I'll Make Them All Pay; A General's Revenge

Chapter 14.. All a trap

I frowned, my eyes narrowing as the weight of his words began to sink in. Before I could even spit out a response, the darkness along the perimeter of the room seemed to detach itself. Figures stepped out from the deep shadows behind the massive stone pillars, the metallic clank of weapons echoing through the hall. In an instant, dozens of Goma loyalists appeared, their rifles raised and aimed directly at me.

I grit my teeth, the cold realization finally hitting me with the force of a physical blow. This was not a breach. It was a trap.

Atticus watched the color drain from my face and let out a soft, dry sound that could have been a laugh. He moved with a slow, predatory grace as he stood from his throne, his silk robes whispering against the obsidian.

"Actually honey, I had no idea you were alive," he said, his voice reaching across the distance like a cold hand. "I truly thought you died with your parents that day. Who would have thought the little princess was still alive, hiding in the dirt, planning and calculating her time for revenge?"

He took a step down the dais, his eyes scanning my tactical gear with a look of mock impressed wonder.

"Good thing I had Goma Island shielded all these years," he continued, a dark glint in his eyes. "Maybe I would have had my head separated from my body a long time ago if I hadn't. You certainly have the look of someone who has spent every waking hour thinking about my blood."

I didn't reply. I couldn't. The rage was a physical knot in my throat, keeping the screams of a seven-year-old girl locked deep inside. I just glared at him, my hand steady on my weapon, though every instinct told me i was surrounded.

"You might want to know how I found out you were alive?" Atticus asked, tilting his head. "I saw your picture all over the internet. My goodness, my niece is the legendary General I respect so much. Wow. The world sings your praises, and I sit here in the dark, reading about the ghost I thought I'd laid to rest."

He stopped at the base of the throne steps, his gaze intensifying. He looked at me with a sickening kind of nostalgia that made my skin crawl.

"You are just like daddy," he whispered. At this distance, he was directly in front of me, his presence suffocating. "Your face, your hair, your eyes... even your accomplishments. It is all just like my brother's."

For a second, his expression held a trace of that elder-uncle mask, the one he wore before the fire and the blood. But then, the mask shattered. His smile vanished instantly, replaced by a hollow, jagged emptiness as he stared me dead in the eyes.

"And I hate it," he spat, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper.

I didn't back down. Despite the rifles aimed at my skull and the suffocating weight of his presence, I let a cold, sharp smirk pull at the corner of my mouth.

"Of course you hate it," I said, my voice cutting through his venom. "Because you know that no matter how many years you sit on that stolen throne, you could never be like him. In looks, you couldn't compare to your brother. In strength, in IQ... you were always just the shadow. Always standing under him, looking up at a greatness you could never reach."

The air in the hall seemed to freeze. Then, a sharp, wet crack echoed through the palace.

A slap—heavy and full of desperate rage—slammed into my face. My head snapped to the side, the sting blooming into a searing heat across my cheek. For a second, I saw stars, the metallic taste of blood blooming in my mouth.

"You!" I roared, my vision tunneling with a fury so white-hot it nearly blinded me. I lunged back, my hand balled into a fist, ready to shatter his jaw.

Click.

The collective sound of dozens of triggers being pulled back froze me mid-motion. The mechanical snarl of the rifles was a wall I couldn't cross. I stopped, my chest heaving, glaring at Atticus. He glared back, his chest rising and falling with jagged breaths, until slowly, the mask of the refined aristocrat slid back into place. His face twisted into a mocking smile.

"You bastard," I hissed, my voice trembling with the effort of not moving. "Why don't you face me yourself? Let’s make this personal. Are you such a coward that you have to let these people fight for you?"

"Thank you for the offer, honey," he said, his tone dripping with fake sweetness. "But I’m not interested."

He began to walk backward, his eyes never leaving mine as he retreated toward the throne. "You might want to know what happened to your people, don't you?"

I frowned at him, a new kind of dread beginning to coil in my stomach. Atticus raised his hand. He pressed his middle finger against his thumb and snapped. The sound was sharp, like a bone breaking in the silence.

The side doors groaned open. My face turned pale, the blood draining out of me as I watched them being dragged in.

Leonard. Alexa. Priscilla. Oliver.

They were brought in like animals to a slaughter. Their hands and legs were bound in heavy iron chains that rattled against the obsidian floor. Their faces—the faces of the powerful CEOs and surgeons I loved—were bruised, bloodied, and pale with exhaustion.

"Big brother! Sister!" I cried out, my legs moving instinctively toward them.

The guards stepped in, the barrels of their guns slamming into my path, forcing me back. My siblings looked up, their eyes finding mine through the haze of pain. My vision blurred, my eyes turning a dark, blood-red as I whirled on Atticus.

"Atticus, you monster! Let them go! Let them go now!"

He didn't answer. He just sat back on the throne and smiled—that same slow, oily smile that I hated more than death itself.

"Feeling sad, Videl? Hmm... that’s good," he mused, leaning his head on his hand. "I love that look on your face, honey. But I wonder... I wonder how you'll feel when you see the others."

My heart stopped. The color drained from my skin until I felt like a ghost myself.

"Wanna take a look?" He stood up and began to walk past me, heading for the great doors that led to the balcony and the courtyard. "Come on. Walk with me."

He talked casually, as if we were taking a stroll through a garden. My legs followed him mechanically. I was a puppet on a string, my soul already screaming. When I stepped outside, I felt the very life drain out of my body.

The courtyard was a graveyard.

The Vanguard—my warriors, were lying dead across the black gravel. The ones who were still alive were being dragged through the dirt, their hands and feet bound just like my siblings. The sound of chains and the groans of the dying filled the air.

I couldn't speak. I just stared, my eyes dimming, my heart breaking under the crushing weight of regret. I didn't see this coming. I was the General. I was the strategist. And I had led them all into a slaughterhouse. The regret was a physical poison. It felt like hot lead pouring into my veins, dragging me down, making my knees want to buckle. I had spent eight years building myself into a weapon, sharpening my mind and my body until I thought I was untouchable. I thought I was the one playing the game. But as I watched the blood of my people stain the black gravel, I realized I hadn't been the player. I had been the toy.

My heart didn't just hurt; it felt like it was being shredded by the very chains that bound my siblings. Every breath I took felt like a theft from the dead. I had traded their lives for a chance at a vengeance I was now too powerless to take.

I felt his gaze on me. I heard a soft, patronizing chuckle before he reached out and patted my back.

"Don't be so sad, honey," he said with a sigh that sounded almost genuine. "Life is just like this at times. Things don't usually go the way we plan. I almost feel sorry for you."

I curled my fists until my nails drew blood in my palms, but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by the wreckage of my own ego.

"Atticus," I whispered, the word carrying all the broken pieces of my soul. "I despise you."

He chuckled, the sound drifting out over the bodies of my fallen army. "I know that."

The wind on the balcony was cold, but it was nothing compared to the ice in my veins. Atticus didn't give me another moment to mourn. He turned on his heel, his silk robes fluttering as he headed back inside the throne room.

"Take them to the sub-levels," he called out over his shoulder to the guards, his voice bored. "Separate them. I want them in the dark, cold, and alone."

"No!" The scream ripped from my throat. I lunged back through the balcony doors, my boots skidding on the obsidian floor as I tried to reach them.

Inside the hall, the guards were already moving. I saw a soldier grab Leonard by his collar, jerking him toward a narrow stone stairwell I hadn't noticed before. Another grabbed my sister, her chains clattering loudly against the floor.

"Atticus, stop! Take me!" I thrashed as two guards caught my arms, pinning me back. "Leonard! Sister!"

"Videl!" My sister's voice was thin, trembling with a fear she couldn't hide. She reached out a shackled hand toward me, her fingers grazing the air before a guard shoved her forward.

"Stay strong, Videl!" Leonard roared, trying to plant his feet, his eyes burning with a desperate protective fire even as a rifle butt slammed into his side to keep him moving. "Don't let him break you!"

"Shut up!" the guard hissed, dragging him through the heavy iron door that led to the basement.

I watched, my heart shattering into a thousand jagged pieces, as the door groaned on its hinges and slammed shut. The sound of the deadbolt sliding into place felt like a coffin being nailed shut. They were gone—taken down into the lightless belly of the palace, while I was left standing in the center of the hall, surrounded by the men who had murdered my army.

The silence that followed was deafening. I stopped struggling, my body going limp in the guards' grip as a new wave of sadness and powerless rage washed over me.

Atticus walked back toward his throne, but he didn't sit. He stopped and looked at me, a cruel, satisfied glint in his eyes.

"They look so small in chains, don't they?" he mused, smoothing his robes. "Hard to believe they are the same people the world admires so much. Now, they're just... mine."

He turned his gaze back to me, his smile sharpening. "And as for you, 'General'... I think it's time you saw exactly where your journey ends."