The Two Edges of Betrayal - Part 2 - [Prologue Three]

Unable to react, either physically or mentally, Luana allowed herself to be guided to the bedroom. Once there, Minerva helped her undress, take a relaxing bath, and put on comfortable clothes. After receiving all this care, Luana remembered nothing else. It was the first time in a long while that she managed to sleep through the entire night. Despite being tormented by nightmares, the medication Minerva had administered kept her deeply asleep and unaware of the world around her.

When Luana opened her eyes at dawn, she felt even more exhausted, both physically and mentally. Although she had slept, true rest had eluded her. The room was shrouded in shadows, with heavy curtains filtering the soft morning light. Not wanting to face a reality that only brought her pain, she decided to go back to sleep. However, this choice would soon become a cause for regret.

Shortly after closing her eyes again, Luana sank into a deep sleep and began to dream. In the dream, she was in a university café, exactly the same one where Arthur had made her an impulsive proposal, a place full of happy memories. Sunlight poured through the windows, and the trees on campus were blooming vibrantly; it was spring, and Arthur was sitting across from her, hiding his face behind the menu.

— What are you going to order? — Luana asked, a smile lighting up her face.

Arthur then lowered the menu, revealing a disfigured face. His mouth was torn up to his ear, stretched into a macabre grin that exposed his teeth. His cheeks, sagging and lifeless, contrasted with his eyes, once filled with love, now overflowing with hatred and bitterness. His chest was open, showing a still heart, hanging over an exposed rib, a dark symbol of a love that had turned into pain.

— The truth — he said, his voice echoing like the roar of a dying creature. — I just want the truth.

At that moment, Luana froze. The once-bright sky darkened, and everything around her dissolved into blood and the wreckage of a car, the café transforming into a scene of horror. She felt the air drain from her lungs, suffocated by the weight of guilt consuming her. Tears streamed down her face, blending with her agony, as memories of truths she hadn't had the courage to confront haunted her.

Suddenly, Arthur's rotting hands closed around Luana's neck, shaking her violently. In an instant, he transformed into a monster — a grotesque being with multiple decaying arms clutching at her body, screaming her name in a guttural voice.

Luana closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of Arthur as a creature he never was. She didn't want to witness that nightmare. In the darkness behind her eyelids, as the sensation of suffocation overwhelmed her, she noticed Arthur's voice gradually changing. When she finally opened her eyes, she was awake, and Minerva was holding her shoulders, worry etched on her face.

— Luana, you...

Without waiting for her friend to finish, Luana clung tightly to Minerva, breaking down in tears. Minerva, though not fully understanding what was happening, felt her friend's anguish and embraced her with tenderness.

— Everything will be okay — Minerva whispered, holding Luana in her arms until she calmed down and drifted back to sleep. — Everything will be okay...

In the living room, now as clean and airy as it had been before Arthur's death, Minerva lay on the sofa with her head resting on Philip's lap, as he gently stroked her curly hair.

— Do you think she'll be able to overcome Arthur's death? — Minerva asked, looking past the glass of the window.

The day was cloudy, like so many autumn days, and the maple tree outside shed its red leaves, painting the yellow grass in a contrast that was both beautiful and sad.

Philip remained silent for a moment, pondering the question. He didn't know what the right answer would be. After all, Luana's recovery would depend entirely on the strength she found within herself. But he didn't want to believe in his friend's fall; he wanted to have faith in her resilience.

— I hope so, — he answered with a sigh. — She needs to.

Minerva grasped her husband's hand, looking deeply into his eyes.

— We'll stay with her, right?

Philip gently pulled his wife's hands and kissed them, a gesture of affection that spoke more than words ever could.

— For as long as she needs. Just as Arthur helped me, I'll do the same for the woman he loved.

Days passed, and Minerva and Philip continued living with Luana, who stubbornly refused to seek professional help. It was as if she wanted to suffer in their presence, a conscious choice, for Luana wished to pay for a sin that wasn't entirely hers and for which she wasn't at fault. The pain consuming her was a form of atonement, a way to cope with the guilt that shadowed her every step.

Rodrigo, on the other hand, drowned his depression in yet another bottle of whiskey. He knew exactly what he had done; the responsibility of wounding and killing his own brother consumed him. He couldn't face that truth sober, and each sip of alcohol felt like a desperate attempt to drown the guilt.

Luana was not the only one hesitant to attend Arthur's funeral. Rodrigo also feared what he might encounter there. Upon waking on that fateful morning and receiving the news of the accident, a state of denial enveloped him, and he isolated himself in his luxurious apartment, lost in his dark thoughts.

Unlike Arthur, his younger twin brother, Rodrigo had led a libertine life. While Arthur sought peace in reality and became a terrifying villain in a virtual world, Rodrigo was a troubled playboy in real life and a great hero in the virtual reality. This dichotomy reflected the inner struggle between the man he was and the man he could have been, a battle that now became unbearable.

The brothers had always been opposites in essence, yet their bond was unbreakable. They were mirrors of each other, bound by a fraternal affection that survived every divergent choice. Like any siblings, they had their arguments, but resentment never lingered — until the day Arthur introduced Luana to Rodrigo.

It was like lightning: the moment he saw her, Rodrigo knew he was irreparably lost. Something shattered in his heart upon realizing that the woman who seemed to belong to his world already belonged to Arthur's. From then on, he carried the weight of a love he knew was impossible, burying it under years of silence and loyalty. He convinced himself he would forget, that time would eventually erase this desire; but the more he smothered the feeling, the more it grew, rooted in the shadows of his own guilt.

Months before the tragedy, Rodrigo gave in to a desperate idea — an insane plan, fueled by lonely nights and accumulated bitterness. He began planning what would become the worst decision of his life: if, for a moment, he could make Luana his, perhaps it would cure him. Perhaps possession was the remedy for his torment. And so, on a fateful night, Rodrigo put his plan into action.

The first step was meticulously simple: he kept Arthur occupied with some excuse, taking his place to pick Luana up at the university. To the world, they were identical, and imitating his brother's relaxed manner was something Rodrigo had done since childhood. He even bought the same car model, meticulously preparing so nothing would reveal the switch. The deception was carried out flawlessly.

But he hadn't counted on the twists of his own guilt. The plan, which seemed controlled, quickly unraveled when intoxication took over, and Rodrigo lost his self-control. At the height of his betrayal, something inside him cried out for redemption — a confused, distorted cry that led him to document the moment cruelly: photos, videos, proof of his transgression, all sent to Arthur.

So, the next day, the news of Arthur's death cut through the air like a blade. Rodrigo knew, at that moment, that he could never erase what he had done and that he would never have Luana. He had destroyed what he loved most, and nothing remained but emptiness. Now, he found himself in an armchair facing the vastness of the city, staring at his own reflection in the window. With the whiskey bottle suspended between his fingers, he tried to erase every trace of pain and memory. But the bitter taste lingered, revealing that the pain might never go away.

Sitting there, Rodrigo contemplated the city through the wide window, a solitary point amidst the decaying beauty of twilight. The sun was setting in the west, painting the sky with fiery shades of orange, but for him, that spectacle felt distant, as if the colors of the world were trapped behind an impenetrable glass. The view was pale, whitish, and the world appeared as gray as the pain that gnawed at his chest. The whiskey was the only remedy for his desolation, the only way to dull the guilt that tore him apart inside.

Already intoxicated, Rodrigo searched for the bottle that had slipped from his lap at some point, and he lifted it to his lips, only to realize it was empty. In a fit of rage — perhaps against the bottle, perhaps against himself — he hurled it towards the wall. But the intoxication betrayed him, and the glass traced a parabola, shattering on the floor before reaching its target.

— Damn! It was me… It was me who… — he stammered, his voice choked, as his face contorted in anguish. — Arthur… Forgive me, man… Forgive me. Can you hear me? I… I… — His voice faded into a hoarse scream, laden with regret. — I didn't want to… I messed everything up, again! But damn it! I loved her too! How…? Why did everything have to be like this?

He fought against his own body as he tried to rise. His legs, shaky from alcohol and emotion, almost failed him, but he persisted, swaying until he reached the window. With trembling hands, he unlocked it and pushed it open, letting the night wind sweep through the room, bringing the damp scent of the River Thames.

Rodrigo looked outside, at London that thrived even in darkness. The lights flickered in the windows of the buildings, cars glided down the streets, and people continued their lives, oblivious to the whirlwind of pain consuming him. The world seemed so indifferent, so cruelly alive.

Barefoot, Rodrigo was at the edge of the now wide-open window, feeling the nausea and dizziness intensify as the wind pushed him backward. Each cold gust seemed to whisper promises of relief, an end to the pain that consumed him. But he was determined to end it all, to silence the torment that plagued him. With a hesitant step, he walked towards the certain death that lay before him.

A year after Arthur's death, Luana struggled to emerge from the shadows of depression. The loss of her beloved still haunted her, and the guilt that consumed her was a chain that kept her bound. Still, with the support of Minerva and Philip, she began to take timid steps toward life, starting to walk on her own again, even though her heart felt heavy.

During this time, as if seeking a way to redeem herself, Luana began playing K.O more often. For her, the game had become a form of escape, a refuge where she could relive the memories of Arthur without the pain that accompanied them. K.O was the world he loved, a vibrant place full of adventures and villainy that, despite being sad, now served more as a tribute to what they shared than an open wound.

The road to this point had been tortuous. After months adrift in a sea of pain, almost allowing herself to be consumed by suffering, Luana found herself alive thanks to the tireless efforts of Minerva and Philip, who refused to let her succumb without a fight.

Minerva, determined, took the initiative to offer her a kind of therapy. Luana resisted at first, hesitant, but over time, she began to open up. Minerva listened attentively, valuing every word, every little detail, as if they were precious pieces of a complex puzzle. In one of those conversations, something profound broke through Luana's barriers, and she finally let it out, her voice trembling but firm.

— I think I understand what caused Arthur's death... — she whispered, faltering. — That night...

Tears began to stream down her face as she unearthed the painful memories, revealing each piece of that cursed puzzle.

— I don't know how I let myself be deceived... — Luana covered her face with her hands, as if trying to hide her shame. — They were so alike...

— Luana... — Minerva's voice wavered between compassion and anger. — You couldn't have known; they were identical twins...

— I know — Luana murmured, her voice heavy with deep bitterness. — But still, I feel like I'm to blame...

— Not at all! — Minerva stood up, walked over to her, and held her hand firmly. — What he did... — Minerva swallowed hard, as if the word burned on her lips. — It was a violation. He abused you, Luana...

The two embraced in silence, and tears came in a mutual torrent of pain and solidarity. Minerva was right, and Luana knew it, but the guilt still gnawed at her. Putting it into words only made her feel more marked, more stained. However, she knew that facing the truth was essential for the healing process, even though the burden still weighed heavily.

Rodrigo had been dead for weeks, taken by the weight of his own actions in a suicide. Yet, the mark he left would never fully fade.

But in that embrace, Luana found something. A spark of hope, a feeling that maybe, one day, she could forgive herself. And by giving voice to the truth, she felt that, in some way, she was starting to free herself, allowing the past to slowly yield space to what could still be lived.

A few days after that conversation, as retaliation for what Rodrigo had done to Luana and Arthur, Minerva mobilized an army of thousands of criminal players to invade the Capital of the Principle — a sanctuary where new players began their journeys and legendary heroes were exalted.

No one knew for sure what the invaders intended, and few dared to ask. These were the cruelest and most dangerous players in the world. However, in a short time, they would make sure to leave their mark, to be remembered for a long time.

Without mercy, the Scavengers advanced, killing anyone who dared to block their path. Monuments, statues, and buildings dedicated to Ragnar, Rodrigo's character, were reduced to rubble. Players with names similar to Ragnar's didn't even have time to ask the reason for their sentence. Even if they did ask, only Minerva and Philip knew the answer — and they had no intention of revealing it.

This attack sealed the end of an era in Kastigo Online, the era of the Demon King Hades and the Sacred Hero Ragnar. A new time was beginning, in which others would rise in their places. The event became known as "The Fall." This event made headlines for a long time until what would become the greatest genocide of the 21st century took its place.