Nova's Blade

Chapter 24

Leni's hands quiver as she stares at her phone screen. Her breath catches in her throat, and a chill runs down her spine, raising goosebumps on her skin. The atmosphere in the room tightens, a suffocating dread seeping into every corner.

"Gaia," she manages to croak out, her voice a mere shadow of its usual strength. Her gaze remains glued to the screen, unable to tear herself away from the horrific scene it portrays.

Gaia turns towards Leni, her brow creased in confusion. Then, she notices the tremor in Leni's hand, the raw horror etched in her features. Leni raises her phone with agonizing slowness, the device feeling heavier than ever.

As the phone comes into view, all eyes are drawn towards it, held captive by the scene it presents. A collective gasp tears through the room, filling the air with a chilling echo. Their faces contort into grimaces of shock, mouths agape and eyes wide, but Gaia's reaction is the most profound.

"I'm sorry," Leni chokes out, the weight of her words pressing down on them.

On the screen, Nova lies in a pool of her own blood. Siren's gloating voice reverberates from the tiny speakers, a harsh juxtaposition against the image of Nova fallen on the battleground. A vicious pang of distress pierces Gaia's heart at the sight of her sister, helpless and defeated.

"No!" Gaia's cry slices through the stifling silence, raw and desperate. Her legs buckle underneath her, and she crumbles to her knees, tears carving tracks down her face.

Torin, overwhelmed by the shocking revelation, sinks down against the wall, his body folding under the burden of grief. Silent tears stain his cheeks, mirroring Leni and Hunter's own sorrow. The room is filled with a mournful understanding, their shared loss manifesting in their silence.

Miles away, in the solitude of her home, Atira succumbs to her sorrow. Her body shakes with gut-wrenching sobs, her voice echoing around the room in an anguished cry. Her fingers dig into the carpet, and her teary gaze implores the ceiling, searching for answers in its blankness.

"Why?" Her question hangs in the air, a silent plea to the universe, filled with the pain of a mother's heartbreak.

Fable's eyes lock with her own reflection in the mirror, her usual bright spark replaced with a vacant sullenness. The mirrored image triggers something within her - a bitter resentment, simmering below the surface. The face staring back at her morphs from sadness into raw anger. Frustration surges within her, culminating in a swift, brutal punch that sends shards of glass flying in every direction. Blood quickly begins to bloom from a gash on her hand, trickling down her in rivulets.

In the opulence of her mansion, Venus reclines, a thin cigar held with practiced ease between her fingers. Her phone chirps insistently, each ring piercing the silence like an accusation. She doesn't answer it, her attention seemingly absorbed by the world outside her window. But beneath the cool shield of her sunglasses, a tear betrays her. It slides down her cheek, a poignant drop of sorrow in her fortress of solitude.

Sequestered in a humble wooden lodge, Thane sits in meditative silence. His eyes are shut, his breathing steady, seeking tranquillity amidst turmoil. When he finally opens his eyes, it's not peace he finds, but a sigh that escapes his lips, heavy with resignation. His face finds solace in the cup of his hand, an emblem of the stoicism he so often exhibits, now touched by an unseen burden.

In the gloom of his office, Hannibal's fingers play with a pristine red crystal, his movements precise, almost reverent, in an act of indulgence, an anarchic ritual that fuels him. He smashes the crystal and greedily inhales its dust, his body vibrating with a rush of adrenaline.

The air trembles with a robotic voice from his virtual assistant,

"Voice call from Valkyrie Fable."

Hannibal merely snorts, his lips twisting in anticipation.