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

Chapter 15.

Videl..

"Take her," Atticus commanded, his hand sweeping toward the dark, yawning threshold of the sub-levels. "To the Sanctum of the Blood Moon. She will be the ultimate sacrifice to the god of the abyss on the night of the looming Eclipse. Let her rot in the suffocating dark until the stars align. I want her to have plenty of time to reflect on her failures."

I didn’t fight. I didn’t claw at the air or beg for mercy. The resistance that had fueled me for eight years—the fire of the General, the iron will of the strategist—had been extinguished in the moment I saw my army lying dead in the courtyard. I had lost the will. The heavy iron shackles were clamped onto my wrists with a brutal snap, the cold metal biting into my skin, but I barely felt it. I was a shell, empty and hollowed out by the crushing weight of my own ruin.

The guards shoved me forward, their hands rough against my shoulders. I was marched down into the bowels of the palace, away from the light of the sun and the air of the surface. The descent was a journey into a nightmare. The walls here were not the polished obsidian of the throne room; they were damp, weeping stone, covered in decaying, ancient tapestries that depicted gods of shadow and scenes of exquisite torture. Skeletons, stripped bare by time, were posed in the alcoves like macabre statues, their hollow eye sockets seemingly watching my every step.

Finally, they reached the Sanctum. The guards threw me inside the prison, a small, circular cell that smelled of stagnant water and old blood. The gate slammed shut with a finality that sounded like a coffin lid. I didn’t look around. I simply sank to the cold, uneven ground, my hands resting lifelessly on my knees. I stared blankly at the wall, my mind drifting to the ghosts that haunted every corner of my consciousness.

Mum, Dad, I swear on Diana, I will destroy Atticus! I will avenge your deaths! The promise echoed in the silence of the cell, sounding like the desperate words of a child who didn’t know the price of war. Tears finally gathered in my eyes, spilling over and tracing hot paths down my cheeks. Mum, Dad... I failed you. I am so sorry. As I wept, the past came rushing back—not as a memory, but as a visceral, living thing.

Flashback: The Coronation Day

I was seven years old, and the world was golden. I remember the maids fussing over my dress, their hands gentle as they brushed my hair, pulling it back into two polished, high pigtails.

"Her Highness is breathtaking," one of them whispered, smiling at me.

I stared at my reflection in the gilded mirror, smiling back with a pride that only a princess could possess. It was a day of immense importance: my grandfather, King Goma Valerius, had passed only weeks before, and my father, Frederick Goma, was to be crowned as the new King of Goma Island. I was full of a restless, childish excitement. I rushed toward my parents' bedroom, my heart racing, only to see them emerging just as I arrived.

"Mum! Dad!" I screamed, my voice high and bright.

My father’s face softened the moment he saw me. He spread his arms wide, and I ran into his embrace, giggling as he swept me off my feet and carried me. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen—my father, the King. Looking at him was like looking into a future version of myself; he had the same eyes, the same nose, the same determined set of the chin.

"Daddy is so handsome," I told him, burying my face in his neck. "I’m falling in love with him!"

Frederick laughed, a warm, booming sound that filled the corridor. "And Videl is so beautiful. The most beautiful girl in the world."

I felt a surge of pure happiness at his praise. But suddenly, my mother, Selene Goma, stepped into our line of sight, pretending to be deeply wounded. "If Videl is the most beautiful girl in the world, then what does that make me?"

They turned to her, and for a moment, my father was speechless, unsure how to handle the playful accusation. I didn't hesitate. "Mummy, you misunderstood! Daddy says I’m the most beautiful girl, which means you are the most beautiful woman in the world. Right, Dad?"

Frederick chuckled, pulling her into his side. "Oh yeah, that’s exactly what I meant. So stop being jealous over your daughter."

"Jealous? Who is jealous? I am not jealous," my mother defended, though she was grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, you are not jealous," my father teased. The two of them began bickering in a way that made me feel perfectly safe, perfectly loved. I stood there, smiling contentedly, believing that this joy would last forever.

Hours later, we were in the Great Hall. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the sound of hushed whispers. The coronation had begun. My father knelt before the high priest, his head bowed, his posture humble and regal. The priest held the heavy, jewel-encrusted crown over his head.

"Frederick Goma, I crown you the new King of—"

BOOM!

The sound didn't just vibrate; it shook the very foundation of the island. The ceiling seemed to tremble, and dust rained down from the rafters. Screams tore through the hall, a dissonant chorus of panic. A man ran in, his uniform torn and blood-stained. "We’ve been breached! We are under attack!"

The faces of the royals and guests went deathly pale. BOOM! Another explosion, even closer this time, followed by the terrifying, rhythmic pop of gunfire. My father frowned, his eyes snapping to the guards.

"All the children!" he commanded. "Take them away now! Go! Go! Go!"

I hesitated, my heart stalling. "Dad! Mum!"

My father looked at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, crushing love. "Take care of yourself, Videl. Daddy and Mummy will come to meet you."

I left, but I didn't want to. As we ran, the ground shook again under the force of another blast. AHHH! The children screamed in terror. Suddenly, a sharp, cold pain hit me right in the chest. I felt an intense, sickening sense of unease, as if the ground were pulling away beneath me. Something wasn't right.

"Mum! Dad!" I screamed, stopping dead in my tracks.

"My princess!" I heard them call out, but I didn't look back. I ran like a flash of lightning, my small legs pumping as fast as they could. The boom came again, and I lost my balance, falling hard onto the stone. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the scrape on my knees, and kept running. The palace outside was a hellscape—dead bodies lay in the halls, fires roared in the doorways, and the sound of blade against blade echoed everywhere.

I ran toward the back hallway, where my grandfather used to train. I didn't know why, but I felt in my gut that my parents were there. I skidded to a stop when I heard a piercing, insane laughter.

"Family? We are not family!" the voice shouted. "My mother had only one child, and that is me! I should be the one crowned King! I am the rightful heir, but it was you that Dad favored! You bastard son of a b***h, you chose him over me, his legitimate son! Why?"

I recognized the voice instantly. Uncle Atticus? I hid, stretching my neck to see through a crack in the wall. My father was on the ground, bleeding. His mouth was full of blood. Atticus was pointing a gun at his head, his eyes bloodshot, his face contorted in a mask of pure hate.

"Dad!" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Atticus!!!" My mother’s voice rang out. She marched into the light, glaring at him with defiance.

"Selene, go back!" my father gasped. "This is between us brothers."

She ignored him, her rage absolute. "You bastard! How dare you hurt my husband?" She didn't hesitate; she pulled a concealed pistol and shot him twice. Atticus fell backward.

"Honey!" my mother shrieked, running to my father and dropping to her knees. "Honey!""I'm fine," my father whispered, his voice rattling in his chest as he struggled to keep his eyes focused on her. "Let's get you to a safe place," she said, her voice trembling with a frantic, desperate energy as she tried to pull him up from the cold floor. But as she moved to help him, she saw the life fading from his gaze, the light dimming in a way that made her entire world go quiet.

I was about to bolt toward them when I saw Atticus twitch, then sit up.

"Mummy, watch out!" I screamed.

BANG! My mother clutched her heart, her eyes widening as she stumbled back.

"Mummy!" I shouted.

They all turned to look at me. Atticus pointed the gun toward my head. My face went cold, and then—BANG! But a hand was quick and grabbed me back. I looked and saw Leonard. "Leo?" Leonard grabbed me, dragging me backward, throwing me away from the line of fire.

"Let's go!" Leo shouted

"Go after them! Kill them all! Don't spare any!" Atticus’s voice was a ragged roar.

"Run! Run! Run!" Leonard shouted, hauling me along.

Suddenly, a massive explosion erupted behind us. Leonard hugged me tightly, our bodies hitting the ground as the ceilings collapsed in a mountain of stone and fire.

When I finally woke up, I was in a dark, cold cave. Panicked, I tried to stand. "Dad! Mum!"

"Calm down, princess," a man said, patting my head. It was Quinn, our loyal guard.

"Where are my parents? Where is Mum and Dad?"

He didn't answer, but his eyes were filled with a grief so profound it told me everything I needed to know. Around me, I heard the wailing of other survivors. Leonard sat far away, his eyes red, his face scarred and dirt-streaked, but he wasn't crying. I could already guess what had happened. I turned my gaze back to Quinn. Tears started spilling out, unbidden and hot.

We were all crying—our parents, gone forever. Atticus had done this.

"Atticus Goma!" I screamed into the darkness, my voice raw and broken. "You will rot in hell!"

"Only if he were dead," someone said from the shadows.

I looked and saw Alexa sitting on the dirt, her eyes bloodshot, covered in deep lacerations.

"He is dead," I replied, shaking. "My mum shot him."

"He didn't die," Alexa said, her voice hollow. "He’s alive."

"But I saw Mum shoot him! He can't possibly survive that, can he?"

"Atticus came well-prepared," Alexa whispered. "He didn't die. He came after us... he killed so many of us. He destroyed the underground tunnels to trap us, and then threw an explosion at us. Thankfully, there was another way out, and we were quick enough to get away."

My body trembled uncontrollably. The injuries in my chest throbbed with every shallow breath. My eyes grew cold and resolved. I would kill him. I would do it with my bare hands. I swore to the dark that I would make Atticus pay for every drop of blood he had spilled.

The silence of the cell returned, thick and suffocating, swallowing the echoes of the screams from my childhood. The memories had been so vivid—the smell of the smoke, the warmth of my father’s arms, the metallic tang of blood—that for a heartbeat, I had been seven years old again, running through the palace halls.

But then, the cold stone beneath me seeped through my clothes, grounding me back in this wretched present.

I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, not with the strength of a General, but with the raw, jagged ache of a daughter who was still mourning. I had spent eight years training, hardening my soul, turning my body into a weapon, and building a reputation that the world feared. I had fought wars, navigated political minefields, and outsmarted the smartest minds in the sector.

Yet, here I was.

All that training, all those years of meticulous planning, all the blood I had shed to build the Vanguard—it had led me right back to the beginning, right back to the same monster, and right back to the same place of powerlessness.

"I am a failure," I whispered, the words scraping against my throat.

The tears I had tried so hard to cage came pouring out, uncontrollable and hot. I buried my face in my knees, sobbing until my ribs ached. It wasn't just the grief of losing Mum and Dad; it was the crushing, unbearable weight of my own arrogance. I had convinced myself that I was the one playing the game. I had been so sure that I was the hunter, closing in on my prey. But Atticus hadn't just beaten me; he had dismantled everything I was, piece by piece, and left me exactly where I started: a scared, lonely girl in a cage, watching the ones I loved being dragged into the dark.

I cried for the Vanguard. I cried for Leonard, Alexa, Priscilla, and Oliver, who were likely suffering somewhere in the shadows of this very mountain. And mostly, I cried because despite every muscle I had toned and every secret I had learned, I was still just the little princess who couldn't save anyone.

The stone walls seemed to lean in, cold and indifferent, mocking my sobs. I had trained to be a weapon, but against Atticus, I was nothing. The realization was more painful than any shock collar or physical beating. My grand revenge had been nothing more than a slow walk into a trap I had set for myself.

I sat there in the dark, my tears falling silently now, soaking into the grime of the floor, waiting for the shadows to tell me what came next.