were the worst I'd face." His voice carried a weight that made Sol's smirk disappear. "You know what changed that? Someone saw potential in me that I couldn't see myself."

Even Red's usual grin faded. Neiva stepped closer.

"Bill?" she asked softly.

Angelo nodded, his jaw tight with old pain.

Blue stepped forward, his usual scholarly composure cracking slightly. "At the time, I had calculated that Angelo functioned at approximately twenty-five percent efficiency due to our division. Young Bill possessed a rather... illuminating perspective." Blue paused, gathering himself. "He informed Angelo that he had built his fearsome reputation while essentially fighting with one leg, both hands bound behind his back."

Red moved closer, his wild grin replaced by something raw and honest. "That rookie bastard was the first person to look at our fucked-up existence and see it as a gift instead of a curse."

Angelo's hands clenched into fists. "Now that I've seen what Trinergy can do... I'm starting to understand what he saw in us."

Sol absorbed this, his casual demeanor shifting to genuine respect. "Alright. I hear you. But if Trinergy isn't ready for combat, what's the backup plan?"

The three duplicates exchanged glances before Angelo met Sol's eyes.

"Plan B."

"Plan B?" Neiva echoed. "Please tell me that's not one of those 'Plan B is figuring out Plan C' situations."

Angelo sighed. "No. We actually have one. Permanent matter."

Confusion crossed Neiva's face while Sol's eyebrows shot up. "You're joking."

"Unfortunately not," Blue confirmed with a shake of his head.

Red's grin looked more like a grimace. "Can't make it during battle? Make it beforehand and stockpile that shit."

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Understanding dawned on Neiva's face. "But didn't you say creating even small amounts takes forever?"

Angelo rubbed his temples. "Yeah... and mixing it properly will take even longer. We'll have to use every spare minute building up a supply."

Sol frowned. "Where exactly are you planning to store this stuff?"

"Our room, obviously." Angelo said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sol couldn't help but laugh. "Of course you'd turn an inn room into a weapons cache."

The sun had nearly disappeared while they trained, painting the sky in deep purples. "We should head back," Sol said, glancing at the darkening horizon. "Getting late."

The group nodded reluctantly and began gathering themselves. Nobody looked particularly thrilled with how their training session had ended, but at least they had a path forward—even if it meant spending their nights crafting ammunition instead of sleeping.

While the group made their way back to town, someone they knew was about to face something much worse.

"Agh!" Josef grunted as rough hands shoved him into a creaky wooden chair. The rope burns on his wrists stung like fire. "You've got this completely wrong!" he pleaded with his captors.

"Shut your mouth, old man," the Cliffhanger snarled, spitting into the corner. "Just sit there and wait."

Josef's stomach dropped as heavy footsteps approached the door. His hands trembled when a voice rumbled through the walls like distant thunder.

"So this is our little spy?" Hugo's massive frame filled the doorway, forcing him to duck under the frame. The floorboards groaned under his weight. "Get out. Me and this old dog need to have a chat."

"Yes sir!" The guard practically sprinted from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Hugo dropped a leather bag by his feet with a dull thud, then settled his bulk across the rickety table. Just resting one arm on the surface made the wood protest with sharp creaks.

"Feel like talking yet?" Hugo's smile held all the warmth of a winter grave.

"Mr. Reid, sir, this is all a huge mistake—" Josef's voice cracked like dried leaves.

Hugo raised one massive finger. "Nobody wants to hear your excuses, old timer. You went sniffing around for Megan. You're gonna tell me exactly why." Their eyes locked. "And don't even think about lying. I can smell bullshit from a mile away."

Josef aged ten years in ten seconds. "I... I wanted to ask her for extra money behind your back. My nephew's turning eighteen and I wanted to buy him something special—"

"Horseshit!" Hugo's palm crashed down, splitting the table clean down the middle. Josef jumped like he'd been electrocuted. "You think I'm some kind of idiot? Everyone gets their fair share around here. Who set up that system?"

Josef looked ready to faint. "Y-you did, sir."

"Damn right I did." Hugo's eyes turned predatory. "And you wanted to meet her for a 'raise'? Try again."

"It's because I wanted to get him something from the big city!" Josef's words tumbled out in a desperate rush.

Hugo shook his head slowly. "We both know that's garbage. You're working with someone, aren't you?"

Josef's heart practically stopped. "W-working with someone? On what?"

Hugo leaned back, arms crossed like steel cables. "You're digging your own grave here, old man. Do I need to help you remember the truth?"

Josef shook his head so hard his neck popped. "No, please! I swear I'm not lying! Ask my sister! Check for yourself—my nephew really is turning eighteen!"

Hugo closed his eyes and sighed. "I really didn't want it to come to this." When his eyes snapped open, they blazed yellow like a serpent's, and the air around him shimmered with deadly power.

"Please, don't do this! I'M TELLING THE TRUTH!" Josef's scream echoed off the walls.

Hugo ignored his pleas. Water erupted from nowhere, liquid tentacles dragging Josef's arm across the broken table. Smaller streams wrapped around his fingers, prying his palm open before the whole thing froze solid—trapping his arm like it was set in concrete.

"NO! STOP!" Josef yanked against the ice with everything he had.

Hugo slowly pulled a pair of garden shears from his bag, examining them like they left a bad taste in his mouth. "Every lie costs you a finger." His voice stayed calm, but something vicious lurked underneath.

"I'm not lying! I haven't lied to you!" Josef's voice broke into desperate sobs.

"Tell me—who are you working for?"

"NOBODY!" Josef screamed. "Whatever you think I'm doing, I'm—"

His words turned into a shriek of pure agony as the shears bit through bone. Blood splashed across the table like spilled paint.

Hugo waited, letting Josef writhe and moan. "Is it those newcomers? You with them?"

Josef gasped through the pain. "No... I'm not... please, I'm begging you, stop this—AHHHHHHH!" Another finger hit the floor with a wet thud.

Again, Hugo waited for the screaming to die down. "Are they after me?"

Josef's breathing came in ragged gasps. "YOU'VE GOT THE WRONG GUY! I'M TELLING YOU, THE WRONG—AHHHHHHH!" His protest became another howl of agony.

"GIVE ME THE TRUTH!" Hugo roared. Josef convulsed from the pain, finally vomiting to one side before collapsing into broken whimpers.

Hugo's face twisted with disgust. "Damn it." He stood up, his aura flickering out like a snuffed candle. The ice around Josef's mutilated hand began dissolving away like morning frost.

He opened the door and spoke to the guard waiting outside. "We're done here. Throw him in a cell." He glanced back at the broken man. "We'll finish this at the cliff."

Then he was gone, leaving Josef bleeding and broken.

Outside the building, Veronica waited with a knowing smirk. "Well? How'd that go?"

"The bastard puked after the third finger," Hugo said, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

Veronica actually giggled. "I don't know why you insisted on doing it yourself. We both know you don't have the stomach for this kind of work." She didn't even try to hide how much she enjoyed his discomfort.

Hugo kept walking, jaw clenched tight. She fell into step beside him.

"Did you at least send someone else to continue the fun?"

Hugo stopped dead. "No."

"Why the hell not?"

"He won't break. Cut off his whole damn arm and he'd still keep his mouth shut. I know the type." Hugo's voice went flat. "I'll keep his suffering short. He's worked for me too long to deserve worse."

Veronica crossed her arms. "So what now? Back to square one?"

Hugo turned to her, confidence returning to his voice. "Not exactly. We just go for plan B. There are plenty more miners to squeeze. Send word—tomorrow morning, I want every last one of them at the mine entrance."

"Fine. Let's see where this rabbit hole goes." Veronica shrugged.

Hugo resumed walking, determination burning in his eyes. Someone was playing games with him, and he intended to find out who—and make them pay.

Back at the inn, the group finally dragged themselves inside. Sol and Neiva collapsed onto their beds like their strings had been cut. Only Angelo had other plans, carefully closing the curtains against prying eyes.

Both sides were making their moves, neither knowing what the other was planning. The question was simple: in this deadly game of cat and mouse, who would be left standing?