God of Vengeance : Vaughn x OC

CHAPTER 4 : VAUGHN

VAUGHN

There's no such thing as being too young to remember.

I was only five years old when the world as I knew it was shattered, replaced by a nightmare of blood and terror. The memory of that night is etched into my mind with brutal clarity—blood spattered across walls like a macabre painting, the gleam of monstrous fangs, and the cruel reality of being caught between them.

Even now, I can recall every vicious word hurled like daggers, every hateful stare that pierced through my soul. I can still hear the sound of the whip. I still have nightmares about a little girl nearly being beaten to death while looking at me with tearful eyes.

I haven't been the same since.

Cold sweat clings to my skin as I stand rooted to the forest floor. The silence around me is deafening, a heavy blanket of stillness. I grip the neon mask in my hand, my gaze sweeping across the lifeless body sprawled on the ground. A single bullet wound mars his forehead, blood matting his once-blond hair.

Oh, and her.

Katerina Romanova.

I cease to breathe as I stare at the embodiment of my nightmares.

It has only been five days since I last saw her, yet she appears entirely transformed without the cloak and mask concealing her features.

Her porcelain skin, kissed by the cool air, seems almost luminescent, casting a soft glow accentuated by the delicate flush of her cheeks.

Her hair-not blond anymore, a mesmerising tapestry, begins as a deep, inky black at the roots and gradually transforms into a metallic silver as it cascades down her back. The transition is seamless, like twilight fading into dawn. Each lock appears to have been dipped in moonlight.

Then there was the blood.

The Russian's blood soaks the ends of her hair, turning the metallic silver into a brilliant crimson. Her body becomes a canvas of gore, splattered with the vivid reds of life's most visceral struggle, transforming her into a living work of art. Her face bears the same marks, droplets of blood dotting her cheeks and forehead like a macabre constellation.

She looks glorious.

This must be a hallucination. It has to be.

This was the fifth assassination attempt of the year, and while someone always manages to defuse it—I did not expect it to be her. Not so soon.

And her eyes ... There is nothing there, as though she is hollowed out.

For a heartbeat, I wonder if she will kill me, too-just for being there that night, for seeing the dark truth of her.

She glances at the mask in my hand and when Katerina's electric blue eyes meet mine-they widen. It's the only reaction she shows in her mute state, and it's the only one I need.

"The red suits you," I drawl. "Makes your eyes pop."

And just like that, the widening disappears and the blue of her eyes turns pitch-black. They're dark and dead like the bottom of the ocean.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment, or are you just trying to distract yourself from the fact that you're still breathing because I haven't decided otherwise?" Katerina flicks a strand of blood-soaked silver hair behind her shoulder, her lips curling into a sardonic smile.

"A bit of both, I suppose. Though I must admit, the latter does seem more pressing."

"I could, you know," says Katerina, grinning as though nothing would please her more.