When names become gods, kings become puppets.
The underworld''s heartbeat echoed with two names:
Ghost — the blade that bleeds kingdoms.
Vaal — the ghost that buys them back.
No one knew who they were. But everyone wanted to own them.
And from the filthiest blood dens of the Gutter Wards…
To the glass-top halls of the Silver Caste—
Every powerbroker tried to claim a leash on either.
They failed.
But now?
The Kings of the Below moved.
<hr>
Scene: House Vezzar, Bloodpit Vaults – Nightfall
Vezzar, Lord of Flesh Markets, leaned back in his chair made of stitched skin and bone.
"The Ghost… he has no leash. I want one."
A man kneeled before him, one eye missing, the other dull with fear. “We tried. Sent him twelve contracts, he rewrote all twelve. Killed both target and contractor. Then left coins in the mouth.”
Vezzar grinned. “He’s mocking us.”
His advisor coughed. “But Vaal… he funded the Sons of Ruin. He owns them now.”
“And yet hides his face like a coward.” Vezzar lit a cigar from a fingerbone candle. “So… set them against each other.”
The room went still.
“Get me the Trial Masters. We buy the Black Gauntlet''s first mission.”
<hr>
Scene: Trial Briefing – Black Gauntlet Mission I
The room was pitch-black. Candidates stood in circles of light. Floating glyphs spun above them.
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A voice spoke like thunder with teeth.
<blockquote>
“Your task: Infiltrate the Caerhold District.
One of you will eliminate a hidden target.
One of you will protect them.”
</blockquote>
Ghost stepped into the light. His glyph spun—RED. KILL.
Another contestant entered from the side.
Tall. Slim. Half-masked.
Vaal.
His glyph spun—BLUE. PROTECT.
Neither spoke.
But behind Caelan’s eyes, the smile burned.
They’d been set against each other.
<hr>
Objective Target:
Lady Sinthra Volarne — Vaal’s first public sponsor, a corrupt merchant queen with ties to the arms smuggling syndicates.
The Kings Below had bribed her exposure.
She was now a target. Disposable.
Ghost’s mission: eliminate her, publicly.
Vaal’s mission: get her out alive and protect his "image."
Two names. One heart. And one chessboard of death.
<hr>
The Game Begins
Vaal’s Plan:
He hired a fake “Ghost-killer” mercenary squad and stationed them near the extraction point. He bribed a carriage line to fake a crash. And he publicly bought the ward rights from local guards.
In two hours, the extraction was sealed tight.
Lady Sinthra would walk out alive.
Vaal would earn clout.
Unless… Ghost arrived first.
<hr>
Ghost’s Plan:
He already knew where Sinthra would hide.
Why? Because he wrote the damn plan last night.
He slit her carriage driver’s throat quietly at the bridge and rode it himself.
When she tried to scream, he threw a bag of coin at her face.
“Take it. Run. Never use his name again.”
“W-Who?”
“Vaal.”
Then he set the carriage on fire.
The real Sinthra fled underground in fear.
The fake Sinthra—a body double paid off by Vaal—sat in the burning wreck.
<hr>
The Aftermath
News hit within the hour:
<blockquote>
“Ghost kills Vaal’s sponsor in front of public eye.
Vaal swears vengeance.”
“Bounty war incoming between factions of Ghost and Vaal.”
“Ghost leaves sigil marked in blood: This is my mercy.”
</blockquote>
And both factions grew.
The Black Gauntlet marked them with highest score for mission complexity.
Neither was penalized.
Neither was suspected.
Because no one—no one—believed a single soul could orchestrate both ends of a war.
<hr>
Behind the Curtain
Back in his dark dorm chamber, Caelan sat shirtless, wrapping his bruised knuckles.
Lucan knocked once. Opened the door. Looked at him.
“You good?”
“…Yeah.”
Lucan’s stare lingered too long. “Just don’t burn out before the finals. I got plans.”
He left.
And Caelan smiled bitterly.
He had killed no one.
But he had burned a chessboard to the ground.