Chapter 15- Soiree Incident Pt.6

The grand ballroom lay in ruins, its elegance marred by chaos.

Shattered glass from the majestic chandeliers littered the floor, and tattered drapes fluttered in the night air.

Flickering sconces cast ghostly shadows, illuminating the valet as he deftly dispatched agents with chilling precision.

Amidst the destruction, Vance's unwavering gaze fixed on Brooks.

In one smooth motion, he unsheathed a blade, its polished steel catching the faint light.

Muscles coiled as his hand gripped the hilt firmly.

The high-tech alloy gleamed with an iridescent sheen, its flawlessly curved edge exuding precision.

Intricate geometric patterns glowed faintly along the surface, suggestive of hidden technology.

"Brooks!" Vance's voice pierced the stillness, commanding attention.

Brooks, momentarily shaken, released an agent to meet Vance's stare.

"This is your last mistake," Vance declared, his words heavy with finality.

Brooks chuckled, his confidence unshaken. "So, the mighty Vance shows his face. Took you long enough."

"You have no idea what you're up against," Vance warned.

Brooks shrugged casually. "I'm just getting mine. If taking down your clans is part of it, so be it."

Vance's eyes narrowed, his voice laced with a barely contained rage.

"You have no concept of the forces you're playing with, do you?

The fallen angels you've allied yourself with will consume you, just as they'll consume everything in their path."

Brooks let out a barking laugh. "But you know what they say – if you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

Vance's jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the sword.

"You're a fool, Boy. Those creatures will use you and discard you without a second thought.

And if you think for one moment that I'm going to let you harm those children, you're sorely mistaken."

Brooks's eyes narrowed, and a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face.

"Listen, Vance," he said grimly, "you better kill me right here.

Because if I get out of this, I'm going after those kids."

Vance's expression turned serious as he held his blade, locking eyes with Brooks.

"Listen, Brooks," he said, calm but firm, "we've got big plans for those boys, and I'm ready to lay it all on the line to protect them.

So, if you want to test me, go ahead—try it."

Brooks tensed, his hands balling into fists. "Alright, Inspector, let's dance," he taunted.

Vance slid into a sword stance, the gleaming blade held behind him, and replied with a smirk, "Let's."

In an instant, Vance zipped toward Brooks, leaving a trail of feathers in his wake.

Brooks, eyes wide with shock, leaned back just as Vance's blade nicked his throat.

Clutching the slight cut, Brooks stepped back, muttering, "Really? The throat?"

With a hint of irritation, Vance replied, "Yeah, well, I've seen Endgame. You know how it goes—gotta aim for the head."

Brooks smirked, "That's why I like you, Inspector.

You're a no-BS kind of guy." With a casual flick of his finger, the air around him rippled violently, sending a visible wave of force barreling toward Vance.

But Vance, quick as lightning, blitzed behind Brooks, swinging his blade toward Brooks' neck.

Brooks grabbed the blade, a grunt escaping his lips as blood seeped between his fingers.

Vance slammed him to the ground, then swung him violently towards a wall.

Brooks landed, palms and feet splayed against the stone, a grin stretching across his face as he looked at Vance.

Vance gazed at Brooks, bewilderment etched into his features.

Brooks erupted into fits of wild laughter, eyes gleaming with a manic edge. "I thought you were the good guy," he sneered, his voice tinged with unsettling amusement and madness.

Vance locked eyes with Brooks, calm but sure. "So, you've finally lost it," he said.

Brooks chuckled darkly, "Lost what?"

Vance glanced at his machete and replied, "Well, as someone who fights for what's right, evil is always my enemy.

And honestly, Brooks, you're kind of the embodiment of it.

"Brooks stood up, glancing at his now-healed palm with an unsettling grin.

"Funny, isn't it?" he said, brushing off dirt with a casualness that bordered on unnerving.

"You talk about honor all the time, but have you really looked at what soldiers get up to?

That's not heroism, Vance, it's more twisted than that.

And let's not kid ourselves here—you're not exactly squeaky clean, either."

His eyes flickered with a peculiar intensity, a hint of something unhinged lurking beneath the surface.

Vance shot Brooks a frustrated look. "You think you know everything, huh?"

He reached the collapsed staircase. Vance was gone. Brooks' face dropped. "What the hell?" he muttered,

his eyes darting around the wreckage, a frantic energy replacing his previous calm.

"Where is he? Did he… did he actually escape?"

He muttered to himself, his voice rising in pitch, searching every shadow, his gaze flitting from one impossible hiding place to another.

Suddenly, a flock of crows smashed into Brooks, driving him to the ground.

The birds coalesced into the form of Vance, who swiftly pressed his machete against Brooks' throat.

The blade felt strangely cold against Brooks' skin. Vance's voice, usually calm, was strained, a tremor underlying his words.

"I'm concerned. What you've become… it's hurting me to even look at you.

This isn't you.

This… darkness…" He paused, his grip tightening slightly on the blade but then relaxing again, the effort of holding himself back evident in the tremor of his hand.

"I can't kill you, Brooks.

I can't.

But I have to stop this. Despite the life you've chosen, I wanted to bring you over to the light.

But now, aligning with demons, I have no choice but to end this."

A faint, cruel smile stretched across Brooks' face.

It was a smile devoid of warmth, twisted by delusion and something far more sinister.

"We already won, inspector," he whispered coldly, his eyes gleaming with a chilling certainty, completely lacking any sense of the danger he was facing.

"This… power… it's intoxicating. It's

mine.

You can't understand. The whispers, the visions… they're all real.

They tell me everything. They tell me I'm

right.

And you... you're just another obstacle, another weakness to be overcome."

Brooks' body dissolved into a swirling mass of black smoke, silently reforming behind Vance with uncanny speed.

Before Vance could react, Brooks kicked his leg out from under him, forcing Vance to his knees.

With a firm grip, Brooks pulled Vance's head back, exposing his face to the shadows above.

Brooks hovered his free hand over Vance's face, and slowly, a mouth formed in his palm.

It opened wide, revealing rows of sharp, gleaming fangs. As if compelled by an unseen force, Vance's mouth opened in response.

From deep within him, a brilliant blue light began to flow, streaming from his mouth towards the hunger of the fanged maw in Brooks' palm.

The room was illuminated by the eerie glow as the light was steadily siphoned away, drawn into the dark depths of Brooks' hand, leaving Vance weakened and drained where he kneeled.

His skin lost its color, his eyes glazed over; each vanishing droplet stole his light, his life.

Brooks shoved Vance's body roughly to the ground, shaking his hand in disgust. "This is disgusting," he murmured, glancing down at Vance.

Brooks' gaze turned thoughtful as he addressed the fallen inspector.

"Maybe you were a hero, the closest thing this country had to one, but I'm a devil now," he declared.

"I don't want to be saved. You had your way of life, and I have mine."

"I know how this looks, but I'm doing this for our people, for the island.

Watch from above as I change the world." His words resonated with unsettling conviction.

To be continued….