Chapter 8: Two Faces_6

**********************!!!!!!!!GUYS I AM CONFUSED CAN YOU GIVE ME A MORE PRESENTABLE WAY TO MAKE THE POV FOR YOU GUYS??????!!!!!!!!!!!**********************

The full moon cast a sickly silver glow through the shattered stained-glass of the abandoned citadel, bathing its decrepit stone walls in a ghostly light, flashes, and sparks flying through the air, the sound of metal clashes against each other. The air was thick with the scent of decay, old blood, and something else—something wrong. The Phantom Slayer stood amidst the wreckage, his boots scraping against the dust-ridden floor as his senses screamed at him to move.

And yet, he didn't.

His gaze was locked on the figure before him—Argent Mycroft, the Vice Guild Leader of the Adventurers' Guild. No, not Argent. Not the man he had known. Not the man who once fought by his side.

The muscle-bound knight, clad in his signature long coat, stood with his monocle glinting ominously in the moonlight, his silver eyes no longer their usual calculated steel, but glowing with a deep, suffocating crimson—the shade of something no longer human. His walking stick was no longer in his hand. Instead, a long, curved blade, slick with something dark, rested against his shoulder.

TPS exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the unsettling chill crawling up his spine. Something was deeply, horrifically wrong.

"The hell is this, Argent?" The Phantom Slayer's voice was calm, but there was an underlying edge to it. "Got tired of playing the wise old guild officer and decided to start moonlighting as a homicidal maniac?". The Phantom Slayer looked at the grotesque appearance of the cathedral, that was caused by their recent encounter. "I mean, I won't judge if that's your hobby". The Phantom Slayer said with a hoarse laugh.

Argent didn't respond immediately. Instead, he merely tilted his head slightly, the eerie crimson in his pupils swirling like a storm of blood. Then, his lips curled into a small, almost regretful smile.

"You look troubled," Argent mused, his voice quiet, almost gentle. "That's rare for you. But I guess anyone would be troubled… if they realized they were already dead."

The Phantom Slayer's instincts flared to life—move!

But he wasn't fast enough.

Argent's form vanished—no, it didn't vanish. The Phantom Slayer barely had the time to register it—Argent had already crossed the entire distance between them in less than a heartbeat.

A gleaming arc of steel sliced through the air. The Phantom Slayer barely twisted his body in time, his golden sword clashing against Argent's blade in a vicious, ringing impact that sent a concussive blast throughout the ruined hall.

The walls trembled. Stone cracked. Debris exploded from the force.

The very foundations of the ancient citadel shuddered under the weight of their battle.

"Well," The Phantom Slayer grunted, skidding backward across the cracked floor, his blindfold barely concealing the twitch of his brow. "That was rude."

Argent lunged again, his movements swift, precise, too efficient—too refined. This wasn't just strength, this wasn't just skill, this was someone who had spent decades studying The Phantom Slayer's every move.

Every feint, every habit, every micro-adjustment The Phantom Slayer used in combat—Argent knew them all.

Which meant The Phantom Slayer was utterly, completely screwed.

"You fight like you want me dead," The Phantom Slayer remarked, dodging another rapid series of slashes, his boots skidding on the loose rubble. His golden sword met Argent's strikes, but each clash sent shockwaves tearing through the ruined cathedral, shaking its very core.

"Maybe I do," Argent said, almost too casually.

The Phantom Slayer's smirk widened."Well, that's just hurtful."

But even as he cracked jokes, his mind was racing.

Something was wrong with himself, a faint tugging at the back of his mind.

There was a pressure in his skull—a heavy, oppressive weight dragging at his consciousness. Whispers scratched at the edge of his mind, faint but persistent. Voices he did not recognize but somehow felt deeply familiar.

Then—a single image.

A smile.

It was warm, innocent, untouched by malice or cruelty. The kind of smile only a child could have. It made The Phantom Slayer's chest tighten, a foreign, suffocating sensation twisting in his ribs.

Who?

Who was that?

And then—

A shriek.

A high-pitched, earsplitting, inhuman shriek that sent a jolt of pain straight through his skull.

"Agent 47."

TPS froze.

That name—

"Bro…"

Argent's voice snapped him back to reality just in time to see the gleaming edge of his friend's blade inches from his neck.

The Phantom Slayer barely managed to react, twisting his body, but he wasn't fast enough.

The tip of the blade sliced through his shoulder, a sharp, searing pain spreading across his arm. Blood splattered across the cracked stone floor, a red, thin line slowly drawing along his neck.

Argent smiled.

"Do you have the time to be distracted?"

The Phantom Slayer gritted his teeth, anger, and confusion flaring in his gut. What the hell was happening to him? He'd fought warlords, monsters, and even so-called gods, but never—not once—had he ever felt this disoriented.

He needed to get out.

Now.

He took a step back, preparing to disengage—

And then—

A sickening, wet crunch.

TPS's eyes snapped to the side, where Vivienne—still perfectly poised, still smiling with eerie elegance—was delicately nibbling on something.

Something round. White. Wet.

An eyeball.

TPS felt his stomach twist.

She dabbed the corner of her lips with a pink silk handkerchief—stained with crimson.

Her brown eyes gleamed with amusement.

"You look sick, Phantom Slayer." She giggled. "Don't tell me you're disgusted? Well, I normally prefer some fleshy human sausage, but do you see anybody around? Touchy". She huffed, transforming back to her spoiled noble persona.

The Phantom Slayer clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away.

"You're seriously deranged, you know that?"

Vivienne merely sighed in mock disappointment, gracefully tossing the handkerchief aside. "Men are always so dramatic."

The Phantom Slayer turned back toward Argent—

Too late.

Argent was already in front of him, a blurry figure at his previous position.

A blur, flashes of silver, streaks of light surrounding him.

The Phantom Slayer barely saw it happen—

And then—

Pain.

His vision went white.

Then black.

Then red.

He staggered.

His breath hitched.

He looked down.

A thin white line ran from his shoulder down to his waist.

Argent sighed.

"You've gotten predictable, Boss."

He turned his back to him.

The Phantom Slayer watched in horror as his body split cleanly in half.

Or at least—that's what should have happened.

But there was no blood. No pain. No death.

The shattered halves of his body collapsed into black smoke, dissipating into the air, shadows splitting and moving frantically on the ground.

Argent blinked.

Then sighed again. "Figures."

Behind him—the real Phantom Slayer reemerged from the darkness, standing atop a crumbling pillar, his arms crossed.

His smirk was sharp, mocking. "You've known me for too long to fall for that, Argent."

Argent turned, his glowing red pupils narrowing. "And yet, you still ran?"

The Phantom Slayer's smirk didn't fade. "Oh, trust me. If I had the luxury of staying, I'd love to keep dancing with you. But unfortunately—" He glanced at Vivienne, who was still licking the blood from her fingers, her eerie third eye twitching as it watched him. "This entire scene is a little too 'flesh horror nightmare' for my taste."

Vivienne pouted. "You wound me."

"Not yet." The Phantom Slayer murmured, but his body was already shifting into the shadows, retreating into the collapsing ruin.

Vivienne sighed, rising gracefully to her feet.

"The play is over," she mused, her blood-red lips curling into a twisted smile. "It's time to hunt."

The Phantom Slayer's heart pounded as he vanished into the night.

He needed to escape.

And fast.

Because whatever the hell he had just witnessed—was far beyond anything he had ever faced before.

Vivienne then turned to Argent. "It's just like old times." She said with a smirk.

"Does he need a head start?" she asked.

"No.," Argent replied. "He has never escaped us. Let's have some fun". He said with a wild smile slowly appeared on his face.

Argent, then bends on one knee, his hands touching the ground, glowing a dark red aura. A magic circuit appeared beneath both him and Vivienne, causing them to vanish together.