Chapter 30: The Literal Femme Fatale
Sable flipped through the file he had pulled out earlier. A small photo of a smiling Black man in a police uniform was stapled to the top page. Beneath the photo, the name Henry Clifford was printed in bold. Sable's fingers curled around the paper, nearly tearing it.
"To think my son died at the hands of a regular civilian officer," he muttered. "Well, he's not awakened… so I can take him whenever I want."
He tucked the file away and gathered the remaining documents. A wave of iron-tier energy rippled through his fingertips. With a sharp crack, flame sparked from his hand and caught the papers. He sent another pulse to stoke the fire until the entire pile crumbled to ash.
Sliding open the balcony door, he used a push of energy pressure to scatter the ashes into the wind. He watched them drift toward the trees and buildings below, catching the last light of sunset.
Sable returned inside and sat at his desk, pulling out a photo he'd stolen from his son's room. It was of a woman with Jackal's features. Most would consider her plain, nothing remarkable aside from the curious sparkle in her eyes. But to Sable, she was the loveliest woman in the world.
Not because he was romantic, or had strange tastes. She had simply been his light during his darkest days.
Back then, Sable was a rising prodigy. He'd reached peak iron-tier by the age of twenty-two, just a step away from bronze-tier. But a mission went wrong. A severe injury nearly collapsed his energy vortex. Though it was stabilized, it was left crippled—unable to gather energy ever again.
He was permanently stuck, cursed to never reach the potential he once held.
And the one person he had once protected… had become the guild's new rising star: his younger brother, the original "Jackal." His brother, while not nearly as talented, still managed to catch up to his level by twenty-three. Over time, Sable faded into the background, no longer acknowledged by the guild's superiors. He became a dead end, someone with no future.
The bitterness consumed Sable. He turned to heavy drinking and began taking on dangerous missions that constantly threatened his life. But with his sharp mind and refined skills, he never died.
His brother had shown concern for his recklessness. In an organization as dangerous as the Assassin Guild, the two had once depended on each other for survival and shared a close relationship. Sable still remembered his brother's face—a handsome one that looked like his own—staring at him with both worry and anger.
"Are you trying to die?" his brother asked, voice tight with rage. "Why? I know your energy vortex is crippled, but why do something so reckless? We've always figured things out together. We'll get through this too. It's not the end of the world."
Perhaps, if Sable hadn't already been warped by resentment, he might have been comforted by those words. But not now. How could he find comfort in the words of the very person who stole his spot—his rightful place?
Eventually, their relationship fell apart. Sable could no longer see his brother with the love he once had, and his brother could no longer bear to watch the older brother he once adored destroy himself. The two practically became strangers.
Sable began moving through life like a machine, stuck in a mechanical cycle. Risky missions, heavy drinking, deeper depravity. He hoped that one day, it would all end—that he wouldn't wake up to continue the cycle.
And then that day nearly came.
The day he met her.
He had been drinking as usual, thinking about finding another woman to spend the night with. That woman wasn't the kind of girl who caught the eye immediately. In fact, it was the opposite. Most men would have considered her plain: brown curly hair, brown eyes, wispy eyebrows, a wide nose, thin lips, and thin cheeks. Her only striking feature was the curious sparkle in her gaze.
Sable was no different. He had ordinary tastes and hadn't noticed her at first. But she made herself known—much to his annoyance then, though he would later be grateful.
"You're the Jackal guy? You're quite handsome," she said matter-of-factly.
"Get out if you don't want to die," Sable growled, clenching his glass.
The woman showed no fear. "You look a little funny. Just kidding! You are actually pretty handsome… but damn, you look like shit right now. You're seriously wound up, huh? I was kidding earlier. You're Sable, right?" she said with a teasing smile.
Sable didn't respond, just stared dully into his drink.
"I've heard about you. I've seen you before. You were the bright, up-and-coming genius from the side branch…the one who got replaced by his brother," she continued, unfazed by his silence.
Suddenly, she raised her hand and caught a silver flash aimed at her neck—a small knife—between two fingers.
"Oh? You actually aimed for the neck of someone from the main branch. How courageous," she said, admiring him, while he drank as if he hadn't just tried to kill her.
"Or perhaps that was your goal?" she added, leaning on the bar, drawing closer until they were just inches apart, their breath nearly intertwined. "Are you looking for a way to die? If that's the case, then why don't you have the guts to take your own? Why do you want me to dirty my hands?" she said, watching him with fascination, lightly tracing the bags beneath his dull eyes.
"You're from the main branch?" he asked, unimpressed.
"If I were any other member of the main branch, I would've carved your pretty little eyes out. But I don't like killing things outside my little experiments," she said with a smirk. "You interest me, so I don't feel like killing you."
Sable simply scoffed and kept drinking.
"Why do you even bother with that stuff? At your level, you can't get drunk. And with poison training from the guild, your body's probably resistant to anything lethal. What? Hoping if you drink enough, you'll finally drop dead?"
Sable frowned, irritated that this girl wouldn't shut up or leave.
"What do you really want?" he grunted.
She tilted her head. "Just wondering why a genius like you is sitting here like the world already ended." She rested her head on the bar, eyes still locked on him.
At last, he turned his frosty gaze toward her.
"I'm no genius. Don't you know? I'm a cripple now," he growled, the callousness in his voice sharp.
Her smile bloomed like a flower, poisonous and bright.
"Now, do you think I don't know that?" she said, her sweet tone enough to make anyone uneasy.
"At the main branch, 'geniuses' and 'prodigies' like you are a dime a dozen. The branch leader reached peak iron-tier at eighteen. Awakener Families pump out kids like that constantly. Isn't that amazing?" she asked, patting his cheek.
"Your case is nothing special. So why act like you've lost everything? Did you even have anything real to lose in the first place?"
She giggled—right before he grabbed her arm in a crushing grip.
"Oh? Did I make you mad?" she asked, meeting his fiery, rage-filled eyes.
"Are you here just to insult me? Even if you're from the main branch, I'll make you regret your impolite words," he said, voice low and venomous.
"Has anyone ever told you your voice is quite pleasant, too?" she teased, ignoring both his threat and his grip. Then, casually, she released a small portion of her aura.
The entire bar, including Sable, instantly struggled to breathe. He stumbled back and clawed at his throat, until she pulled her aura away. His pupils dilated.
A collective gasp for air rippled through the room, followed by a wave of panic and confusion. No one could figure out what had happened, so gradually, the atmosphere settled back into uneasy calm.
As soon as he could speak, Sable wheezed, "You… you're a bronze-tier awakener. But you're clearly younger than me. So how—"
"Like I said. Nothing special," she replied, sipping his drink.
For the first time, Sable studied her seriously.
"Why would a bronze-tier awakener spend her night with someone like me?" he asked, cautious now.
She laughed. "So nervous now? Weren't you wanting to die? Don't worry. If I wanted to kill you, I would've already." She licked her lips and eyed the drink again. "As for why I'm here… I think you're a genius."
Sable scowled. "Didn't you just say I wasn't special?"
"I meant your brain and your ability to manipulate energy," she replied, finishing his drink. "What makes you exceptional isn't your tier, but how you handle your energy and the strategies you use is brilliant. So why are you so stuck on your tier? Sure, you have fewer options… but someone with your mind should've found a workaround by now. Why aren't you using your greatest asset?"
She tapped his forehead.
A fire that hadn't existed in Sable for a long time sparked to life.
And that was only the beginning.
"You… who are you?" he asked, his voice no longer cold.
The woman sat up and winked. "I go by Belladonna."
After that night, Sable and Belladonna met several times. At first, their conversations were mostly one-sided. Belladonna usually talked about energy manipulation while Sable listened in silence. But gradually, he began speaking more, too. And the more he talked, the more hope he felt—his ambitions, long buried, began to grow again like weeds forcing their way through cracked stone.
At first, he only thought of her as an intriguing woman. But soon, he found himself drawn to the very features he'd once dismissed as plain. His desire for her deepened, and Belladonna didn't resist when their relationship turned into something more passionate.
But all good things came to an end.
Belladonna returned to the main branch, leaving Sable alone once again. Yet even in her absence, the fire she'd lit within him didn't fade. It only fueled him further. Her presence had revived his drive, and now he was determined to accomplish what once seemed impossible.
He would take over the Assassin's Guild and make it his own.
Once he became leader, he'd have access to resources that might allow him to restore his energy vortex. And with time, he'd quietly weaken the main branch's grip. When he had enough power, he would make Belladonna his wife—openly, without fear.
But this plan required betraying the very person he'd once loved: his younger brother.
When the current guild master died, his brother was expected to take over. That made him an obstacle.
Sable felt conflicted. But the love he once had for his brother had long since been ground down by resentment. His guilt was minimal.
He planned everything carefully. The guild master and his brother both died as a result of his schemes. His brother never even realized the man he trusted most was the one who betrayed him.
Sometimes, that final look—his brother's trusting gaze—haunted Sable's dreams. But he had gone too far to turn back. His ambitions were too large to ignore.
After becoming branch leader, Sable began searching for ways to heal his vortex, but nothing worked. And as always, the guild was filled with hungry wolves vying for his position. With his limited strength, maintaining control wasn't easy.
He hadn't seen Belladonna in nearly two years when she appeared again, this time with a child who looked just like her.
She told him the boy, Theodore, was their son.
Each time she visited, the boy had grown, but he never seemed to remember Sable, likely because of how much time passed between visits.
Then, when the child turned four, Belladonna left him behind for good.
She gave no explanation.
She simply vanished.
Sable was left stunned—confused—and unsure of what to do.
The child looked so much like the woman he loved. But Sable's world was no place for raising children. With enemies circling like hyenas, Theodore was a dangerous liability. As much as he cared about his son, that's what he was—a weakness his enemies could exploit.
He loved him, but love wasn't enough. He enrolled Theodore into the guild system. It was the only way to protect him and his secret. He monitored the boy from a distance to ensure he didn't die, but he couldn't afford to show special treatment. If the other superiors noticed, it could cost them both.
Even so, the guild's training was brutal. While Theodore didn't suffer as badly as most thanks to Sable's intervention, it was still far too cruel and traumatic for any child to endure.
As the boy grew, Sable longed to see him more openly. He started assigning him missions directly, just so they could speak… even if it was only as superior and subordinate, not father and son.
When it came time for Theodore to receive a guild moniker, Sable thought carefully.
In the end, he gave him the name Jackal.
Perhaps, if he associated that name with his son instead, he could finally let go of the memories tied to his brother.
He had always hoped that once he gained enough power and healed his vortex, he could openly acknowledge Theodore as his son—and give him the life he deserved.
But now, that dream was dead.
Just like the first Jackal… Theodore was gone.
The worst part was that Theodore had known the truth all along. He knew Sable was his father, and he had likely resented him in silence for abandoning him to such a cruel system. The story about him killing his brother for power wasn't a secret in the guild. Did Theodore laugh when he received the moniker of his dead uncle by his father—the very man who killed him? He must have.
Sable snapped back to reality. He stared down at Belladonna's photo and laughed bitterly.
"I'm the worst father, Bella. You entrusted our son to me… and I let him die. Wherever you are, if you found out what I did to him… you'd probably hate me, right? He must have believed I hated him. This is probably karma for my greedy ambitions back then, right? Did… did I make the wrong choices?"
The office remained silent.
No one could answer him.