Guilt (Part 1)

The Life of Aurelius Valemont: Guilt (Part 1)

I stood up, my legs heavy, and followed Father out of the blood-soaked library.

Behind me… silence.

The place that once held whispered memories, quiet laughter, warm voices—was now drowned in red. Blood stained the floor, the walls, even the air. The stench clung to me like a curse. It wasn't just any blood.

It was theirs.

The people I once cherished.

Now lying lifeless in pools of crimson.

And it was my hand that ended them.

I could still hear Matthew's voice echoing in my head. Yumi's cries. Peter's last words. I had killed them. I had fulfilled Father's mission.

And for what?

For power? For approval? For survival?

I couldn't tell anymore.

I walked in silence. Each step forward dragged guilt behind it like a chain. A weight I could never drop. My chest felt hollow—like my heart had rotted away and left a gaping hole behind.

Maybe my next mission is to find Philip. The last one.

I hope I never find him.

Because if I do… I don't know what I'll do.

I deserve to be hunted, not sent to hunt.

I'm not even sure if I'm human anymore.

I'm a monster. A monster carved by my father's hands. Sharpened by pain. Driven by despair.

I glanced ahead.

Luciana walked beside Father—more accurately, she was being held. His arm clamped tightly around her waist like she was a trophy. A prisoner in a golden cage. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, but I could see the tremble in her hands, the way her lips quivered.

She was traumatized.

She should be.

Since when did he start treating her like a wife?

He married her for her bloodline, for her name. Not her soul. Not her will.

What about the others? His countless wives?

Were they just chess pieces too?

At least they're alive.

Unlike the ones I left behind.

Unlike the people whose names are carved into my bones now.

The ones I'll never forget.

The ones whose blood I wear like a second skin.

Guilt doesn't fade.

It burns.

And tonight, it will devour me whole.

Do I even deserve to live?

The moonlight spilled across the stone path like a sheet of silver—but to me, it looked hollow. Distant. Was it beautiful? I couldn't tell anymore. Everything beautiful had already died in that library.

I kept walking. Following Father, step by step, as if my legs moved without my consent. Behind me, he ordered his men to "clean the bodies."

Right.

Bodies.

Not names. Not people. Not Matthew, not Yumi, not Peter.

Just... bodies now.

I glanced back one last time. Their lifeless forms blurred in the dim light, fading into nothing.

Then I turned away.

Father led me deeper into the estate—past the main halls, through the hidden corridors, until we reached a place I had never seen before.

A section only he and his trusted members knew.

A place that reeked of secrets.

He stopped before a massive steel door. Cold. Imposing. Its surface shimmered under biometric lights. He placed his palm on the scanner. One by one, the system verified every part of him—palm print, fingerprints, voice, retinal scan, full facial mapping. The door hissed.

Too secure.

Too secret.

And yet—he welcomed me in.

I stepped through, my heartbeat as lifeless as my expression.

So this was it.

The reward for spilling blood.

Access.

Acceptance.

Authority.

Had that massacre been a test? A twisted rite of passage? To see if I was worthy?

Worthy of what?

This?

This kingdom of shadows?

This empire of monsters?

I've killed men before—to protect, to survive—but this time was different. This time, he asked me to kill the people I wanted to protect.

What was the point of saving them all those years ago, if now he commands me to erase them?

And I obeyed.

The air in the chamber was sterile and cold. Artificial.

Inside, an army awaited.

Dozens of men in black, all highly trained, stood in disciplined rows. Their weapons lined the walls—knives, katanas, sniper rifles, weapons I couldn't even name. And machines—machines that didn't look like they belonged on Earth. Vehicles. Tanks. Drones. Tech so advanced it made the rest of the world look medieval.

And in the center of it all, cast in glowing steel:

VARAK.

The name pulsed on a screen above the command center.

A syndicate. A beast of many heads.

Assassins. Mafias. Samurai. Scientists. Hackers. Engineers. Strategists. All under one name. One rule.

Father's rule.

They bowed as he entered, their silence louder than any cheer.

And by his side—Luciana. Held tightly by the waist. A symbol of control. Not love.

I looked around.

This wasn't just a secret base.

This was a kingdom.

A machine of war and power.

And I?

I had just been crowned a prince in hell.

VARAK.

Valemont Association for Research, Assassination, and Knowledge.

It sounded almost clean. Scientific. As if it were just another organization on paper. But inside… it was a monster wearing a suit. A machine fueled by blood, built to erase nations, and ruled by one man—

Victor Valemont.

My father.

He turned to me with open arms, a sick smile tugging at his lips.

"Son, welcome to VARAK," he said. "From now on, you'll take Matthew's place. Do whatever you want here. My men will look after you."

Matthew?

My jaw clenched.

So Matthew was just a piece? A pawn on his board? Replaceable?

I gripped my dagger. My fingers trembled—not from fear, but rage. Regret.

Matthew died protecting someone he believed in. And now I walk in his place, empty inside, as if nothing happened.

I passed through the rows of men—cold, disciplined, faceless. I didn't speak. I didn't nod. Just walked forward like a ghost.

Luciana was still in Father's grip. Her eyes stared at nothing. Hollow. Like mine.

The air here was different. Heavier. The deeper I walked into VARAK, the more it felt like I was walking into the pit of something eternal. Something dark.

The place was massive. Not just a base—but a city carved underground. Roads. Weapons. Labs. Training zones. Vehicles beyond imagination. People moved like parts of a machine, serving one purpose:

Obey. Kill. Repeat.

My heart pounded against my ribs. Not from excitement—but from something I didn't have words for. I looked around and thought…

This is where souls go to die.

And mine?

Mine was already fading.

"Son," Father said, his voice echoing across the steel halls of the underground world, "you will be my second-in-command. My butler. My bodyguard. I will now introduce you to my Twelve Pillars and the Twenty-Four Quarters of this empire."

Empire. That's what he called it.

Not a facility. Not a base.

An empire.

Then came the sound of boots. Heavy, sharp, unified.

Twelve figures emerged from the shadows, all cloaked in black. Their faces hidden behind expressionless masks—each one carved with the fangs of an animal.

One stepped forward.

"Bush Dog," Father said, gesturing toward him. "The Twelfth Pillar. Known as Silent Fang. He's the Master of Smuggling Routes. If something needs to be moved—anywhere, anytime, through any terrain—he's the one who does it. Jungle warfare, biotech trafficking, black site drops… he built the paths no one else could."

Bush Dog stood tall, body built like stone. His mask snarled. I stared back, unbothered. I didn't care how strong he looked. Everyone dies the same way in the end.

Then another figure stepped out. Smaller. Slighter.

"Fennec Fox," Father continued. "The Eleventh Pillar. We call him Whisper. Lord of Espionage. He sees and hears everything. Surveillance, blackmail, intel trading. Presidents have fallen because of him. Governments tremble at his shadow."

The figure bowed his head. His mask—a small fox—looked harmless. Almost gentle. But it was a lie.

"He's only eight," Father added, smirking.

I blinked. Eight?

A child. A child built into a weapon. One that never even had the chance to be human. Just like me.

No names. No faces.

Only roles.

Only ranks.

Only functions.

My throat tightened.

This was no introduction.

It was an invitation to bury what little of me was left.

"The Tenth Pillar," Father said, gesturing to a figure at the edge of the line, "Bat-Eared Fox. He earned the title Intelligence Architect, but we simply call him The Listener. He's a master of cryptography, communication control, and secret archives. His specialty? He can detect lies… even in silence."

The man stepped forward, his movements quiet, almost lazy. He wore a simple hoodie beneath his mask—a smooth bat-eared fox, marked with the Roman numeral X.

Casual. Comfortable. But there was something in the way he stood—too still, too aware.

He wasn't listening to our words.

He was listening to everything.

I glanced across the others. They all wore the same animalistic masks… and now I noticed it: each one etched with Roman numerals. Not names. Not titles. Numbers. Ranks. Functions.

"The Ninth Pillar," Father continued. "Ethiopian Wolf. We call him The Ghost. He's our Warlord of Assassins. Specializes in snipers, poisons, and desert mercenary guilds. His specialty? Invisible strikes. Perfect escapes. And he's one of our most trusted strategists. Doesn't speak much."

A man in a long, brown coat stepped forward. He wore the mask of the Ethiopian wolf—IX carved into its brow.

Tall. Towering. At least 6'7. His coat looked like it could swallow a man whole, and I didn't need to see inside it to know—it was filled with weapons.

Silent death. That's what he was. A shadow with a heartbeat.

"And the Eighth Pillar," Father said, placing a hand on the shoulder of the next man, "Dhole. We call him Crimson Howl. He's the Pack Commander—an expert in riot suppression, urban violence, and coordinated hit squads. His specialty is synchronized team killings and warzone domination. A born leader. I actually like this man."

The Dhole stepped forward—broad, muscular, a battlefield carved into flesh. His mask bore the numeral VIII across the cheek like a scar.

He didn't need to speak.

He looked like war.

I stood among monsters.

But the worst part was knowing—I was one of them now.

I noticed something. All of them—every pillar—they wore masks of canids. Wolves, foxes, jackals… predators of the night.

So this was VARAK.

A pack of beasts ruling the underground.

And me? I was the prince of this empire of fangs.

Father went on.

"The Seventh Pillar—Maned Wolf. We call him Tall Shadow. His title is Diplomatic Ghost. He's an expert in cross-empire treaties, laundering fronts, and black market diplomacy. His specialty is turning enemies into allies… and then making them disappear. He's never lost. Not even in a bet."

The man stepped forward, towering above the rest. He wore a long coat and the maned wolf mask, the Roman numeral VII etched into it. He was tall. Too tall. Taller than The Ghost. Maybe 6'9. He moved like he didn't belong to gravity.

For a second, I wondered if he was even real.

But he stood before me. So yes. He was.

"Our Sixth Pillar," Father said next, turning to a smaller figure, "Arctic Fox. We call her White Veil. Her title is Mistress of Disguise. She forged the pink purse herself. She's unmatched in identity forgery, high-society infiltration, and seduction operations. If you ever want to learn how to disappear behind a face, learn from her. Her specialties? Seducing presidents. Impersonating royals. And vanishing into thin air."

A petite woman stepped forward. White hair, white mask. Her figure was smaller than Luciana's. Roman numeral VI carved into her mask like a secret she wore with pride.

She said nothing.

She didn't need to. Her silence was already a performance.

"And now…" Father paused, a smirk in his voice, "The Fifth Pillar. Coyote. Call him Trickster. Or Joker. He answers to both. His title is Underground Route King. And when I say 'King,' I mean it. No one plays the game better than him. Always one step ahead—sometimes even outsmarts his fellow pillars. He's best in illegal migration, smuggling and border destabilization. Occasionally… he outsmarts me."

I blinked.

The man was already behind me.

No footsteps. No warning. Just the weight of a presence I didn't notice until now.

He wore a sleek coyote mask, V carved cleanly at the center.

I stiffened.

He chuckled lightly, almost like he was amused by my tension.

He didn't speak.

He didn't have to.

His entrance already said it all.

Then another woman stepped forward.

Red hair like flame, wearing a red fox mask marked with the Roman numeral IV.

Her gown shimmered as she moved—elegant, sculpted to her curves, dangerous in its charm.

Dazzling, seductive… but there was something cunning in her poise.

She bowed with grace and introduced herself with a voice like velvet over a dagger.

"I'm the Fourth Pillar. Red Fox. You may call me Red Mirage. I earned the title Queen of Thieves. Art theft, high-stakes heists, casino rackets—those are just games to me. But what I truly excel at..." Her eyes met mine, glittering with mischief.

"...is stealing more than objects. I steal nations, Young Master."

Then she rose and extended a hand toward me.

I didn't take it.

Her name alone told me everything. Mirage. Illusion. Thief.

She chuckled.

Already holding a dagger between her fingers.

"Too late."

She tossed it lightly toward me—not to harm, just to prove her point—then stepped back, smiling like she'd already won.

Father laughed. No—not laughed.

He smiled.

That devilish smile he wore when his puppets danced just right.

Then another figure stepped forward.

A man in a long white coat. Tall, broad, with dark skin and tightly braided hair.

He wore the mask of an African Wild Dog, Roman numeral III across his brow.

He didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

Father placed a proud hand on his shoulder.

"That's the Third Pillar," he said, voice deep with admiration. "We call him Painted Death. The African Wild Dog. Wild, indeed. His title is Battlefield Sovereign. His specialty? Turning chaos into conquest. He commands mercenary armies, controls black ops across borders, and manipulates revolutions like chess pieces. One of my favorites, as you can see."

The man bowed in silence—disciplined. Deadly. Then stepped back.

And then came the next.

A man in a crisp suit, composed and refined. His mask was plain—a domestic dog—yet marked with the Roman numeral II.

He bowed slightly, then spoke in a warm, calm tone.

"It's an honor to meet you, Young Master. I am the Second Pillar—Domestic Dog. You may call me Loyal Fang."

He straightened, folding his gloved hands behind his back.

"Lord Victor granted me the title Pillar of Order. I specialize in balance—between hearts and steel. When tension rises, I keep the Pillars from turning on each other. My domain is internal security, loyalty enforcement, and the quiet maintenance of justice... however dark it must be."

Then he stepped back in perfect silence.

Then a man stepped forward.

"That's the First Pillar," Father said.

It was clear enough—his mask bore the Roman numeral I.

The gray wolf.

"The Alpha," Father continued. "His title is Supreme Ruler. He commands all the other Pillars. He keeps them united. We call him Gray Wolf."

Father's eyes held something I hadn't seen in a long time—pride.

I looked at him, crossing my arms. My voice was cold.

"Then what are you? What kind of canid are you?"

He didn't flinch.

"Dire Wolf," he said simply. "Also known as Vukodlak."

I narrowed my eyes. "Isn't that supposed to be extinct?"

He laughed. The sound was deep, amused. Too proud.

"Yes, it is. But I am not extinct, Aurelius.

I am the Monarch of VARAK.

And you—you are my son. From this day, I give you the title Second Prime. My second-in-command."

Behind me, I felt Luciana's horror.

Her eyes. The way she looked at me—it burned.

I didn't want this. Why would I?

Everyone I ever loved had died—because of me.

But I still nodded.

"Yes… Father."

The guilt inside me was crushing.

I felt sick. Like I could throw up.

But I didn't.

I wouldn't show weakness—not now.

"What about the 24 Quarters?" I asked.

Father smiled. That smile again.

"Each Pillar owns two quarters. One is theirs, and one they lead."

I frowned. "So… they lead others too?"

He nodded, amused. "Exactly."

"For example—Bush Dog. The Twelfth Pillar. He leads the Jungle Pathfinders, the lab smugglers, the tunnel engineers, the bioweapon couriers, and the teams who build secret bases. Each Pillar has their own division."

I stood in silence, piecing it all together.

So…

The Pillars weren't just strong.

They had armies. Territories. Roles.

And my father?

He ruled them all.

What kind of monster builds something like this?

"Just like this eight-year-old kid right here," Father said, placing a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder. "The Eleventh Pillar. Fennec Fox."

The small boy kept his head down, quiet. His mask was shaped like a fennec fox, the Roman numeral XI carved at the top.

"He leads his own division," Father continued. "Spies, informants, double agents, interrogators, data analysts—even gossipers dressed like regular civilians."

I blinked. Eight years old?

"He's young, yes. But don't underestimate him," Father said, almost laughing. "He's still a Pillar. Age doesn't change that. He's the Lord of Espionage. One of the best."

The kid didn't look up. Still. Still as a statue.

But something about him sent chills down my spine.

An eight-year-old… leading a network of spies?

This place…

This entire world…

It's insane.

End of chapter 61.