The Legion: Heartson

Victor Popescu leaned back in the dim glow of the surveillance room, his eyes drifting lazily over the scattered monitors. The labyrinth's grainy footage sputtered in and out, barely managing to capture glimpses of the chaos within. 

His soldiers stood around him waiting for his orders, yet Victor remained relaxed, unbothered. His mind was elsewhere, barely focused on the blurry figures darting across the screens. The frantic, desperate movements of the intruders were of little consequence to him. No, his thoughts had turned to something more enjoyable—a new set of clothes he had acquired recently. 

Sharp, dark fabrics, perfectly tailored. Perhaps he would wear it soon, a small change to mirror the new direction his life was taking.

Rachel had been a part of that old direction, a memory he had long since dismissed. He almost laughed at the thought of her. What had once been a source of fascination, a curiosity to indulge in, was now little more than a faded chapter, barely worth a footnote. 

She'd had her chance, and she'd failed to live up to his expectations. He would find a new vice-captain soon, someone more fitting of the role—someone who understood respect, who could appreciate his power and position as they should. No, Rachel was insignificant.

But Mason Heartson… now, there was a nuisance he hadn't quite managed to forget. The boy's very existence irked him, a reminder of something distasteful. Mason had the audacity to walk freely, to act however he pleased, displaying his insolence in front of everyone, and worst of all, in front of Rachel. 

Victor's hand clenched slightly at the thought, his lips twisting into a thin sneer. Mason's lack of respect, his casual disregard for authority, was an insult. The boy was bold, brazen even, acting as though he possessed any true ambition.

He flaunted himself as if he had the authority to take what he wanted, but he lacked even a shred of the dignity or purpose necessary to earn that right.

It disgusted Victor, this pathetic display. Mason didn't know what it meant to wield influence, to command respect, to be feared and admired in equal measure. And for that, Victor wanted nothing more than to watch the boy's confidence crumble under his grasp, to wipe that insufferable arrogance from his face. He savored the thought, the image of Mason at his mercy, broken and humbled, a fitting end to a misguided life.

Turning back to the screens, he observed the figures moving frantically through the labyrinth. There was Mason, sprinting with Rachel draped across his back, dodging the twisted, death-infused creatures that pursued him. 

The surveillance was patchy at best due to the labryinth having no need for real security, the screen flickering as the cameras struggled to keep up, but every so often, Victor caught glimpses of them. 

He watched as Mason stopped briefly, setting Rachel down. An argument? Victor narrowed his eyes, his curiosity piqued, but he could only make out vague gestures, a few sharp movements. It was hard to tell what they were saying, though the tension between them was palpable even through the grainy footage. Victor allowed himself a small smile. 

And then, just as he hoped, they went their separate ways. Mason bolted down one path, the pack of beasts hot on his trail, while Rachel moved in the opposite direction. Victor's heart quickened, his mind calculating. 

This was perfect. Mason, with his reckless arrogance, was drawing the beasts toward him, keeping himself occupied in a futile attempt to evade them. Victor could save the boy's defeat for later, a moment he would savor in its own time. What truly mattered now was Rachel.

Victor's gaze lingered on the enclosed chamber where she had vanished. A new opportunity had presented itself, one that he would not let slip away. Rachel, isolated and vulnerable, was now within his reach. He wanted to be there for her last moments, to see her understand the consequences of her grand greed.

With a cool, detached satisfaction, he turned to the soldiers standing around him.

Victor: Follow me.

The soldiers nodded in unison, their weapons at the ready, their faces expressionless. Victor couldn't help but feel a flicker of satisfaction at the sight. This was how it should be: obedience. A group that understood the natural flow of authority, with him at its pinnacle. 

There was no need for haste. Victor walked at a leisurely pace, his hands clasped behind his back. Why should he hurry? This was his domain, every inch of it bending to his desires. The labyrinth, the soldiers, even the twisted creatures roaming its halls—they all existed to serve his will. 

Mason Heartson could run all he wanted, but his fate was already sealed. The beasts would capture him in due time, leaving Victor the pleasure of dealing with the boy's remains later. As for Rachel… well, she was a loose end he was more than happy to tie up himself.

The hallways eventually opened into a large chamber. Victor paused, surveying the space before him. It was a training room, he hardly recognized, with various pieces of equipment scattered across the floor. Obsidian had designed it with practicality in mind: weights, combat dummies, and reinforced walls for testing abilities. 

Overhead, a wide balcony stretched across one side of the room, where instructors would have stood to oversee the training below. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced across the floor, the faint hum of fluorescent lights the only sound.

Victor raised a hand, gesturing to the soldiers behind him.

Victor: She's here somewhere, up to her usual tricks, no doubt.

His voice was calm, almost bored, but there was an undercurrent of irritation. 

She had no sense of propriety, no respect for the structure and authority that governed the world. It was shameful, really, for someone like her—a woman of such striking beauty—to resort to such undignified methods. He shook his head, the faintest sneer tugging at his lips as he scanned the room.

After a moment, Victor sighed and activated it, a faint, otherworldly glow enveloping his form as his senses sharpened. He focused, searching the room for any sign of her presence. The air shifted slightly, a subtle disturbance that caught his attention just in time. 

His instincts flared, and he leaped back, narrowly avoiding a strike as a blade sliced through the space where he had just stood. The motion was fluid—aimed to kill.

Victor blinked, momentarily startled, before a slow, deliberate smile spread across his face. Rachel materialized before him, stepping out of the shadows with a knife in hand, her eyes blazing with fury.

For a brief moment, her expression caught him off guard. It wasn't fear or desperation that he saw—it was raw defiance, a fire that burned far brighter than he remembered.

Victor: Trickery?

His tone was biting, laced with disdain as he straightened himself. He gestured vaguely toward the knife, as though dismissing the attempt on his life as a minor inconvenience.

Victor: Deceit and lies—do you truly believe that's enough to make the world bend to your will? A vice-captain stooping to such desperate measures—it's unbecoming, Rachel. Unbefitting, especially for someone with your beauty.

His voice softened mockingly, dripping with condescension.

Victor: Must you take everything? The gazes of everyone around you, the attention you command effortlessly—is that not enough for you? Do you feel the need to seize even more?

Rachel's glare hardened as she raised the knife, her knuckles white with tension.

Rachel: God, you're annoying. Do you ever shut your mouth?

Her voice was sharp and cutting, slicing through his tirade. She took a step forward, her eyes narrowing.

Rachel: No more speeches. I'm tired of the sound of your voice, no I could go my whole life without hearing it again. Today's the day you die, do you understand? Today's the day I take that authority you like so much.

Victor raised an eyebrow, intrigued. She was bold but boldness without power was meaningless.

Victor: And how, exactly, do you plan to accomplish that? Your assassination attempt has failed. So tell me, what makes you think today the world will bend to you?

Rachel smiled, a slow, confident grin. She tilted her head, her voice calm but laced with venom.

Rachel: Because that idiot, Mason Heartson, isn't here anymore. I don't have to play the helpless damsel now.

Before Victor could respond, she vanished from his sight, her presence dissipating like smoke. His scowl deepened as he spun around, scanning the room for any sign of her. The faint metallic scent of blood reached him, and his stomach twisted with sudden realization. His gaze darted toward the soldiers who had followed him, and his breath caught in his throat.

They were all dead. Their throats had been slit, their bodies crumpled on the floor in a silent, lifeless heap. Victor's fists clenched as his anger flared, his composure slipping for a brief moment.

Victor: Rachel…

His voice was low, a growl of frustration as his eyes shot upward. There she stood, at the top of the balcony, her arms crossed and a triumphant smile spreading across her face.

How…

Rachel: Now that I don't have to hold back, I think I'll take it all for myself.

Greedy.