The Masquerade

5

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It was a night like this—a rain-soaked evening where Astra had once fled for her life. The heavy scent of wet earth and the sharp snap of branches beneath her feet lingered in her mind. Yet, she couldn’t recall the reason, couldn’t piece together the fragments of that forgotten fear. But there was one thing she couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—forget.

“It calls itself… Pride.”

“Remember me, for I am Pride,” the voice in her memory was silken, almost tender, but it had sunk a chill deeper than any blade. She felt she’d known that fear before… she was certain. Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t place it.

Memories, her memories, were deceptive things. Yet, caught in Pride’s gaze, she felt it: a haunting void that left her feeling deeply…

Vulnerable.

Athena’s voice tugged her back. “Astra?” Her friend’s hand found her shoulder, grounding her in the present.

Astra turned to Athena, then glanced downward, finally registering the blood seeping from her palm into the carpet beneath her. The cold rain whipped against her skin through the broken wall, but its bite was faint, distant, irrelevant. Her rage, though, was visceral.

“You look pale,” Athena said quietly.

Astra didn’t respond, instead letting a new blade form in her grasp. The shattered remains of the last one lay forgotten at her feet. “We’ll end this,” she murmured.

But in truth, she wasn’t certain she could.

“We can’t,” Athena’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “The mission, the Eye… we need to understand its connection. We have to protect—”

“That’s your mission,” Astra snapped, noticing Athena’s flinch but refusing to back down. She took a breath. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“Pride doesn’t just carry the name. It’s sustained by Thomas’s thirst for power. It feeds on his hunger. It warps it.” Athena swallowed. “That’s what it told him. It’s a primordial force, beyond destruction.”

“Beyond destruction?” Astra’s voice dropped, her crimson eyes gleaming with something darker than rage. “Nothing is indestructible.”

“Not unless we remove what it feeds on,” Athena said quietly, the implication clear. “Our only option is containment.”

A bitter laugh escaped Astra. “Contain it? It’s made of smoke and shadow. What are we supposed to do, put it in a cage?”

Their eyes met then, a sudden realisation igniting between them. Tiffany. The way the darkness had surged back into her after Astra’s attack, retreating, hiding within her.

Could Tiffany and Thomas be vessels? Could it be that the entity’s essence sought refuge in those it manipulated? She glanced at Athena, who seemed equally struck by the thought.

“Trapped within a body,” they murmured together, the same thought dawning on both of them. The only way to stop it from escaping. Thomas—no, Pride—had complained about their human shell’s frailty. Was it possible that they were bound to one another, two beings tethered by an insatiable hunger? For power?

Astra spun, her gaze locked on the fierce battle unfolding below as Theo and Thomas clashed once more. “Capture him, not kill him, Theo!” she shouted, and he immediately halted his blade.

“Wasn’t planning to!” Theo retorted, twisting just in time to intercept another dark tendril slashing toward him.

Then, suddenly, the barrage of attacks ceased. Thomas trembled under the rain, his voice breaking through—human and terrified. “H-help me… Is this my price? I don’t want it… I don’t. My Lord, you promised… you promised…”

Theo’s blade faltered, his gaze meeting Thomas’s pleading eyes. In that fractured moment, everything stilled. “What did I promise you?” Theo asked, confused.

“N-No, not you. How could a privileged brat like you even begin to understand? Pride… chose me. Me! I’m important—” Thomas cried out, his voice cracking as he wrestled against the darkness clawing at him, rain and tears streaking down his face.

Theo’s frown deepened. “Pride?” he asked, tightening his grip on the ice blade.

“No! No! No!” Thomas shook his head violently, as if trying to dispel the shadows closing in. “Please… Lord Whitlock… I-I’m sorry. Help me. It hurts. Everywhere. I can’t bear it anymore!”

Theo took a step closer, barely aware of Astra’s presence behind him. “Mr. Blackwood, you’re coming with—“

Before Theo could complete his sentence, a wave of dark energy exploded from Thomas, slamming into his chest and pushing him back. Astra reacted, steadying Theo while her diamond blade intercepted a second strike.

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Thomas smirked. “Impressive.” Dark tendrils poured from his hands, racing toward Theo and Astra in vicious arcs.

Astra swung her twin blades, slicing through the tendrils, which disintegrated into brilliant, sparkling particles that floated like purple snowflakes in the rain.

At the same time, Theo harnessed the mana flowing through his surroundings, channelling arcane energy from the fountain, the torrential rain, and the howling storm that surrounded him. He wove the water into a spiralling vortex of ice that pierced through Thomas’s darkness, creating a shockwave of blinding violet light that exploded outward, fierce and dazzling.

Blinded by the burst of light, Astra instantly cast a protective dome around the city hall, shielding the building and the frightened civilians from the blast.

As the dust began to settle, she moved silently toward Theo. Her gaze fell on Thomas’s lifeless form, impaled by a jagged, frozen column of spiralled ice.

Thomas Blackwood was dead.

The purple smoke—the entity—was gone, vanished without a trace.

A few steps away, Theo stood frozen, rain streaming down his blood-spattered suit. His face pale, shock still rippling through him, as if he hadn’t yet processed what he had done. “Thomas…” he breathed, the name barely escaping his lips. “It wasn't… I–”

“Murder! Senator Candidate murdered!” Panicked shouts from the onlookers erupted, clashing with the booming thunder above.

Damn it. Astra’s heart sank as the gravity of the situation hit her all at once. “This… this was the trap,” she muttered bitterly, the full implications of their failure dawning on her as the shrill wail of sirens closed in, and security guards surged toward them.

A strong gust of wind whipped around her, sending her hair lashing wildly in the rain as droplets splattered across her face. She turned, her eyes narrowing as they caught on a lone figure standing on the upper level—Athena. She stood unmoving, as still as a statue. Not a single strand of hair was out of place.

But it was her eyes that froze Astra in place.

Fear. Raw, unfiltered fear gleamed in Athena’s usually composed gaze. What could possibly instil such terror in someone like her—a woman practically royalty in this world?

The Eye? The smoke monster…Pride?

“Sir,” A guard approached Theo. “You’ll need to come with us for questioning regarding the death of Senator Candidate Blackwood.” His eyes drifted to Thomas’s lifeless form.

Astra’s eyes followed. Not long ago, Thomas had been alive with schemes and ambition, yet here he lay—his emerald eyes blank, his lips parted in shock. She raised her hands as the guns turned on them, but her mind buzzed with the question. Had it been worth it? The thrill of power? Had he understood, in those final moments, that he’d been a pawn? Regret, anger, simply…

Emptiness? A meaningless death.

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And yet, it was a night not unlike this—a rain-soaked evening a month and a half prior when he believed he had lost everything…

The rain-slicked glass distorted his reflection, showing only a man on the brink. Blackwood legacy, of Father’s unforgiving mantra: Blackwoods never fail. But as he watched the cryptocurrency market collapse across every screen, even his prized insider knowledge crumbled into uselessness.

“Obsidian Legion, of course! But how?” he growled, sweeping his arm across his desk and scattering papers and tablets to the floor. He felt weak, overwhelmed. Those damn hackers, spouting their nonsensical claims about changing the world, as if their lives meant more than the chaos they caused.

Suddenly, a voice emerged from thin air, chilling the room like frost creeping across glass—a smooth, velvety baritone far too ancient for this world of steel and silicon.

“I know your heart’s deepest longing, Blackwood.”

“Who—” He whipped around, “what are you?”

“You seek dominion, do you not?” the voice coiled through the air, omnipresent and hypnotic. “The intoxicating thrill of supremacy over all. Yet, deeper still, you yearn for control.”

Heart pounding, he lunged for his desk, designer shoes slipping on the marble floor. His hand hovered over the emergency button. Security was a press away.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” the voice drawled.

He slammed his palm onto the button anyway. In seconds, heavy boots thundered down the hall, his guards flooding into the office, their weapons drawn. “Sir, is everything—”

Before relief could settle, the air itself seemed to congeal. Dark purple smoke pulsed through the room, drawing the oxygen from their lungs. His guards' screams twisted into something inhuman as their faces drained of colour, skin mottling purple before they collapsed like puppets with cut strings.

“What…?” His voice cracked, the sharp edge of fear cutting through his usual arrogance.

"Did I not forewarn you, mortal?” The smoke coiled intimately around him, cool as a lover’s touch. "Violence only serves to sharpen my... appetite."

“What do you want?” he stammered, fighting to keep a shred of composure. “My wealth? My life?”

Laughter rippled through the smoke, low and mocking. “Such… trivialities. What I crave is far more intriguing—a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

"An arrangement?" He rasped, his mind racing through options—he just needed to stall. Dmitri could help, if he could only reach—

“You can have everything you’ve ever craved,” the voice rumbled as tendrils of smoke probed his thoughts. “Power, wealth… the Blackwoods estate, all of it is yours.”

Despite the terror, his voice barely concealed his intrigue, “Everything?”

"Indeed. The election’s been a struggle, hasn’t it? Now, wouldn’t things be infinitely simpler if your… tiresome brother were to simply… fade into oblivion?” The smoke hissed.

The proposition curled around him like a promise too tempting to resist. He couldn’t deny the thought had crossed his mind a thousand times before.

“And what’s your price?” he asked, leaning back with a glint in his eye. “My soul, like Tiffany’s?”

The smoke pulsed with amusement. “Your soul? How quaint. No, you’ll discover the price in due time.”

His pulse quickened despite his effort to remain unmoved. Not his wealth, not his soul—sounded too perfect, too dangerous. “If not my soul, then what is it you’re after?”

“Isn’t it delightfully simple?” The smoke enveloped him like a living shadow. “Everything you desire… for a minor price. Sate me, for I am Pride.”

He clutched the edge of his mahogany desk—an heirloom that had witnessed generations of power brokers before him, feeling the weight of the choice.

Yet another voice whispered seductively in his mind—his own. Wasn't this inevitable? Seven generations of Blackwoods had climbed the ladder of power, each rung stained with whatever was necessary. And now, at last, something truly magnificent had recognised their worth. His worth.

Pride. The first sin. The greatest sin. The one that had tempted an archangel to challenge heaven itself. And it had chosen him. A desire beyond logic, beyond measure, ignited within him—a hunger that had driven him to destroy those who stood in his way. But this... this was different. This was divine.

“Show me what you’re capable of,” he whispered, “then… we’ll see.”

The smoke trembled with something between amusement and anticipation, condensing into a form that seemed to absorb the very light from the room. “Fascinating. Just the way I like it. Very well, name your conditions."

He steadied his breath, clenching his fist to still his trembling hand. If this creature meant to kill him, it would have done so already. No, it needed something from him—something only a Blackwood could provide. His father's lessons on negotiation echoed in his mind: ‘When they come to you, you have the power. When they need you, you set the terms.’

He rose from his chair, shoulders straight, chin lifted. "Two conditions," he said coolly. "Non-negotiable. Then... we have a deal."