Chapter 33: PLAN ’A’ FAILED
The steam curled thick between the columns, veiling the world beyond the water's edge. Vincent leaned back in the oversized bath carved from obsidian and white stone, head tilted against the edge, hair wet and white over one eye. His voice echoed low and lazy, but his eyes were far away.
🎵 I broke too many bones, but none were of my own.
A flash — his fist slamming down on a knight's gauntlet, shattering the man's elbow. The clang of steel on stone. A scream muffled by his grip.
Cut down giants just to build my throne.
He steps between falling rubble as a troll-like colossus crumbles, its throat sliced open. Blood like tar. Breath ragged. He stands atop the wreckage, half-naked, chest heaving.
Ain't a crown on my head — just scars I earned,
And a fire in my chest that still hasn't burned.
His hands are ablaze. Not with magic, but fury. A man lies on the ground. A traitor. Vincent doesn't even speak — he just looks — and the traitor begs.
I don't march with kings or beg for grace,
I carved my name on a god's own face.
A temple collapses behind him. Statues cracked in two. A blade scorched with holy light still hums in his grip. Around his feet: broken idols and melted icons.